Total pages in book: 143
Estimated words: 132834 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 664(@200wpm)___ 531(@250wpm)___ 443(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 132834 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 664(@200wpm)___ 531(@250wpm)___ 443(@300wpm)
Before I had a chance to think about it, the door clanked open. A guard held it, watching with sharp eyes as Ford passed through, followed by another guard. If I hadn’t known it was Ford in that orange jumpsuit, I wasn’t sure I would have recognized him.
Ford came to a stop on the other side of the table, facing us. My eyes skipped from him to Griffen and back again, trying to take them in. Growing up, Griffen and Ford had always looked like twins to me. When they were younger, Griffen was always ahead of Ford, the two years between them meaning Griffen was just a little taller, a little stronger.
By the time I was old enough to really pay attention, they’d both gone through puberty and were pretty much identical except for Griffen’s blond hair to Ford’s dark brown. They had the same tall build, the same broad shoulders, the same sea-green eyes Miss Martha told me they got from their mother. They almost looked like twins.
I could see echoes of the Ford I knew in the man standing in front of me, but only echoes. The Ford standing in front of me wasn’t half of a pair. This was a different man entirely. His cheekbones jutted out in sharp blades, and his collarbone was starkly defined against his white t-shirt.
I’d seen too many movies of prisoners doing endless push-ups in the yard. Somehow I guess I expected Ford to be muscled and covered in tattoos, even though the Ford I’d known would never have let a tattoo touch his patrician skin.
This Ford wasn’t muscled or tattooed. He was pale, his hair dull, his body far too thin. His eyes, though—his eyes were as sharp as ever. When they landed on me, they narrowed. “Finn. Griffen. What brings you two for a visit?”
As if he weren’t in an orange prison jumpsuit, his hands and feet chained, he pulled out his chair and sat, giving me the disconcerting feeling we were in his office for a meeting instead of a prison visiting room.
Griffen didn’t waste time. “We found a briefcase yesterday,” he said. “In it were some contracts and a ransom letter.”
Ford laced his fingers together, resting them on the table, suddenly looking like an executive about to negotiate a deal despite the orange jumpsuit and lack of a tie. He gave a rueful smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Someone finally dug into the historical records.”
Griffen nodded.
“And you’re here because—” Ford raised an eyebrow for a second, looking so much like Griffen, I got disoriented.
Before Griffen could speak, I heard my own voice. “You and Dad set me up. You were going to let them kill me. Did you even know what happened? After? Did you know what happened to me?”
His facade cracked as he sat back, his gaze catching on the wire-covered window high above. He stared at that bright spot of natural light, the only real thing in a box of concrete and fluorescent glare. The moment dragged. I refused to break the silence, and Griffen said nothing.
“Let it go,” Ford said, finally, dragging his gaze back to us, his eyes expressionless.
“What the fuck does that mean?” Griffen demanded, his voice a rough whisper.
Ford stared at him evenly. “Let it go. It was ten years ago.” He looked to me. “You’re here. You’re fine. Let it go.”
Griffen surged to his feet and slammed his palm down on the table so hard both guards straightened with alarm. “What the fuck does that mean?” he repeated in a roar.
I sat back, trying to process. I couldn’t remember ever seeing Griffen angry. Not like this. Quietly furious, maybe, but now rage burned from him.
He leaned forward. “How could you do that?” His burning eyes flashed to me. “He’s your brother, for god’s sake. He was a kid. What the fuck is wrong with you? Do you even know what happened to him? Do you know how close it was?”
I thought about Griffen’s clenched jaw on the ride here, the exact source of his rage now clear. These were the questions I should have asked but couldn’t bring myself to. Griffen had no such trouble. He slammed a fist on the table, the deputy in the corner taking a step forward before Griffen pulled his hand back, shoving it in his pocket. He was furious, but he still had enough control to know we wouldn’t get any answers if we were thrown out for assaulting the prisoner.
Ford moved his arm as if to cross his arms over his chest, then realized his restraints wouldn’t allow it and dropped his hands into his lap. He looked at me with something that might have been remorse. Maybe. Or maybe it was an act. I wasn’t sure I could tell anymore. The memory of him I had built up in my head did not match the man sitting in front of me. I understood that I didn’t know Ford at all.