Page 129 of Seeing Grayscale

No signs of weakness or fear.

No backtracking on my story, or fumbling details.

Whatever crap going on at OAT in my absence will have to wait. The companycango to the CEO after all. I bring the cigarette wedged between my fingers up to my mouth and inhale deeply.

Like any interview that borders on an interrogation, I review everything in my head one last time. Gray was homeless, seemed capable, so I offered to help him in an attempt to better understand the flaws in our state’s system, specifically the foster system. How neglect, abuse, and overall poor management have played a huge role in the homeless population.

I will keep things simple and to the point. There doesn’t need to be any details about Gray as a person. He’s a number as far as this conversation is concerned. He’s a means to an end, so my dad, the governor, can take this information and make necessary improvements.

This will work.

My dad will see it as me taking initiative, that I’m determined to learn about the people of our state, and when the time comes, I’ll be a good candidate for governor.

I’ll blow O’Connell right out of the running.

It’ll befine.

So why can’t I fucking breathe?

The drive to their house goes by too quickly; before I know it, I’m in the driveway. I brace myself, swallow down the ball in my throat, and ignore the rapid thumping of my pulse. My mom’s car is missing from the driveway, and Felix and Isaac’s SUV is gone, too, which means I won’t have her here for a buffer. Even though I’m not over our conversation, it would’ve been nice to have a witness for this in case it all goes horribly wrong.

Fuck. It’s going to go wrong, isn’t it?

Bile rushes up my throat, but again, I swallow it down. The mask is in place; I can’t let it fracture and fall apart now. Straightening my spine, I open the front door and walk in. The soft drone of the TV is on in the living room, and a news station is rattling on and on about stock markets. A clink in the kitchen signals life, so I head that way.

Dressed in his typical suit, my dad stands at the counter, staring out the window. As much as we differ in our appearances, his demeanor and posture make me know he’s my father. I open my mouth to say something, but the sharp inhale tells me not to speak. He’s pissed. The text was a facade to lure me here.

Damn it to hell.

“I won’t repeat myself as I have in mymanytexts, Hunter.”

“Dad, I—”

His hand shoots up, silencing me. Still staring out the window, he continues in a calm voice, “You will do what I say when I say it, and I won’t hear otherwise.”

“Can I at least explain—”

“Hunter Everett!” he growls, solidifying me to stone with his sharp glare. My stomach twists, sending warning bells through my skull and a palpable desperation to fix it. To get in his good graces again. “A felon, son? You brought afeloninto your home?”

I know better than to respond, so I don’t. My head dips, and I drop my gaze to the floor. In an attempt to hide my balled-up fists, I slide them into my pockets.

“Our public appearance iseverything.I don’t care what half-cocked idea you had when you decided this would be acceptable. And I don’t care what excuses you’ve spent the last day coming up with to try and force feed me.” He straightens his already straight tie. “What do you think will happen when other unfortunate people hear this unbelievable story? Go on, answer me.”

“I don’t know.”

“Yes, you do. Don’t be an idiot. I raised you better.”

My pulse skyrockets. “They’ll think it can happen to them.”

“Exactly. And just how many state officials, both elected and not, would want ahomelessfelonin their home? Sleeping where they sleep? Eating the food they earned? How many, son?”

I glance at him, not sure if this is redundant. The dip of his head is subtle, so I answer. “None. But I was trying to—”

“I don’t want to hear it!” His voice echoes off the kitchen walls. A few breaths are taken before he slices his hand through the air. “Not a single person would allow this. And you, of all people, should know better. I am thegovernor,and in just a few short years, I’ll be the senator ofWashington. If my ownsonis bringing in the street trash, how many others will come knocking at our door? What has gotten into you? How could you do something thismoronic, Hunter?”

Swallowing, I open my mouth, but he shushes me instantly.

“Get rid of him. If he is at your house, I’ll have security called this instant.”

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