“Mr. Cross,” the administrator had said, voice trembling, “your father is missing.”
Julian had built a multibillion-dollar empire from nothing. He was used to crises, to negotiations, to fixing problems with money and influence. But this was different. His father, Leonard Cross, once a towering presence in his life, had been slowly disappearing into illness, his memory unraveling piece by piece.
Julian had responded the way he always did—by paying for the best facility, the best staff, the best protection. He told himself that was love.
Now his father was gone, alone somewhere in the storm, and no amount of money could rewind the hours already lost.
A tip from a patrol officer led Julian here. An elderly man in a wheelchair seen near the highway.
Julian pushed open the diner door.
And froze.
There was his father.
Wrapped in a cheap diner blanket.
Sitting in a booth.
Being fed soup by a waitress with tired eyes and gentle hands.
For a moment, Julian couldn’t breathe.
Leonard looked calmer than he had in months. Peaceful, even. The waitress murmured encouragement, guiding the spoon carefully, treating him like a person, not a problem to manage.
