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Cross looks directly at me.
“Ask Thomas what happened to your father.”
The room goes still.
Thomas grips his cane with both hands.
“Don’t listen to him.”
Cross laughs.
“James hid the truth in that lighthouse, but his son found it first.”
My heart slams against my ribs.
My father died one week after arguing with Grandpa.
We were told it was an accident.
I look at Thomas.
“What did my father find?”
Thomas closes his eyes.
When he opens them, they’re filled with a grief I’ve never seen before.
“Proof that Jonathan wasn’t the first Sinclair they killed.”
10
CALLE
“Grief demands an answer, even when the truth has not yet earned one.”
—James Sinclair
“Proof that Jonathan wasn’t the first Sinclair they killed.”
Thomas’s words tear through me.
For one terrible moment, no one moves.
Then Cross laughs from the floor.
The sound breaks whatever hold his accusation has over the room.
Keating steps between him and my family.
“That’s enough.”
He motions to the two Coast Guard officers guarding the prisoner.
“Get him out of here. Separate holding room. He speaks to no one until the federal agents arrive.”
The officers pull Cross to his feet.
His gaze remains fixed on Thomas.
