My Best Friend's Dad

Only Child

Tristan's POV

The knock on my office door was soft, but it might as well have been a thunderclap in the quiet. I knew it was her. I have been glancing at the clock every few minutes since Donovan told me she was on her way up. A strange mixture of anticipation and dread had been twisting in my gut for the past half hour, anticipation because I had missed her, dread because I wasn’t sure what version of her I would be facing today. That is besides all the emotions I'm facing with the case.

“Come in,” I said, my voice was lower than I intended.

The door opened, and there she was... Cris. My daughter. My only child. She stepped inside with her hurried grace, though there was a guardedness in her posture I didn’t like. Her hair was tucked behind her ears, her eyes sharp but unreadable. She was dressed in casual layers, a sweater, jeans, and boots, but she might as well have been wearing armor.

I stood automatically, forcing a smile. “Hey.”

She gave me a look that cut right through my attempt at normalcy. “You look like hell.”

I huffed a humorless laugh and motioned for her to sit. “I’m in hell,” I said simply as I sat down.

Instead of taking a seat across the desk from me, she dragged the chair around until it was right beside mine. That small act hit me harder than I expected, a quiet reminder that, despite the awkwardness, she still wanted to be close enough to talk.

“I didn’t come here to make small talk,” she said, her voice was calm but with an edge. That still punched me in the gut. “I found something. I thought you should see it.”

She set a folder on the desk. My gaze followed her hands. Her nails were short, there was no nail polish, but there was a subtle tremor in her fingers. I reached for the folder, but she kept her palm on it a moment longer.

“It’s from Mom’s files,” she said.

Estelle. My throat tightened at the name.

“She was working on something before…” Cris didn’t finish the sentence. She didn’t have to. The word “accident” hung there like a ghost between us. “I started going through her notes. It’s… deeper than I thought. She was investigating shady business practices, yes, but there’s more. Trafficking. Money laundering. The kind of thing you don’t just… publish and walk away from.”

The words chilled me, but I stayed quiet, letting her continue. I was trying to remain strong despite everything that was already going on. She flipped open the folder. Inside were worn manila envelopes, a few pages covered in her mother’s handwriting, photocopies of financial statements, and photographs. She pulled one out and handed it to me. I took it from her. It was the three of us... Estelle, Cris, and me, standing outside some charity gala years ago. Estelle’s hand rested lightly on my arm, Cris was mid-laugh. I could almost hear it. Then I flipped the photo over.

There was writing there, in blocky, anonymous letters:

"Publish this, and you will vanish before the ink dries. Investigate any further and your family vanishes."

The words might as well have been written in acid, my chest constricted so hard it hurt. My tie suddenly felt like a noose. I loosened it, my fingers were clumsy. “Her accident…” My voice caught. I swallowed hard. “You think it was planned.”

Cris didn’t flinch. “I don’t think. I know.”

She reached into the folder again and pulled out an unstapled packet. “This is the unpublished article she was working on. It connects to multiple companies, but not every company is listed, so I would like to find out more."

I scanned the first few paragraphs. It was damning... names, transactions, coded shipments. If this had seen the light of day...

“Can I have this?” I asked, looking at her.

She hesitated. “Why?”

“Because you’re not going to pursue this,” I said, my voice sharper than I intended. “It’s dangerous, Cris. This isn’t some online exposé about corrupt zoning permits. These are people who erase obstacles. Permanently.” I took the article from her and read it.

UNPUBLISHED By Estelle Crane

The Silent Silk Road: How Power and Money Cross Borders in Shadows

The whispers start in boardrooms but end in alleyways. A missing girl here, a missing ledger there and always, someone richer when the dust settles.

What began as an investigation into a mid-tier shipping company’s unusual routing patterns has unfolded into a web that stretches across luxury real estate, offshore trusts, and “charity” foundations that exist only on paper.

At the center of this web, a collection of shell companies registered in Mauritius and the Cayman Islands, each bearing names that suggest innocence: Golden Shore Holdings, Bright Path Logistics, but when traced, they lead back to the same cluster of board members.

