That evening, while the King family gathered at their kitchen table for the first meal together in months, Grayson was hunched over his home computer, fingers flying over. The keyboard, he had a friend and military records, someone who owed him. It took several calls and the promise of future favors, but finally he got what he wanted. Access to a restricted database. Isaiah King's name brought up a file.
Most of it blacked out, but there was enough. His service record showed deployments to locations Grayson had never heard of during time frames that didn't match known operations. And there it was, blinking at the top of the screen. Active classified operative, not retired. Active.
Grayson sat back, running his hands through his hair. What the hell had he stumbled into? And more importantly, what was an active classified operative doing living in a suburban neighborhood in Oakidge Heights? At the King residence after Jallen had gone to bed, Isaiah and Angela sat in the living room, voices low. "How bad is it?"
Angela asked. "Manageable," Isaiah replied. "For now. But this Grayson, he's unpredictable, dangerous in his ignorance. He broke into our shed.
"Found your box?" Isaiah nodded. I know it was a test. The lock was deliberately left open. Nothing in there gives away anything important.
And the photo just enough to make him curious without revealing anything specific. Angela shook her head, a small smile playing at her lips despite the situation. You were testing him even then. I needed to know what kind of man we're dealing with. Now I do.
And the worst kind. One with a wounded ego and something to prove. Isaiah's expression hardened slightly. He'll keep coming. He's already accessed restricted databases.
Angela's eyes widened. How do you know? Because I was notified. The moment he did, that's protocol. What happens now?
Isaiah was quiet for a moment. Now we wait. See what he does next. The team is in place. He's being watched.
And Jallen, he was arrested today. Isaiah in front of his friends because of this man's vendetta. I know. And Officer Grayson will learn that was a mistake. Isaiah's voice remained calm, but there was something in his tone that would have made Grayson's blood run cold.
You've stepped into shadows bigger than you know. Meanwhile, as Grayson finally left his house late that night, headed to a bar to drown. His frustration and plot his next move, he didn't notice the car parked two blocks away. Didn't see the high-powered optics tracking his movement. Didn't hear the soft voice speaking into a secure communication device.
Through the scope, crosshairs centered briefly on Grayson's chest before moving away. "He's poked the wrong ghost," the observer murmured, lowering the device. And he doesn't even know it yet. The nondescript truck rolled slowly along the outskirts of Oakidge Heights, headlights off, moving with deliberate purpose through the darkness. It was just past midnight when Isaiah King parked at the edge of town beneath the shadow of an old oak tree.