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“Grace Porter. Born February sixth, 1971 to Daniel and Virginia Porter in Sacramento, California. One sister, two years younger, named Elena Porter. Spent a year in Europe after high school. Opened her own bakery when she was twenty-four.” This part catches my attention above all others.
My mom owned a bakery...
I always wondered where I got my love for cooking from. I may not remember her, but it warms my heart to know that a part of her is still alive... in me.
“Three years later, she sold her business and relocated to Columbia. I’m assuming she met your father while he was in the U.S. for business. I obviously don’t know the details of their relationship, only that they were married six months later. A few months after, they welcomed a baby girl into the fold.” He stops talking, his eyes trained on me.
“And two years later she died,” I force out.
He nods slowly.
“Do you know how it happened?”
“Are you sure youwantto know?”
“No, but I want you to tell me.”
He hesitates so long that for a moment I think he’s not going to say anything, but finally he takes a deep inhale and begins.
“I was pretty young at the time so I can’t give you a first-hand account, but from what my father has told me, he was able to flip two of your father’s men.”
“Flip them how?”
“I don’t know the arrangement. Blackmail. Bribery. Threats to their families. With my father, you could never be too sure. There was very little he wouldn’t do to get what he wanted, and back then all he wanted was revenge. So much so that he was blinded by it. Consumed by it. And eventually, it became the only thing he cared about.”
“Does that happen often?”
“What?”
“People flipping on the cartels they work for.”
“It happens, but not often. Traitors die the worst kind of death. The kind that takes your family to the grave with you.” I shudder at the thought. “Anyway, they worked on the inside, feeding information directly to my father. And they were the men that killed her when the order was given. They waited until your father was away on business. My father wanted to make sure he lived to feel the pain of your losses the way he felt the pain of my mother’s. They blocked your mother’s door while she slept so she wouldn’t be able to escape. Then they spread accelerant, lit multiple fires throughout the house, and stood outside while it engulfed the entire structure. To this day, no one knows how you escaped.”
A heavy lump has formed at the base of my throat, making it feel like something is stuck there. I wanted the truth, but I didn’t realize how hard the truth would be to hear.
“You were only two. It’s highly unlikely that you got out on your own, though I do have a theory about that.”
“Tell me.” I sit upright, swinging my legs over the side of the bench seat.
“The two men that were secretly working for my father were on guard that night. They knew that if both you and your mother were killed on their watch, they would be dead by morning. I think one of them removed you from the home before the fire was started. They may not have been able to save your mother, but they saved you with hope that would be enough that your father would allow them to live.”
“And did they survive?”
“I don’t know.” He slowly sits up, mirroring my stance as he faces me. “Besides, that’s just a theory. I could be way off base.”
“It’s so hard to believe that I was a part of that. That I’m a part of any of this.”
“After your mother died, your father went to great lengths to keep you hidden from this world. It took my father a long time to track you down. He exhausted about every connection he had to uncover your whereabouts.”
It’s crazy to think that all of this was going on behind the scenes while I was living my life, oblivious to the hidden dangers that were lurking around every corner. To me, I was just Mila Grace. A relatively ordinary girl with a passion for cooking. To them, I was the key to everything.
“You said your father wanted peace... Do you truly believe that?”
“My father grew tired. The years of battle wore heavily on him. Whether his intentions were truly for peace, well, only he and god know for sure.” He shrugs. “I never wanted this life.” He drops his elbows to his knees and leans forward. “You were lucky to escape when you did.”
“I’m not sure lucky is a word I would use,” I say, a hint of bitterness to my voice.
“This life...” He shakes his head. “My father’s legacy... I never wanted any of it. But I also knew from a very early age that I didn’t get a say in the matter. I’ve tried to do better, to be better than he was, and for the longest time I thought I was. But then the other night when I hit you; the way you looked at me rattled me more than I’d like to admit.”
