Miri turned her head toward the new voice. This one with a French accent and coming from a middle-aged man who Miri could only assume was Vautour, staring at them with his gang of henchmen behind him.
He wasn’t at all the beady-eyed Indiana Jones villain she’d imagined. He was quite handsome if she was being honest. The termsilver foxfinally clicked for her. Totally the type of man she’d refer to as a hunk.
But there was something else. Somethingfamiliarabout him. Maybe shehadseen him before, though she couldn’t picture where. Miri wasn’t exactly hanging out in illegal market trading forums or on the dark web.
She looked over at Rafa to see his reaction. To see if he was also surprised thatthiswas the man that they’d feared over the last several weeks. The look on Rafa’s face, however, was quite different than hers. All the color had drained from his face. And his breathing had picked up.
Something was wrong. Something was very wrong.
She opened her mouth to ask if he was okay, but Rafa’s mouth opened first as he stared directly at the man.
“Dad?”
Chapter
Seventeen
Rafa had only ever knownhis father by two names: Dad and Jean-Luc Monfils.
Now, apparently he needed to add Pierre Vautour to the list.
Rafa’s mind spun. He couldn’t even hear the words Miri was saying as she shook his arm, trying to get him to snap out of it. To wake from the cloudy haze that had settled over him. Instead, he stared at his dad, trying to piece together his life.
All the trips. All the boards and committees. He wasn’t out there doing great things. He was using his clout as a reputable do-gooder as a cover-up while he was swindling and screwing people over on the side.
Oh fuck.
That meant his father was responsible for whatever it was that had happened to Drs. Mejía and Matthews in Mexico a year ago.
The realization returned him to his senses, and he could finally hear Miri’s voice.
“Are you okay?” she said.
“No,” he answered honestly.
“What the hell is this?” Miri snapped at Rafa’s dad. “Are you…are you…”
“Pierre Vautour? Yes, that’s how most people know me. But not all,” he said, casting Rafa a knowing glance. “Hello, Rafael.”
Rafa could only glare.
“You’re…you’re Rafa’s father?”
“Yes, I suppose I am that as well. But don’t worry—he didn’t know who I was. Right, son?”
“Don’t call me that,” Rafa spat out.
His dad tsked. “Rafael, don’t be like that. You wanted to talk, and we’ll get to that. There’s much for us to discuss. So much you don’t understand.”
Rafa wanted to laugh. So much he didn’t understand? Talk about an understatement.
Pierre Vautour was a stranger.
“What are you doing?” Rafa asked. “Care to explain to me how I didn’t know my father was a criminal?”
“Don’t believe everything you hear, Rafael.”
“So then it’s not true? You aren’t a thief?”
