Chapter 2 - The Secret Under the Cedar
We drove in silence. My father's old Ford pickup truck smelled of sawdust, motor oil, and aged leather. I sat in the middle, wedged between my mother and my father. My hands wouldn't stop shaking.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Robert on the floor. I saw the look of utter, paralyzing terror in his eyes when my father took off his watch. Robert had always bragged about his family's power. His father, Richard Vance, was a wealthy real estate mogul with deep ties to the city’s corrupt political machine and local law enforcement. Robert believed he was untouchable.
But tonight, an old man with a quiet voice had broken him in less than two minutes.
"Dad," I finally spoke up as we turned down the dirt road leading to their secluded property. "Who are you? Really?"
My mother let out a tired sigh and looked out the window.
My father kept his eyes on the dark road. "I am a carpenter, Mia. I shape wood. I build things that are meant to last. But before I built things... my job was to tear things down."
"What does that mean?"
We pulled up to the dark, sprawling farmhouse. Behind it sat his massive workshop, a tin-roofed structure surrounded by towering pines.
"Inside," my father said, turning off the ignition.
We walked into the workshop. The sweet, sharp scent of cedar filled the air. My father walked past his table saws, his chisels, and his half-finished rocking horses. He stopped at a heavy, cast-iron wood-burning stove in the corner. He reached behind it, pulled a hidden lever, and with a low, grinding sound, a section of the wooden floorboards slid back.
Below lay a concrete staircase leading into pitch darkness.
My father flipped a switch. A row of harsh fluorescent lights flickered to life, revealing a subterranean room that looked nothing like a carpenter's workshop.
There were no blocks of wood here.
Mounted on the walls were tactical rifles, handguns, and specialized military gear. Filing cabinets lined the back wall, and on a steel table in the center lay several passports with different names, all bearing my father's face.
"Thirty years ago, I worked for a division of the government that didn't have a name," my father said, walking over to a filing cabinet. "Our job was to clean up messes that couldn't be solved with a courtroom or a badge. When I met your mother, I walked away. They let me leave on one condition: that I stay buried."
He pulled out a thick manila folder. On the front was a black stamp that read: PROJECT VANCE.
My heart stopped. "Vance? As in Robert's family?"
My father opened the folder, revealing old surveillance photos of a young, arrogant Richard Vance—Robert's father.
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"It's not a coincidence that Robert met you, Mia," my father said, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "And it's not a coincidence that he thought he could treat you like garbage. His father sent him to find you. They wanted to see if the ghost had truly retired."
HOOK FOR THE NEXT CHAPTER: Before Mia can process the truth, the sound of heavy tires crushing gravel echoes from the driveway above. The headlights of three black SUVs sweep across the workshop windows.
