Chapter 5 - DYLAN’S NAME
“It’s identity theft.”
That was Dylan’s first explanation.
Maybe.
We checked.
The company filing was three years old.
Digital signature.
His birthday.
Home address.
Social Security verification.
Too much information.
Dylan sat.
“I never signed this.”
Vanessa said:
“You worked for Vale.”
Everyone looked at her.
He stared.
“What?”
She folded her arms.
“Two summers.”
“Consulting.”
“For his company.”
“You knew?”
“You told me.”
Dylan went pale.
“I told you I did project management.”
“You told me his name.”
He looked at me.
“I forgot.”
“Convenient.”
His face hardened.
“Don’t.”
I stood.
“Don’t what?”
“Turn me into part of this because you’re angry at Mom.”
“I’m angry at everybody.”
“Obviously.”
Owen moved between us with nothing but posture.
“Enough.”
Dylan looked away.
He had worked for Vale Strategic Advisory four years after I came home.
He handled logistics databases.
Vendor records.
Administrative contracts.
Nothing classified, according to him.
“Did Vale know who you were?”
“Of course.”
“My brother?”
“Yes.”
“Did he ever mention me?”
Dylan hesitated.
There.
“Once.”
“What?”
“He asked if you were doing better.”
“And?”
“I said yes.”
“Was I?”
He looked down.
No.
At that time I was sleeping three hours a night and drinking too much.
Mom called it “adjusting.”
Dylan called it “being dramatic.”
He knew.
Vale knew.
Owen asked:
“What else?”
“He asked if Harper ever talked about Afghanistan.”
“What did you say?”
Dylan looked ashamed.
“I said no.”
That was true.
Then:
“He asked whether she kept records.”
My entire body went still.
“What did you tell him?”
“Nothing.”
“Dylan.”
“I said Mom had some boxes.”
Mom stood.
“You told him?”
“I didn’t know.”
“You told a stranger I had Harper’s military papers?”
“He wasn’t a stranger.”
There it was.
That family curse.
Familiar meant safe.
“I thought he was helping,” Dylan said.
Owen asked:
“Did Vale ever visit your mother?”
Dylan frowned.
“I don’t know.”
Mom went quiet.
Again.
I stared at her.
“Did he?”
She whispered:
“Once.”
I laughed.
Of course.
Everyone had visited my life except me.
“When?”
“Three years ago.”
“Why?”
“He said Thomas Maddox had left something unfinished.”
Owen’s face hardened.
“What did you give him?”
“Nothing.”
“What did he take?”
“Nothing.”
“How do you know?”
“I was with him.”
“Were you?”
She stared.
Then remembered.
She had gone upstairs to make tea.
Ten minutes.
Maybe twelve.
That was enough.
We inventoried the box.
One item was missing.
A small metal case.
I remembered it.
Medical supply tin.
Inside:
Three bloodstained ID bands cut from the survivors during treatment.
I kept them because the emergency forms were later rewritten.
Those bands contained original identifiers.
Owen stood.
“My father’s name.”
“Yes.”
“If Vale took them…”
“He destroyed physical proof Thomas was there.”
Silence.
Dylan whispered:
“I brought him into this house.”
I looked at him.
“Yes.”
He flinched.
Good.
Then he said:
“There’s another thing.”
“Of course.”
He had copied files from Vale’s server before leaving.
Not because he suspected conspiracy.
Because Vale withheld his final paycheck.
Dylan wanted leverage.
He never used it.
The drive sat in a drawer.
Vanessa immediately said:
“You still have it?”
Dylan looked at her.
“You told me to throw it away.”
She froze.
My eyes narrowed.
“When?”
“Last year.”
“Why?”
She looked annoyed.
“Because keeping company files is illegal.”
Reasonable.
Maybe.
Then Owen asked:
“How did you know what was on the drive?”
Vanessa opened her mouth.
Nothing.
Dylan stared at his wife.
“Vanessa?”
Her face changed.
The rich, cruel confidence disappeared.
“I looked.”
“When?”
“Once.”
“What did you see?”
She looked toward me.
“Harper’s name.”
My stomach tightened.
“What file?”
She whispered:
“Casualty reconciliation.”
Owen stepped closer.
“What did it say?”
Vanessa swallowed.
“Bellamy should not appear in final report.”
The room went silent.
May you like
The woman who had ripped open my sleeve because she thought my scar was disgusting had known for a year that my name was deliberately removed from an operation.
And she never told me.
