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It took me about two seconds of staring at it before I realized my hand was shaking slightly. There was a full phone number there. Although I wasn’t sure why, I felt like the number was familiar. I entered it into my phone, feeling like I was finally making the very first connection toward understanding how my father’s business ruined my family.

I could hear my heart thump as the phone connected.

“Hello.” A man’s deep and steady voice echoed out of the phone.

“Who is this?” I asked.

A slight hesitation before he stated, “Ronan O’Connor”.

I hung up instantly. I looked up at the charred ledger lying on the burnt floor. O’Connor. Everyone knew that name in the Hub.

When I got back to the car, I remained frozen in the driver’s seat, staring through the windshield at the burned house. My hands were still wrapped around my phone, but I could barely feel it.

Ronan O’Connor.

Somehow, that name was connected to my family. To the fire and the night my parents died. I sat there staring at the house where my life had ended fifteen years ago, realizing that whatever I’d just uncovered was far more dangerous than I’d imagined.

CHAPTER FOUR

Ronan

The first call came three days after the meeting at the base. I was sitting in my office reviewing a set of contracts when my phone vibrated against my desk. The number was blocked, which wasn’t unusual enough to concern me. People who wanted access to me rarely called from numbers I recognized. I answered without looking away from the document in front of me.

“Ronan O’Connor.”

There was no response. I waited several seconds before asking, “Who is this?”

The caller disconnected. I looked at the phone for a moment before placing it back on the desk. I assumed it was a wrong number or someone testing whether the line was active, so I returned to the contracts and dismissed the interruption.

The second call came the following afternoon. This time, the number appeared briefly on my screen before disappearing, but I answered anyway.

“Yes?”

There was only silence on the other end. I waited for the caller to speak, but the line disconnected again before I could say anything else. When I tried to call the number back, the automated message told me that the number was no longer in service.

That irritated me more than it concerned me. If someone wanted to speak to me, they could speak to me. If they wanted to threaten me, they should make the threat. I had no patience for people who preferred games to direct action.

The third call came that evening, while I was in the back office of one of our businesses. Trevor was sitting across from me, reviewing reports from two of our contacts, when my phone vibrated against the table. He glanced toward it before looking at me.

“Are you expecting someone?”

I answered the call. “Ronan.”

The caller didn’t respond, although I could hear what sounded like faint breathing on the other end before the line went dead. Trevor watched me place the phone back on the table.

“That’s the third one. Want me to trace it?”

“No. Whoever is calling hasn’t said anything.”

Trevor studied me for a moment before returning his attention to the report in front of him.

“The strange calls lately…you think they have something to do with the old records?”

“I don’t know.”

He seemed to accept that answer, although I could tell he wasn’t convinced. The calls continued over the next several days. Some came during the afternoon when I was working, while others arrived late at night when I was at home. A few came from blocked numbers, while others appeared to come from disconnected lines, but none lasted more than a few seconds and none of the callers ever said anything.

I started keeping track of the times they came through, hoping a pattern would emerge. There was none that I could see, and that bothered me. People who wanted something from me usually followed a pattern. They contacted the right people, applied pressure where it was most effective, and eventually made their intentions clear. Whoever was calling me seemed to want something different.