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“We’d like to begin your interviews this afternoon, if that’s all right.”
I nodded, quickly closing the few feet between us. I didn’t like Nate being alone in the hospital room, not even for a minute.
Pinstripe stuck out his hand. “We’d also like to thank you for your service, and for discretion in everything that’s happened within the last week.”
He was the twelfth Fed to reiterate, in many different ways, that they wanted me to keep my mouth shut. And while I knew I could whistle-blow the hell out of the situation, I had zero interest in reliving it all. What mattered to me was that Nate and Sophia were taken care of, and everything else was bullshit.
“I’m not the only one with highly sensitive information,” I said, lifting my chin.
The suits shared a quick glance.
“Yes,” Pinstripe said. “We understand that, and we plan to discuss this with both Nate and Aleks Petrova.”
“Not until we settle a few things first.” I gestured between us.
Their beady eyes narrowed.
I held up a finger. “One, I want two million transferred to an account in Nate’s name within the next twenty-four hours, or I speak to the press.”
“Justin—”
I held up a second finger, cutting him off. “Two, I want the Federal Protection Program to create a new identity for Aleks Petrova under the name of Sophia Banks. You’ll need to erase the current one she has, it was put together by some kid, and start from scratch. I’m talking the works—new Social Security number, identification, passport, birth certificate, school records, create an online trail for her identity, everything.”
“That could take some time.”
“I’m not done. I also want all her belongings packed up, including everything in her shed, and sent to my home address. And once her new identity is established, I want the same amount, two million dollars, transferred to an account in her name.”
Pinstripe crossed his arms over his chest. “And what about you?”
“What about me?”
“How much does your silence cost?”
“Once you have completed those three things to my satisfaction, you have my word that I will never speak of anything that happened.”
“You don’t want money?”
“Yes. Four million, distributed in the manner I just stated.”
They looked at each other.
After a moment, Pinstripe stuck out his hand. “You have a deal, Mr. Montgomery.”
“Great. Now, please get out of my fucking way.”
I paused at Nate’s door, listening to their footsteps fade down the hallway. After a quick breath, I opened the door.
Nate was staring up at the ceiling, motionless, his eyes vacant.
I didn’t realize I was holding my breath until his gaze found mine.
I shoved the hand of my good arm into my pocket and walked to the side of his bed.
Nate had been abnormally docile since his rescue. Initially, this had concerned me, but once the MRI came back normal, it was explained to me that his emotions—or lack thereof—were a direct result of the physical, emotional, and mental torture he’d sustained while being held in captivity for so long. Nate had coped by emotionally detaching himself from his situation.
Like brother, like brother, I mused. It was strongly advised that I educate myself on trauma so I could help him through the next year of his life.
It felt like the universe was shoving emotions down my throat, placing me in situations where addressing, and reacting to, mental health was unavoidable. First Sophia, and now Nate. Both needed more than I was capable of.
