Page 97 of Severed Rivalry
The meeting with the FBI was not at all what I expected. There was no back-door cloak-and-dagger meeting in an abandoned warehouse. Instead, three men met for beers in a bar in Fort Collins.
Very full circle if you ask me.
The city has changed since I left college, but the soul of it is still the same. It has a special place in my heart, so it was fitting to meet here.
Ren and the guy shot the shit for a while. Turns out his wife is from Evergreen and they’re here on vacation—a working one since they booked flights on Thursday expressly to allow for this meeting. More smoothly than I could imagine, Ren paid the tab with cash, leaving a thumb drive atop the coaster next to the bill.
“It’s a copy. Start with the document labeledStart hereand it should walk you through everything. Links to originals are in the doc labeled the same. My source will answer any questions you have. Just go through me.”
“You trust the source and the data?”
“One hundred percent. No motive otherwise. Just a mom with a kid who was served up nudes in a gaming app.”
“With these kinds of skills?”
One nod, that’s it. Ren offered one nod, shook the guy’s hand, and we left.
I did the same, saying next to nothing during the whole meeting.
If the agent thought anything of the black and blue man with an eye bandage riding shotgun with his buddy, he said nothing.
I was home and in bed soon after, exhausted beyond measure.
Saturday and Sunday felt the same.
I’ve done too much, pushed too hard, and outdone my meds. If I never see another pill, I’ll be good with that. But after…
Sariah wasn’t lying about the Tramadol. That shit is worth its weight in gold.
The next week slides by. I have appointments with my plastic surgeon for my eye, which is healing so well, I’m allowed to remove the bandages.
I also have appointments with the maxillofacial specialist and my dentist. The jaw is healing well enough that I have less than two weeks to go with the wires. I’m disappointed but won’t complain about being average. I can get my implants in six weeks. My cheek caving in on my left side is only hidden by the swelling and once that diminishes, the rest will be more obvious.
I’d never recommend starting a new relationship with a busted face, missing teeth, and a wired jaw. This sucks.
But it’s coming together.
Nothing has happened yet to bring down the offenders.
Sariah’s gone to work. Rosie has too.
Renée goes to school. And I stay at home building Phoenix and waiting on my sister’s audit to determine if I can afford to keep the life I’ve built.
The wires come off four weeks and three days after they went on. Four weeks and three days after my eye was smashed and my father decided I should be sacrificed for his convenience.
My first call is to Sariah who’s at work, to ask her to lunch.
My face is no longer black and blue, but the yellow stains “mar my rugged good looks” according to my sister who nolonger has a reason to dote on me or chauffeur me or otherwise invade my life.
She and Franklin will celebrate by taking Ellie and me on a hike next week.
But my lunch date awaits. As I walk Sixteenth Street Mall, my phone rings.
“Hello?”
“Cian Murphy?”
“Yes.”
