Chapter 23 · So Who the Hell Is He?

I slammed the photo down on his desk.

Lin looked at it. Didn't even flinch. Just leaned back in that stupid leather chair like we were discussing the weather.

"Explain," I said.

His arm was in a sling. Bandage still fresh from taking that bullet two hours ago. He'd refused the hospital. Drove us straight to his office instead—some unmarked building in the financial district I didn't know he owned. The whole ride he'd been on the phone in a language I couldn't place. Not Mandarin. Not English. Something else.

Now he picked up the photo. Studied it like he was seeing it for the first time.

Bullshit.

"Where'd you get this?" he asked.

"My father's safe. The one you told me didn't exist."

He set it down. Folded his hands. "I never said that."

"You said there was nothing left to find."

"There wasn't. Not anymore."

I wanted to throw something at his face. "You're in the passenger seat of the car that killed my parents. You're sitting right there. And the timestamp says the crash happened forty minutes later."

"I know."

"So what the hell were you doing in their car?"

"Trying to stop it."

I laughed.