Alexander’s nostrils flared at his insinuation. “This way,” he answered with a clenched jaw, leading Agent Moretti out of the living area and down the long corridor toward his private home office.
“Sir,” Martin said as the two men entered the circular room, large windows overlooking a massive expanse of Alexander’s snow-covered property. An oversized cherrywood desk sat in the center, built-in bookshelves boasting a wide variety of hardcover books behind it. Placed on end tables beside a large leather sofa were photos of Alexander throughout the years — with his family growing up, high school graduation, in his navy whites, in some desert in the Middle East, with Olivia and Melanie. The photos showed the progression his life had taken from a troubled boy, to a SEAL, then to a man who finally had everything…until it was ripped away from him last night.
“I’m still going through all the footage,” Martin explained. “I haven’t found anything yet. Since we don’t have a precise window, it could take some time.”
Nodding, Alexander said, “Martin, this is Agent Moretti from the FBI. Agent Moretti, this is Martin. He works for me.”
“Pleasure to meet you,” Martin said, extending his hand.
“Likewise.” Moretti took Martin’s outstretched hand. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to take over from here. Thank you,” he said in dismissal.
Alexander opened his mouth, about to chastise Moretti for ordering his employee around, but stopped. It was becoming more and more difficult to be cooperative. He had to keep telling himself to play along with Moretti’s game in the hopes of finding Melanie.
Meeting Martin’s eyes, Alexander nodded. “Go check on my mother and Olivia. Make sure they’re okay.”
“Yes, sir.” He stood from the desk and walked out of the office, Agent Moretti watching him every step of the way until the click of the door sounded in the silent room.
Moretti pivoted and looked at Alexander with an arrogance he would have given anything to smack off his face. Alexander didn’t want to read too much into it, but he couldn’t shake the feeling Moretti enjoyed some sort of sick satisfaction from ordering Alexander and his employees around.
“Let me ask you,” the agent started, meandering through the office as if it were his and Alexander were an unwelcome guest. “You’re a pretty high-profile guy. You work in a kind of business where it’s probably easier for you to make enemies than friends.”
Alexander remained silent, neither agreeing nor disagreeing with his assessment.
Moretti picked up a small, silver-framed photo of Melanie on her first day of kindergarten a few years ago. She wore a frilly, pastel-striped skirt with white tights, a pink t-shirt, and purple Converse. Her curly brown hair was pulled into two pigtails high up on each side of her head, and she was grinning a brilliant, toothy smile.
For the first time since realizing she was missing, Alexander felt her absence. He had been in work mode all morning, trying to fix what had been done. Now that he had a minute, the reality that Melanie was gone started to sink in. She wasn’t simply over at a friend’s or in school. She had vanished into thin air. A pain unlike any other settled in his chest, and Alexander tried to keep from breaking down in front of the agent.
“Piss anyone off lately?” Moretti asked.
Taking a breath, Alexander pinched his lips together, seething. “Agent Moretti,” he began in a steady voice, “with all due respect, that’s not really any of your fucking business.”
“With all due respect, Mr. Burnham, it is my business. Everything about you is my business right now. Your daughter is missing.”
“And you think I’m to blame?” His voice grew louder, his ears turning red.
“I didn’t—”
“Don’t you think I’ve thought about that? Fuck! All morning, that’s all I’ve been able to think about! Since the day Melanie was born, I’ve been worried sick someone who’s been on the receiving end of one of my company’s contracts would be pissed off enough to hurt her, and me in the process. That’s why we moved out of the city. That’s why we have more security measures in place than most politicians and diplomats, for crying out loud!”
Alexander ran his hands through his hair, tugging at it. He wasn’t thinking clearly. He felt the weight of the world on his shoulders — the guilt, the blame, everything. Reaching into the holster under his blazer, he pulled out a pistol and raised it.
Moretti’s eyes widened as he quickly reacted, drawing his own weapon. For the first time, Alexander saw something other than the sanctimonious, judgmental expression on the agent’s face. As they stood just a few feet apart, their guns pointed at each other, he saw a hint of fear and uncertainty.
Shifting his aim, Alexander fired the weapon over Moretti’s shoulder, hitting the window behind him. Moretti flinched, instinctively covering his head.
“You see that?” Alexander roared.
Moretti spun around, looking at the pane of glass, a bullet lodged in it.
“Bulletproof glass!” Alexander bellowed, taking several cautious steps toward Moretti. “Bulletproof fucking glass in a house where I’m supposed to raise my daughter!” His voice turned despondent, a lump forming in his throat. “Because of me, she doesn’t get to live a normal life. So, to answer your question… Yes, I’ve pissed off a lot of people. The list of possible suspects in my head is a mile long, and every single one would have enough training and expertise to carry out this kind of thing. So if you don’t mind, instead of answering pointless questions, I’d like to get out there and find my daughter!”
“Everything okay in here?” Martin asked, peeking his head into the room, a few officers behind him with their weapons drawn.
“Yes. Everything’s fine.” Alexander didn’t look his way, keeping his eyes narrowed on Moretti.
“Agent Moretti?” one of the officers asked.
Several intense moments passed, amplified by the ticking of the clock on the wall. Moretti appeared relatively unfazed by Alexander’s emotional outburst. Alexander knew his type. Hell, he was his type. Controlled. Scrupulous. Attentive. Typically devoid of emotion…except when it came to those he cared about and loved. Alexander’s normally hard exterior had cracks only Olivia and Melanie could seep into.
In his professional life, no one questioned him. He ran his company as he saw fit. What he said was law. But here, in the office of his house, Agent Moretti glaring at him with a look that confirmed his original suspicion that Melanie’s disappearance was all his fault, Alexander felt weak. Worse, he felt just as guilty as the man who actually took his daughter.
“Everything’s fine, gentlemen,” Moretti finally answered.
“Yes, sir.” Martin hesitated, then closed the door to the office, leaving the two men once more.
“Let’s look at the camera feed.” Agent Moretti interrupted their stare down.
“Fine.”