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Excited and hopeful, Juan typed, Haven’t heard from you in a while.
Sorry about that. You okay?
He wanted to answer honestly, tell his concerned friend everything that had happened, all the things that had been going on since they’d last chatted, but he couldn’t. What if this was a trick? What if the organization was testing his loyalty? If they found out how scared he was, how much he didn’t want this kind of life, how much he wanted out of it, they would kill both him and Mamá. Of that, he had no doubt.
Before he could answer, another message appeared.
They’re lying to you
Juan typed, About what?
Everything. You can’t trust them. You’re their pawn, nothing more.
Fear spiked through him. He knew this. Of course he knew this. But to have it confirmed, and by this stranger, made it seem all the more real. What was he supposed to do?
Juan asked, Who are you?
Same person as before. A concerned friend.
What do you want?
For you to have a chance at a better life
Why?
Because you don’t have to be your father’s son
Furious, Juan typed a vicious reply. His father was…his father had been…his father… Tears filled Juan’s eyes as he acknowledged the truth. His father had not been a good man. He had killed many people and had destroyed lives. He had been a good papá, but not a good man.
Deleting the curses and insults, Juan instead typed, What do you want from me?
Your trust.
How can I give it if I don’t know you?
You don’t have to know me to know you can trust me.
He couldn’t just take this person’s word for it. He typed, Give me proof that I can trust you.
Check your email.
Juan hadn’t looked at his personal email in months. He had a business email account that he used to correspond with distributors, but his personal account was highly encrypted, and few people outside his personal acquaintances knew the address.
He clicked a few keys and logged into his email. There were dozens of spam ads, but his eyes quickly found the email from concernedfriend. He clicked on it. A photo of an old enemy appeared—the man who had destroyed his father. He remembered him from that day. He’d been the one in charge, the one to give the order to handcuff his father. Juan remembered yelling at him, sobbing, and pleading to leave his papá alone.
The man’s name was Hawke.
Juan returned to the IM thread and typed, He’s dead.
That’s what they want you to think.
Jerking back in his chair, Juan felt his heart thud against his chest. Was this true, or some kind of cruel joke? They had promised Mamá that all the people responsible for destroying his papá were either dead or on a hit list to be killed. The one named Hawke had been of particular interest to Juan. He’d been the one who’d given orders. And he’d been the one Juan had pleaded with, had literally begged to leave his papá alone. To Juan, Hawke was the face of his family’s destruction.
Could he still be alive? Had they lied about killing him? If so, why? And if they lied about this, what else had they lied about?
Quickly, Juan typed, How do I know this isn’t an old photograph?
He impatiently waited for an answer. After several seconds, he typed, Are you still there?