BLACK LEDGER

7

The rain fell in a light drizzle, blurring the silhouette of the tall man standing in the shadows of a large oak tree across the street. Kellan—or Sebastian Crowe—pulled the collar of his black coat tight. His dark glasses were off, leaving behind a gaze hungry for the sight in front of him.

This was the fourteenth night since the world presumed him ashes at the border.

Kellan knew he was violating Sydney’s orders. He knew Vane was likely reporting his position right now. But the union of longing and rage in his chest had reached a boiling point. He had to see his home. He had to make sure the door was locked tight to protect his family.

However, what he saw instead made him want to burn the entire block down.

The porch light was on, casting a warm yellow glow toward Dwayne’s black SUV, still parked in the driveway. It was no longer the parking job of a guest; the car was positioned dead center, exactly where Kellan used to park his old car.

Kellan stepped closer, his trained feet moving soundlessly over the wet pavement. He climbed the side fence, landing silently on the grass that was beginning to grow long—Dwayne apparently didn't care much for yard maintenance.

Kellan crept toward the living room window, where the curtains were slightly parted.

Inside, his world was being turned upside down.

Gina sat on the sofa, her head resting on Dwayne’s shoulder. She held a glass of warm tea; her eyes were swollen, but she was no longer sobbing. Dwayne was reading something from his tablet, occasionally stroking Gina’s arm with a movement that was very familiar. Too familiar.

"Bastard," Kellan hissed. His hands clenched until his knuckles turned white, his nails digging into palms that still bore the scars of the battlefield.

Suddenly, little Leo ran into the room carrying his broken robot toy. The robot Kellan had promised to fix when he returned from his mission.

"Uncle Dwayne, the robot won't turn on!" Leo's high-pitched voice drifted faintly through the window glass.

Kellan froze. His heart felt as if it had been struck by a sledgehammer. Uncle Dwayne.

Dwayne smiled—the most disgusting smile Kellan had ever seen—and took the toy.

"Come here, Champ. Let Uncle take a look. Your dad might have been great in the field, but when it comes to wiring, Uncle is the expert."

Dwayne then lifted Leo, sat him on his lap, and began pretending to fix the toy. Gina watched them both with a look that destroyed Kellan's soul: a look full of gratitude and relief.

Kellan felt nauseous. He wanted to smash that window, drag Dwayne out, and show Leo who his real father was. But he felt the pistol at his hip—the one Sydney had given him. If he went in now, he wouldn't be the returning hero. He would be a monster in a suit who would shatter the false peace they were building.

Suddenly, Dwayne stood up. He helped Gina to her feet, then guided her toward the second-floor stairs.

Kellan's blood boiled.

He knew where those stairs led. Their room. His bed.

Kellan circled to the back of the house, climbed the water pipe with the speed of a commando, and reached the master bedroom balcony in seconds. He stood in the darkness outside, peering through the gap in the sliding door curtains.

Dwayne was tucking Gina into bed.

"Get some rest, Gina. You need your strength for the meeting with Ares Capital tomorrow," Dwayne's voice sounded soft, but to Kellan, it sounded like a snake.

"Thank you, Dwayne. I don't know what would happen to me and Leo if you weren't here," Gina answered faintly.

Dwayne paused for a moment. He brushed Gina’s forehead, then leaned down. For a second that felt like an eternity, Kellan thought Dwayne was going to kiss his wife’s lips. Kellan already had his hand on the sliding door handle, ready to blow the glass apart and end Dwayne’s life on the spot.

But Dwayne only kissed Gina’s forehead.

"I’ll always be here. Go to sleep," Dwayne said.

Dwayne walked out of the room, turned off the light, and closed the door. Kellan remained standing on the balcony, his breath heavy behind his black cloth mask. He waited. Ten minutes. Twenty minutes.

Until finally, he heard the front door close and the roar of Dwayne’s SUV engine fading away.

Kellan didn't leave immediately. He opened the sliding door slowly—he knew exactly where the creaking hinge was because he had installed it himself. He stepped into his own room.

The scent of Gina’s perfume mixed with the aroma of Leo’s eucalyptus oil filled his senses. The room was dark, lit only by the dim moonlight. Kellan stood beside the bed, staring at the face of his sleeping wife. Gina looked exhausted, even in her sleep.

Kellan knelt beside the bed. He desperately wanted to touch Gina’s cheek, to feel the warmth of her skin, but his hand stopped in mid-air. His hands were dirty. Not from the blood of enemies at the border, but from the blood of the lie he was now living.

He looked at the nightstand. There, their wedding photo was still there, but its position had been shifted by a stack of legal aid documents from Dwayne’s office.

Kellan picked up the document. Underneath, he found something that made him stop breathing:

A life insurance claim form in the name of Kellan Draik, already signed by Gina as the beneficiary, with Dwayne as the legal witness.

"You've prepared everything, Dwayne," Kellan whispered in the darkness. "You buried me alive before my body was even accounted for."

Kellan put the document back. He stood up, looking at Gina for the last time that night.

"Two weeks, Gina," he murmured softly. "It only took two weeks for him to sit in my chair. But I promise you... he will never own this place entirely."

Kellan stepped back, exited through the same balcony door, and vanished into the night.

When he returned to the Rolls-Royce parked two blocks away, Vane was waiting in the driver's seat. His assistant's face was rigid.

"Sydney is going to be very angry, Mr. Crowe," Vane said without turning.

"Let her be angry," Kellan replied as he leaned his head against the cold leather seat. "Take me to the coffee shop on the corner of the business district. I need caffeine to kill this nausea."

The car glided away. Kellan watched his house grow smaller in the rearview mirror. His thoughts were no longer about longing. His thoughts were now about purification.

He had just realized that the hardest war isn't against an enemy holding a rifle, but against a "best friend" holding your wife's hand while you are presumed dead.

"Dwayne Philips," Kellan hissed. "Enjoy your last night as a hero. Because tomorrow, Sebastian Crowe will start tearing off your mask."