“Why now?” Smoke asks. I open the front door and flick on the light, but nothing happens. Probably because I didn’t pay the power bill last month. “Why do you suddenly trust me to tell me whatever it is you’ve been hiding, now?”

“You’ll see soon enough,” I say.

Smoke darts back to the van and grabs a flashlight. He runs back, powering it on. He follows me into the dark house, lighting the way over to the door leading to the basement.

I reach around and feel the wall under the sloped ceiling until I find the dial for the generator. I turn it, and after a few seconds, a rumble sounds. The lights in the basement flicker and blink until they’re fully on. The microwave button beeps with the reminder to set the clock and for once I don’t jump out of my own skin.

Seems a little superfluous at this point.

We get to the bottom of the stairs. Smoke sets down the flashlight and takes in the sight before him.

The computers in the center of the room come alive. Several small fans underneath spin to keep it all from overheating in what sounds like a collective roar.

“I call it the monster,” I explain as Smoke steps into the room. He stops to stare at the eight large monitors. Four on the long desk and four mounted above on pipes hanging from the ceiling.

“You mean your old man called it the monster,” Smoke says, examining my life’s work. He turns to me. “I thought you said you were taking me to him.”

I take a deep breath and stand between him and my life’s work. “I did take you to him.”

“Explain,” Smoke says, crossing his arms over his chest. His vein is pulsing again and I know it’s a sign of his temper growing and his patience shortening. “Cause I don’t see anyone here but us and a bunch of computers your old man used to steal money from Griff.”

“That’s where you’re wrong.” I sit down at my desk like a pianist at his instrument. I run my fingertips lovingly over the keys. I close my eyes and take a deep breath. My fingers play the keyboard will practiced efficiency. The monitors flash screen after screen.

Smoke stands behind me and watches. “Holy shit,” he whispers.

“You already know my father was a hacker. Funny thing is he always told me he worked for the government. Later on, I found out it was all a lie. He was laundering money, but he wasn’t JUST laundering money, he was transferring funds for human traffickers. Taking the money from the people buying sex slaves and sending it to the people selling sex slaves.”

I find my rhythm and glance up at the screens at the visual music I’m creating.

“He spent his whole useless life helping those who buy and sell people. Hiding their monetary transactions so they wouldn’t get caught. HE was the real monster. THIS,” I wave my hands at the computer system I spent years perfecting. “is my monster.”

“What the fuck,” Smoke says. I spin around in my chair and he looks from me to the screens, still flashing.

“Frankie, you said you were taking me to your old man,” he growls.

“And I said I did,” I argue.

Smoke looks around. “Then where the fuck is he?” He asks between gritted teeth. “Don’t fucking toy with me.”

“He’s over there,” I point to the darkened corner of the basement where only the bottom of a large blue rectangular freezer can be seen peeking out from under a blue roof tarp.

Smoke rips the tarp away.

He turns and storms over to me. His heavy feet thudding against the cement floor. He’s furious and aggressive and fucking beautiful all at the same time. My heart and head are pounding. I’m afraid for both myself and for Smoke. He grabs my chair, hands on both of the arm rests and leans in, his face in mine. I see the anger burning in his dark eyes, but I also see hurt, so much hurt my chest pangs despite the position I’m in with my feet dangling above the floor. He thinks I’ve betrayed him.

“Where—” he snarls.

I don’t take my eyes off his. “My father. Frank Helburn is there. He’s IN the cooler.”

Smoke pushes off the chair and stands. “What?”

I meet his eyes. “He’s in the cooler. He’s dead. My father’s dead. He’s been dead.”

Smoke

My ears are fucking ringing. Dead. The motherfucker I’d been looking for all this time is DEAD.

I cross the room to the corner where the dusty blue cooler sits caddy corner underneath a section of dropped ceiling.

I pull on the padlock, but it doesn’t budge. I look around and spot a pair of bolt cutters hanging from the wall. I grab them, snapping the lock off after several blood-vessel-bursting tries.

I need to see for myself that the bastard is dead. I can’t decide if I’m happy or pissed off I didn’t get a chance to do it myself, but I’ll work that out later.

The lid of the cooler doesn’t move when I try to raise it. I bend at the knees and use my back strength. It finally it gives. The ice lining the lid breaks off and shatters around the floor, bouncing around like tiny diamonds as they catch the light from Frankie’s monitors.

Inside is yet another blue tarp which I hastily rip to the side revealing the frozen open-mouthed corpse of Frank Helburn.

Fuck.

Frankie stands beside me, looking down at her dead old man. I think she’s emotionless when it comes to seeing his dead body but then I see it out of the corner of my eye. She’s shaking. And not with despair either. I raise my eyes to hers and sure enough she’s staring down at him with so much hatred burning in her eyes I’m surprised the ice doesn’t melt. “For how long?” I ask.

She meets my eyes.

“Five years.”