Chapter 1 An Average Man's Life

• David Miller stood in the corner of his own living room, holding a tray of champagne flutes like some kind of hired help while his wife's family celebrated her promotion without him.
• "More drinks, David!" Sarah's mother, Margaret, waved her manicured hand dismissively. "And make sure you're using the good crystal this time. Sarah deserves better than those cheap glasses you usually serve."
• His jaw tightened, but David nodded and headed back to the kitchen. Three years of marriage, and Margaret still treated him like the broke college student Sarah had married instead of the man who'd worked two jobs to put his wife through her MBA program.
• "I don't know why Sarah keeps him around," Margaret's voice carried through the thin walls. "He's got no ambition, no drive. Just looks at her with those puppy dog eyes all day."
• David's knuckles went white around the tray handle. The old scar running along his left shoulder blade began to throb…a warning sign he'd learned to recognize years ago.
• He forced his breathing to slow, counting to ten like his therapist had taught him.
• You're not that person anymore, he reminded himself. That life is dead and buried.
• He returned to the living room with fresh drinks, weaving through the crowd of Sarah's colleagues and family members.
• She stood near the window in her navy blue dress, the one that brought out her eyes, laughing at something her boss was saying.
• Her promotion to Senior Marketing Director had been well-deserved. She'd worked eighty-hour weeks for months to land this.
• "David, come here." Sarah's smile was genuine when she spotted him, the first real warmth he'd felt all evening. "I want you to meet someone."
• A tall man in an expensive suit turned toward them. Everything about him screamed money…the perfectly styled hair, the watch that probably cost more than David's annual salary, the confident way he occupied space like he owned it.
• "This is Jonathan Blake," Sarah said. "He's the CEO of Blake Industries. Jonathan, this is my husband, David."
• Jonathan's handshake was firm, his smile practiced. "So you're the famous husband Sarah's always talking about. Nice to finally meet you."
• David caught the slight emphasis on 'famous' and wondered what Sarah had been saying about him at work. Probably nothing good, judging by Jonathan's expression.
• "David works in... what is it again, honey? Security?" Sarah's voice carried a note of uncertainty, like she wasn't quite sure what her own husband did for a living.
• "Private consulting," David said simply. It wasn't a lie, exactly. He did consult. Just not the kind of consulting that belonged at cocktail parties.
• "How interesting." Jonathan's eyes were cold despite his smile. "What kind of consulting?"
• Before David could answer, Margaret's voice boomed across the room. "Everyone, everyone! I have an announcement to make!"
• The conversations died down as all eyes turned to Sarah's mother. She stood on the coffee table, champagne glass raised high, looking like she was about to crown a queen.
• "My beautiful daughter Sarah has finally achieved everything I knew she was capable of," Margaret declared. "Senior Marketing Director at thirty-two years old! She's going places in this world."
• Polite applause filled the room. David clapped along, proud despite everything. Sarah had earned this.
• "And now that she's established herself professionally," Margaret continued, her eyes finding David's with laser precision, "I think it's time she found herself a real man to match her success.”
• The applause died. The room went dead silent.
• Sarah's face went pale. "Mother, what are you—"
• "Someone like Jonathan here," Margaret barreled on, raising her glass toward the CEO. "Successful, handsome, ambitious. The kind of man who could give you the life you deserve instead of holding you back."
• David felt something cold settle in his chest. Not anger…anger was hot and messy. This was something else, something that reminded him of winter mornings in places most people couldn't find on a map.
• "That's enough," Sarah said, but her voice was barely a whisper.
• Jonathan stepped forward with that practiced smile. "Well, since we're making announcements..." He pulled out his phone and showed the screen to the room. "I was actually hoping to discuss a job opportunity with David tonight. Blake Industries is always looking for good maintenance staff."
• He turned to David with mock concern. "We have an opening for a janitor in our downtown office. Night shift, mostly. The pay isn't great, but it's honest work. I figured someone like you might be interested in something... stable."
• The words hit like physical blows. Someone like you. The pity in Jonathan's voice was worse than Margaret's open hostility.
• "Of course, I'd understand if you're too proud for manual labor," Jonathan added with a shrug. "Some people prefer to coast on their wives' success."
• The room was so quiet David could hear his own heartbeat. Every face stared at him, waiting to see what the doormat would do.
• Some looked embarrassed for him. Others seemed curious, like they were watching a car accident in slow motion.
• Sarah's mouth opened and closed like she wanted to say something but couldn't find the words. Her eyes were wide with horror and something else—shame. She was ashamed of him.
• That realization hit harder than anything Jonathan or Margaret could dish out.
• David set his tray down on the nearest table with careful precision. His shoulder blade was burning now, the old wound throbbing in rhythm with his pulse.
• He could feel the careful walls he'd built around himself starting to crack.
• "Thank you for the generous offer," he said, his voice perfectly calm. "But I'll have to decline."
• He started toward the door, but Margaret's shrill voice followed him.
• "Where do you think you're going? You can't just walk out on your wife's celebration!"
• David stopped, his hand on the doorknob. For just a moment, he felt the weight of every choice that had led him here. Every lie he'd told, every truth he'd buried, every night he'd stared at the ceiling wondering if this quiet life was worth the price he'd paid for it.
• The scar along his shoulder blade gave one final, vicious throb.
• Then his phone buzzed.
• David pulled it out, expecting Sarah or maybe a spam call. Instead, he found a text from a number he didn't recognize.
• The message contained nothing but GPS coordinates and a single photograph.
• The photo showed a man in military fatigues, alive and grinning at the camera despite the fact that David had watched him die three years ago in a Syrian bunker.
• His supposedly dead brother Jake's face stared back at him from the screen, along with a timestamp from yesterday.
• David's blood turned to ice water as he read the message below the photo:
• "Time to come home, Alexander. We need to talk."