It wasn’t a casual greeting. It was an order. The voice was deep, gruff, and carried the weight of absolute, unquestionable authority.
David blinked. “Uh… Hello? Is this Mr. Thorne?”
“I told you to identify yourself,” the voice repeated, this time colder. “You’ve dialed a restricted federal line. Who is this?”
David’s arrogance faltered slightly. “This is David Miller. I’m Anna’s husband. Look, your daughter has caused quite a stir here, and…”
“Anna?” The voice changed instantly. The official tone cracked, revealing the terrified father beneath. “Where’s my daughter? Put her on the phone.”
“She’s here,” David said, rolling his eyes. “Crying on the floor because she slipped.”
He shoved the phone toward my face.