Three of those names belong to individuals with ties to some of the country’s most celebrated development projects. Another is married to a man currently serving a political advisory role. And then there are the ships.

Customs records show containers declared as construction materials or fashion goods moving through ports at irregular hours, often skipping standard inspection protocols. One particularly elusive freighter, The Indigo Dawn, has changed flags five times in the past three years, a classic laundering tactic to avoid detection.

Where it becomes darker is in what’s hidden in these containers.

Multiple anonymous port workers claim to have seen human cargo, young women and men, mostly from rural areas, none on any official manifest. A former dock security officer, who asked to remain unnamed, stated, “You don’t speak about it unless you want to disappear. They are moved like products, tags, numbers, even shipping invoices. Someone high up is making sure no one checks.”

The financial trail runs parallel to the human one. Payments for “ship maintenance” and “art acquisitions” move through boutique investment firms, often ending in the private accounts of executives whose official salaries wouldn’t cover half the deposits. This is more than corruption, it’s commerce in its most predatory form.

The page was snatched out of my hand before I could read it any further. “I can handle myself.” Cris' jaw tightened.

“No,” I said, leaning forward. “You think your mother could handle herself? She was one of the most relentless people I knew. And she’s gone. Do you want me to bury another person I love?” The flicker in her eyes was brief, but it gutted me.

“I’m not afraid for me,” she said after a moment. “If I'm the one person who can expose this and save others, then I will. I want to finish what Mom started. Have you thought about the others that are victims?” I could see determination in her eyes.

Of course, I had while reading that piece. I don't want my daughter to end up like her mother. I don't know if I can survive losing another person that I love again. I rubbed a hand over my face. “I’m thinking about all of it, but you are important to me.”

The silence stretched. Then she asked, “Are you okay?”

I gave a small nod, though it was a lie so thin it almost disintegrated in the air. “I’m dealing with the harassment case right now from Grace, so I'm preparing. Rowan didn't show up at today's meeting, and I'm pissed off, and I feel betrayed by him.”

Her brows pulled together. “I'm sorry that he did that to you, maybe it was for a good reason.”

I nodded again. “Grace is… unstable. And she’s making it public. There’s a photo of a confrontation that looks bad out of context. The board wants me to take a leave of absence.”

Her expression softened just a fraction. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I’ll handle it. But…” I let out a slow breath. "Also, I'm dealing with the fact that Camille is back and living with me. Apparently, your mother amended the Will behind my back and Camille basically gets our house. I just can't move away from that place because it's ours and all the memories."

"Wait. Aunt Camille is back? After three years being MIA?" she asked in shock.

"Yes," I nodded.

"I can't believe she's doing this to you and us, but if Mom amended the Will then maybe it was Mom's wishes, but I'd like to see Aunt Camille. I have questions for her...why she left straight after the funeral, never returned any of my texts or calls." She looked almost heartbroken when she said that.

"I'm sure she'll be thrilled to see you." Anything to have my daughter in the house again, even if just for a pop in. I wanted that more than anything. “Elona moved in with me, but she hasn't settled in yet because Camille popped up, but I’d like to talk to you about us.”

She looked away, her fingers tapping the edge of the folder. “Now isn’t the right time.”

The disappointment hit me like a dull blade, sliding between ribs. “We need to fix this, Cris.”

“We will,” she said. “But not right now.”

I stared at her, memorizing every line of her face in case the distance between us grew again. “I love you,” I said quietly. “You’re my only child. I don’t want our relationship to be like this. I never cared that you were with David. I only cared that you lied to my face when I already saw the chemistry between you.”

She didn’t answer. Didn’t even look at me. She just stood up, gathered the folder, and walked to the door. The silence she left behind was worse than any slammed door.

I sat there, my hands useless in my lap, staring at the empty chair she had dragged next to mine. The office felt colder without her in it. And for the first time in a long time, I wasn’t sure if hope was something I could still afford to have.