Chapter 3 - Miles That Didn't BelongMarcus did not storm upstairs.
That surprised Rachel.
Ten years earlier he might have.
At forty-three, he had learned that anger could make truth retreat.
Instead, he printed the mileage history and placed it on the kitchen counter.
“Tomorrow,” he said.
Rachel looked uneasy.
“You're going to sleep?”
“I'm going to try.”
“You think Jordan can?”
Marcus glanced toward the ceiling.
“No.”
Neither could.
At six-thirty the next morning, Jordan came downstairs dressed for school.
He stopped when he saw the paper beside Marcus's coffee.
Rachel was already preparing breakfast.
Marcus tapped the chair.
“Sit.”
Jordan did.
Marcus slid the printout forward.
Jordan looked at the map.
Color drained subtly from his face.
“You want to explain these trips?”
Jordan stared.
“I don't remember.”
“Hawthorne Street?”
Silence.
“Westbridge Storage?”
Jordan rubbed his palms against his joggers.
“Dad—”
“And First Metro Bank.”
Rachel turned from the stove.
Jordan looked trapped.
Marcus kept his voice quiet.
“You told us you were at the library Tuesday.”
“I was.”
“The car wasn't.”
Jordan looked down.
“Maybe the app is wrong.”
Marcus almost smiled at the desperation of it.
“The app isn't wrong by eighteen miles.”
Rachel sat beside Jordan.
“Who were you meeting?”
“No one.”
“Jordan.”
“I said no one.”
Marcus folded his arms.
“Was it Adrian?”
Jordan's eyes shot up.
There it was.
Not surprise.
Fear.
Marcus felt his stomach tighten.
“Your uncle?”
Jordan stood.
“I have to go to school.”
Marcus remained seated.
“We're not finished.”
“I'll miss the bus.”
Rachel said, “I'll drive you.”
Jordan's expression collapsed.
For a moment he looked much younger than sixteen.
“I don't want to talk about it.”
Marcus rose now.
“That's not an option anymore.”
“Why?”
“Because you lied about the cigarette. You lied about where you've been. Now your uncle's name scares you.”
“He doesn't scare me.”
“Then tell me the truth.”
Jordan grabbed his backpack.
“You wouldn't understand.”
“Try me.”
“You already decided I'm some criminal because I smoked!”
“Nobody said criminal.”
“You're looking at me like one.”
Marcus flinched.
Rachel stepped between the emotional edges of the room.
“Jordan, your father is scared.”
Marcus looked at her.
Jordan did too.
Rachel continued.
“He's not saying it well. But that's what this is.”
Marcus let out a breath.
“Yes.”
Jordan's anger softened for half a heartbeat.
Then his phone buzzed.
He looked down.
Marcus saw the name before Jordan tilted the screen away.
UNCLE ADRIAN.
Marcus said nothing.
Jordan declined the call.
His hand trembled.
“Why is Adrian calling you before seven in the morning?”
Jordan shoved the phone into his hoodie.
“I don't know.”
Marcus stepped aside from the doorway.
“Go to school.”
Jordan looked surprised.
“We're continuing tonight.”
Rachel grabbed her keys.
“I'll take you.”
“No.”
“You don't have a car.”
“I'll take the bus.”
He left.
The door slammed.
Rachel stood motionless.
Marcus picked up his coffee but didn't drink.
“He's protecting Adrian.”
“Or he's scared of what Adrian has on him.”
Marcus turned.
“What does Adrian have on my son?”
Rachel had no answer.
At school, Jordan could not concentrate.
Every vibration of his phone felt like an alarm.
During lunch he finally walked behind the gym and called Adrian.
His uncle answered immediately.
“What did you tell him?”
“Nothing.”
“You sure?”
“He knows about the storage place.”
Adrian cursed softly.
“And the bank?”
“He saw the car history.”
A pause.
“Listen to me. You didn't do anything wrong.”
Jordan almost laughed.
“You gave me cash to carry envelopes.”
“I paid you for helping me.”
“You told me not to tell Dad.”
“Because your father controls everything.”
Jordan pressed his back against the brick wall.
“He's asking questions.”
“Then answer as little as possible.”
“I can't keep lying.”
Adrian's voice hardened.
“You think Marcus is going to understand you smoking? Skipping study hall? Taking two hundred dollars from me?”
Jordan closed his eyes.
“I didn't know what you were doing.”
“Exactly.”
“What are you doing?”
Silence.
Then Adrian softened again.
“Family business.”
“What kind?”
“The kind your father never thinks you're old enough to hear.”
Jordan looked down at his shoes.
“I want out.”
“You are out.”
“Then stop calling me.”
Another pause.
“Fine.”
Jordan nearly relaxed.
Then Adrian added, “But bring me the envelope first.”
Jordan's fingers tightened around the phone.
“No.”
“Jordan.”
“No.”
“You don't want that envelope sitting in your house.”
“Why?”
Adrian did not answer.
Jordan heard only breathing.
Finally his uncle said, “Because if Marcus opens it, he's going to think you betrayed him a lot worse than you already have.”
The call ended.
Jordan stood alone behind the gym.
For the first time, he realized Adrian was not protecting him.
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He was using him.
And the manila envelope was still inside Jordan's backpack.
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