My Little Brother Woke Me Up At Night And Said We Need To Leave Right Now. So, We Did.

The Investigation Deepens

She called over another agent and showed him the tablet, and they conferred in low voices while I tried to process that this was actually real. That we were actually safe.

The FBI had been watching our house for months, and we’d never known. Another vehicle arrived, this one an unmarked sedan, and a man in his fifties got out wearing a suit that looked expensive even in the dark.

He showed his badge to the agents securing the perimeter and walked directly to Agent Caldwell. They spoke quietly for a moment, and then he turned to look at Caleb and me with an expression that was hard to read.,

“I’m Assistant Director Gerald Monroe,” he said, his voice formal but not unkind. “I’ve been leading the investigation into your parents’ activities.”

“We have a lot to discuss, but first we need to get you somewhere safe and warm where we can conduct proper interviews. You’re not in any trouble—I want to be very clear about that.”

“You’re victims and witnesses, and we’re going to do everything we can to support you through this process. But we do need to ask you questions about what you saw and heard tonight and anything else you might know about your parents’ activities.”

I looked over at where Dad was being loaded into the back of an FBI vehicle, his hands cuffed behind his back. I felt this strange disconnect because he still looked like my dad.

He still had the same face that had read me bedtime stories when I was little and taught me how to ride a bike and smiled at me over birthday cakes. How could that person be the same person who just chased us with a rifle and planned to kill us on a camping trip?,

How could both versions exist in the same body? Mom was nowhere in sight, and I asked Agent Caldwell where she was.

“She’s been secured at your house,” Caldwell said quietly. “She didn’t pursue you like your father did, but she’s equally culpable in everything they’ve done.”

“You’ll both give statements about what happened tonight, and then we’ll work on finding you a safe place to stay while this investigation proceeds. Do either of you have any other family we can contact? Grandparents, aunts, uncles, anyone who might be able to take care of you?”

Caleb and I looked at each other, and I realized we had no idea if we even had other family. Our parents had always said everyone from before was either dead or dangerous, but I now understood that was probably just another lie to keep us isolated.

“We don’t know,” I admitted. “They told us we didn’t have any family, that it was just the four of us against the world. I don’t even know if Cross is our real last name or if that’s another fake identity.”,

Assistant Director Monroe’s jaw tightened, and he exchanged a look with Agent Caldwell that I couldn’t interpret. “We’ll figure that out,” he said. “Our priority right now is your immediate safety and well-being. Let’s get you out of this parking lot and somewhere more comfortable.”

Reclaiming Stolen History

They loaded us into Agent Caldwell’s vehicle, a plain sedan that smelled like coffee and fast food, and we drove back toward town with two other FBI vehicles following us. I watched the shipping facility disappear in the side mirror.

I tried to process that less than two hours ago I’d been asleep in my bed, normal and safe, and now everything I thought I knew about my life was revealed to be a lie. The FBI field office was in a building downtown that looked like every other office building from the outside.

Inside, it was all security checkpoints and badge readers and agents moving purposefully through fluorescent-lit hallways. Agent Caldwell took us to a conference room with a table and chairs and a window that looked out over the parking lot.

There was a camera mounted in the corner that she gestured to apologetically. “Everything that’s said in this room will be recorded for evidentiary purposes,” she explained.

“But I want you to know that you’re not suspects. You’re minors who were kept in isolation by your parents and are now helping us understand the full scope of what they’ve done. Anything you tell us will be used to build our case against them, not against you. Do you understand?”

We both nodded, and she left us alone for maybe five minutes while she went to get water and snacks from somewhere. The silence in that room was oppressive, and Caleb hadn’t let go of my hand since we’d gotten out of the car.

“Are we going to be okay?” he asked quietly. I didn’t know how to answer because I had no idea what okay even looked like anymore.

“We’re alive,” I finally said. “That’s more than we would have been by this weekend. Everything else we can figure out.”

Agent Caldwell came back with bottles of water and a bag of vending machine snacks, and Assistant Director Monroe followed her with a laptop and folders full of documents. They sat across from us, and Monroe opened one of the folders.,

He pulled out photos that he laid carefully on the table. I recognized some of them immediately: surveillance photos of our house and our parents entering and leaving at various times.

But there were other photos that made my stomach turn: crime scene photos of bodies and blood and evidence markers. “I’m going to show you some difficult things,” Monroe said, his voice gentle despite the horrible images.

“But I need you to understand the full scope of what your parents have been doing so you can help us ensure justice for all their victims.” Over the next hour, Monroe walked us through their investigation into our parents’ activities.

They weren’t serial killers in the traditional sense; they were contract killers who worked for organized crime families and occasionally wealthy individuals who wanted problems eliminated. The FBI had connected them to at least eighteen murders over the past decade across six different states, though they suspected the real number was much higher.,

Most of the victims were other criminals—people involved in drugs or money laundering who’d become liabilities to their organizations. But some were innocent people in the wrong place at the wrong time: witnesses who’d seen too much, spouses who’d become inconvenient.

Our parents had moved from city to city, changing identities each time, always staying just ahead of law enforcement until this investigation finally caught up with them.