The questions wouldn’t leave me alone.
They circled my mind like vultures, slow and patient, waiting for weakness.
What business did my father have with Zander?
What exactly happened between them?
I’d asked myself those questions a thousand times before, but now they burned sharper, louder, refusing to be pushed aside. Every memory I had of my father portrayed him as careful, calculating, and always watching his back. A man who smiled easily but trusted no one fully. He’d warned me more than once that enemies didn’t always announce themselves. Sometimes they sat at your table. Sometimes they shook your hand.
And Zander had shaken his hand.
I knew that much.
But the why—
That was the part missing.
Even Uncle J didn’t have answers. When I’d pressed him before, his face had tightened
