Page 110 of Sigma

He growls. “We’ve discussed it. If every launch and every orbital docking goes off without a single hitch, she’ll think about it.” A huff. “Think about it. Valkyrie is my fucking company. I’m going.”

I laugh and pat his arm. “I know you will, Dad.”

He digs in the inside pocket of his suit coat—he had an investors’ meeting just now. “This came for you.”

It’s an envelope. Plain, old school white envelope. My name is printed in neat block letters, in black ink.

My full name.

Not Rin. Not Rinna.

Corinna.

“It came for me…here? At work?” I take it from him, but just hold it. “In the mail?”

He shakes his head—his gaze is more serious than ever. Concerned. “Courier.”

I stare at the envelope, heart palpitating. “It’s from him.”

“So I assumed.”

“Has Uncle Harry…heard anything?”

I’ve intentionally stayed away from anything to do with A1S, with security, with that whole realm. And until this moment, I haven’t heard a single word from or about him in two years.

I haven’t been on a date. I haven’t hooked up with anyone. I’ve helped myself through bouts of loneliness and long nights of restless arousal via vibrators and vivid memories.

Dad shrugs. “Rumblings. There’s been…a reorganization, in the criminal underworld. It’s hard to get much concrete intel, but it seems like he’s done what you asked—divested himself of everything to do with the Karahalios criminal empire.” A glance at me. “I’ve heard other stuff, too. Not related to the Karahalios side of things.”

“Such as?” I trace the letters on the envelope.

“Well, I had a team of assistants do some digging into his legitimate business interests. Which are, to be honest, shockingly varied. Medical research, telecom, pharmaceuticals, VC investment, construction.”

“And?”

“Well, it seems like he’s streamlined things.” A shrug. “Sold or merged a bunch of corporations and subsidiaries, acquired and merged and so on …the bigger deal is he’s gone from a shadowy figure in the background, the kind of billionaire you would never know exists, to having a rather prominent public persona. He’s appeared at several dozen charity events, always alone, where he’s donated staggering amounts of money. He’s allowed himself to be interviewed a few times…mostly in small-time industry journals, nothing in major media so far. But something. He has a presence in the world. And it’s a good one.”

“What kind of charities?”

“Mostly to do with kids. Troubled youth centers, orphanages, hunger programs, mentorship programs, things like that.” He looks at me, making sure to catch my eye. “He does it quietly. There’s no big fanfare, no giant checks or ribbon cutting. He just donates millions of dollars to these small-potatoes organizations and programs struggling to get by.”

“So what you’re saying is…” I prompt.

“What I’m saying is…” he sighs, rubs his face. “I admit I didn’t think he was…capable of…of good. But it sure as hell seems like he’s trying.”

“Everyone is capable of good, Daddy. And you don’t know him. I barely know him. But I saw enough to know he just needed a push in the right direction by someone willing to believe in him.”

Daddy stares once more out the window at the jet. “God knows that was true of me, once upon a time.”

“If and when he shows up, will you be nice?” I ask.

He sighs, and it’s more of a growl than a sigh. “I’ll try. But I’ll have my hackles up. It’s hard to forget whose son he is.”

I hesitate. “The little he told me about his childhood is not my story to tell. But…I don’t think it’s fair to hold his last name against him. I feel like maybe he’s just as much a victim as you and Mom were.”

He turns to me leans in to kiss my cheek. “Do what you need to do, baby girl. I trust you.” He grins as he turns away, re-buttoning the middle button of his suit coat. “And also, as you said, it’s not up to me.”

When he’s gone, I slide my finger under the flap of the envelope. Within, a single small square of paper, with more neat handwriting: