Page 43 of Christmas With the Jerk

"What are you reading?” She asks as she leans over to peer at the article open on my screen.

“Just the latest on the airport bombing,” I reply, handing her the phone. “Apparently, it wasn’t aimed at passengers. It was some logistics division.”

Woodley frowns as she takes the phone from me, scanning the screen. I watch her expression change almost immediately. Her face pales, and her eyes widen as she inhales sharply.

“What is it?” I ask, suddenly more alert, watching her closely.

She stares at the article for a long moment, and then, in a voice barely above a whisper, she says, “Faber-Ward. The bombing was connected to my father’s company.”

I blink, not fully understanding at first. “Your father’s company? Wait, I need you to tell me what you’re saying here.”

She nods, her face still pale. “Yeah, sort of. It’s part of a group of companies my father has interests in. It never occurred to me there could be any connection with that. Hell, most of his atrocities go down in countries far away from here, outside ofour news cycle, giving him cover to continue to be the villain he is.”

Her words trail off as she keeps staring at the screen, and suddenly, everything feels heavier. Whatever distance Woodley’s tried to put between herself and her family’s business, it seems like it just caught up to her, right here.

Woodley’s eyes stay locked on the phone screen, her face pale as the weight of what she’s reading sinks in. My mind races, trying to connect the dots. Was this bombing connected to her somehow? Could her father have had a hand in it? Or was she the target? Or was it just some twisted coincidence that she was at the airport when it happened?

“I didn’t think it would ever get this close,” she says, her voice strained, each word heavy with emotion. She glances at me, then back at the phone, her hands trembling slightly.

“My father’s company... I mentioned a little last night, but you don’t know the half of it. They’re not just involved in defense contracts. They supply weapons to regimes and groups—dangerous ones. It’s not about protecting anyone, it’s about making money. They provide arms and security equipment to whoever can pay the most, no matter the consequences.”

I blink, trying to absorb what she’s saying. She presses on, her voice low but steady. “They work under the guise of ‘defense,’ but they sell weapons to the highest bidder—war-torn countries, oppressive governments, even groups the U.S. won’t touch. It’s all business to them, and they’re damn good at it.”

She pauses, her expression tightening as if she’s wrestling with what she’s about to say next. “This... this bombing, it’s likely tied to one of their divisions—an airport logistics or cargo operationthat moves weapons and supplies under the radar. It’s not an accident they were targeted. Someone was trying to send a message, and they hit hard.”

The words hang in the air between us, and I’m left speechless. It’s not just a corrupt business—it’s something far darker.

“So your father’s company...” I start, trying to piece together what she’s revealing. “They’re more than just government contractors. They’re actively supplying weapons to...?”

“Yes, but it’s more than that. Faber-Ward, handles logistics and supplies for high-level contracts, including military defense. But they’ve made deals with some questionable people. Very bad people, Thorne. Arms dealers. Dictators. Enemies of the United States.”

Her voice trembles with barely contained frustration. “I walked away because I didn’t want to be a part of it. It’s all blood money, and I didn’t want that on my hands.”

I sit up, still absorbing this. When she gave a little peek into her family dynamics, I figured she meant her family company was ignoring greenhouse emissions regulations, or something less overt in its evilness.

But this is something else. A whole other world. “Faber-Ward,” I say, almost to myself, the name sinking in. “I’ve heard of them now that you're talking about them. They’re global and do a lot in the Middle East, right?”

When I read it this morning at first I glossed over that part, the company so ephemeral it barely registered on my radar. But I have heard of them.

“They are,” she says quietly. “I’m ashamed to admit it.”

“You have nothing to be ashamed of. You should be damned proud you stood up for your beliefs and walked away from what would have been an easy life for you if you turned a blind eye.”

“Thorne, we were right there,” she says, her voice cracking slightly. “In the middle of it. People could have died—we could have died. Because of them.”

I glance at her, watching the way she struggles to keep her composure. “If that bombing had gone differently, if we’d been killed...”

She shakes her head, her voice thick with disbelief. “The irony is almost too much. I spent years protesting to my father, begging him to transition into a more peaceful contribution to the world. He could have been a billionaire several times over in a hundred different ways, but he wouldn't stop. He was greedy and dangerous, telling me he couldn't abandon the network he had spent his life building."

Hearing her process this is painful. I can't even imagine how this must feel. And I thought my father investing two hundred grand and riding my ass was bad. This is inconceivable.

I don’t know what to say. The realization settles in for both of us—the coincidence, the sheer twist of fate that landed us at that terminal. I can see the realization of it crushing her, the bitterness that her family’s dealings still manage to find a way to pull her in, even after she left.

“Woodley,” I say quietly, “how big is your father’s company?”

She lets out a laugh, almost as if she can’t believe I don’t know. “It’s massive, Thorne. Faber-Ward is a global entity, involved in every kind of contract security worldwide that you can imagine. It doesn’t have my family’s name on it because my father wantedit that way—he wanted the business separate from us, so he kept the names different. But trust me, it’s my family. And it’s the reason I walked away.”

I swallow, the weight of it sinking in. I had no idea. None. I look at her, this woman who’s spent the entire trip defying expectations, and now I understand why.

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