Page 22 of Silent Vendetta (Vendetta Duet)

“They might think they know, but trust me, no one does at your age.”

“But…” I started.

“And what you do for a living doesn’t define you. It’s what you do with your life that defines you, son. What kind of man do you want to be?”

I blinked. “A good man.”

Every ounce of Dad was one of kindness and strength. He loved his family and helped people every chance he got. Like one day, the news aired a story about a child whose parents couldn’t afford cancer treatment. I overheard Dad on the phone arranging to pay their medical bills anonymously.

“I want to be just like you, Dad.”

Why did he look at the ground with a sad, crumpled face? And why did he take such a long time to meet my eyes again?

“Thank you, Hunter. I needed to hear that.”

“Why?”

He cleared his throat. “I’m about to do something that will be very difficult. But it’s the right thing to do. Doing the right thing is important, even if it’s harder than staying silent. Do you understand?”

I nodded.

“Now, do you still owe an answer to your teacher?”

“She said I can turn it in tomorrow.”

“How about this?” Dad stood and motioned for me to sit at the head of his desk. He had never let anyone sit there before, and I felt so special that he was letting me.

I walked slowly around his desk and sat down in the leather chair.

Dad took a seat in one of the chairs normally reserved for business guests.

“You have so many options for your career, Hunter. You could run the business.” Dad picked up a picture of Grandpa that was framed on his desk and smiled at it. “Like me and my dad.”

But my heart jumped when something dark moved in the shadows of the hallway behind my father.

The hallway light was off, but whoever it was, was lurching closer to the office’s open door.

Inch. By. Inch.

My heart pounded against my chest, threatening to burst out, while a stifling silence trapped my voice.

“You could be a doctor,” Dad said.

I gripped the armrests of my father’s chair, willing Dad to look up from the photo, to look over his shoulder.

The figure stepped closer to the doorway.

“A firefighter.”

My hands trembled, and I tried to raise them, to point in warning since my voice wouldn’t work. But I couldn’t move.

As the shadow sharpened with each step, the chilling realization hit me: an intruder was approaching, and I was paralyzed with fear, staring right at him. While Dad was lost in the photograph of Grandpa.

“A teacher,” Dad said.

The man held his finger up to his lips, silently telling me to keep quiet.

Scream, Hunter!

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