OUT OF THE ASHES

CHAPTER 2

Knight Adamson got out of his sleek Bentley and handed the code-keys to the valet hovering outside his car door. Buttoning up his sleek black suit jacket for the walk into the restaurant, Knight bypassed the small crowd waiting in the lobby hoping to be called off the waitlist by the beautiful hostess who guarded the tables behind her with a creepy smile that he always found disturbing.

“Reservation for Adamson at ten o’clock,” Knight said with a quick smile once he caught her eye, “Sorry, I’m a little late.”

The woman’s gaze flicked down at the notepad she's holding and nodded. “Of course, sir. Your party is waiting for you. If you would please follow me at your table?”

She smiled at him and spun on her sky-high heels, her off-the-shoulder structured dress looking as if it had come right off the runway and leaving little to the imagination by way of sheer panels in the bodice. The Terraces always employed gorgeous people as a company aesthetic, but she wasn’t his type in the least. Knight was more interested in those seated at the tables they passed, automatically cataloguing faces and exits as he followed her to a more private table in a side alcove.

Terraces was a restaurant frequented by politicians, lobbyists, and the elite movers and shakers within the government and without who called Washington, D.C., home when it suited them. Anyone who was anyone with political power, no matter their party, came to be seen within these walls.

“Your table,” the hostess said as she gestured smoothly at the occupied space.

“Thank you,” Knight said with a nod. She smiled in reply and whisked herself away. He unbuttoned his suit jacket and sat down on the comfortable chair, nodding at the man sitting across from him. “Father.”

“You’re late,” CEO of the ADAMSON ENTERPRISE, the largest money making company in the world, Richard Adamson replied, not bothering to look up from the slim, pocket-size tablet he held in one hand as he checked his email.

Knight unfolded the cloth napkin fanned out on the plate and draped it over his lap. A waiter discreetly filled his water glass and left two leather-encased tablets containing the menu and wine list on the table before departing. “I was busy.”

“So I saw on the news streams.”

Blue eyes the same shade as Knight's lifted from the now blank screen of his tablet and then he put it away. Knight got his blond hair from his mother, eyes from his father, and his stubbornness from both of them.

His honor, however, was his own.

The older man leaned back in his seat and studied Knight intently. Even with thirty years of living under his belt, nearly half those years spent in the military in some form or another, Knight had to fight not to squirm.

Richard Adamson was in his late fifties, the sole heir of several billion dollars shares in swath of multiple tech companies that had thrived instead of died over the last two centuries. It was a wealth Knight had been born into and previously measured himself by before joining the Marines. While Knight's mindset had changed over the years, his father’s had not.

“I thought Mother was joining us?” Knight asked. The table was set for two, not three, when the invitation masquerading as an order he’d received during cleanup in Chicago had mentioned both his parents would be in attendance tonight.

“She decided not to fly out from New York after watching you and your team on the news. You know how much she hates watching you work. It puts her in a mood.”

Charlotte Adamson, was from the British Royal family. A true socialite who only worked the elite circles of society in a dozen countries, Charlotte came from old money tied to tech companies, real estate, and water rights. Her family was known more nowadays for their multibillion dollar ownership of a luxury cruise line that ferried wealthy customers around the world.

Charlotte had spent her life fundraising for charities, going to parties and galas, and smiling for the cameras. While Knight's little sister, Leah, was following in their mother’s footsteps, Charlotte had never been happy with his decision to join the Marines.

The waiter returned and politely gained their attention. “May I get you gentlemen anything to drink?”

“A bottle of the 2240 Château d'Armailhac,” Richard said.

“Certainly, Sir. An excellent choice.”

The waiter left. Jamie didn’t bother perusing the menu.

“She didn’t leave me a message,” Knight finally said.

“I told her not to.”

Which meant her mood was most likely a full-on crying jag and emotional maelstrom that only a mother could produce. Charlotte wasn’t prone to histrionics—she considered such breakdowns gauche—but ever since Knight returned from Tripoli three years ago, his mother had been breaking her own rules left, right, and center when it came to personal protocol.

Knight fought back a wince. “She didn’t have to watch.”

Richard arched an eyebrow. “The fight was on every news stream, and two dozen others pushed their schedules back to air a breaking news segment. It’s going to be part of everyone’s conversation for the next week at the least, so, no, she couldn’t just ignore what was happening.”

Knight felt the old urge to apologize creep through him and he swallowed down the words. His mother had been proud when he graduated from Annapolis, even if she’d been worried about what the future would bring. Knight had apologized to his mother twice over the years for his career decisions: once when he chose to continue on with the Marine Corps after his obligatory five-year contract was up and again when he chose to keep fighting with the AHDF instead of taking the option to retire. That second time resulted in a vicious argument with his family that lasted days. The fallout was still being felt three years later.

Family dinners could be particularly tense. No wonder why Rina never wanted to trade.

The waiter returned with the master sommelier at his side, who presented the bottle to Richard to view the label before uncorking it with easy practice.

Knight watched his father sniff and taste the wine before nodding his approval. The master sommelier promptly poured them both a glass before leaving the wine bottle on the table and disappearing.

“Are you ready to order?” the waiter asked.

“I’ll have the crab cakes to start with and the roast chicken,” Richard said.

“Lovely. And for you, sir?”

“The white bean soup, a Caesar salad, and the prime rib with all the sides,” Knight said.

Their menus were taken away and their bubble of privacy returned, Richard took a sip of his wine before saying, “Your mother cares for you very much you know, but this has been hard on her.”

“You think it’s been easy for me?” Knight asked sharply, tamping down hard on his temper.

Richard shook his head, mouth twisting. “That’s not what I meant.”

Knight leaned back in his seat and didn’t bother hiding how he clenched his teeth. “I chose to stay on because it was the right thing to do. I don’t regret that choice.”

“Your mother does.”

Knight rubbed hard at his eyes with one hand, “I don’t care. What you wanted me to do with my life is not an option on any table, Father. Not anymore.”

“It could be,” Richard said after a brief pause. “Your mother has been helping to raise funds for several research projects looking into finding a cure for Awakaned.”

“Father Awakaned is not a disease that needed to be cured!” Knight snapped, keeping his voice low.

“There are promising results of anti-awakaned vaccines coming out of several clinical trials—”

“They won’t find anything. They never do. She shouldn’t waste her time—”

“Looking after you is not wasting our time,” Richard cut in icily.

Knight snapped his mouth shut, the sudden rushing sound in his ears the adrenaline in his veins. He took a deep breath and held onto his words as the waiter appeared at their table again and served them their starters before slipping away. Knight stared blankly down at his salad before he picked up his fork and stabbed at the lettuce while his soup cooled.

“A century of research has produced nothing,” Knight said tightly. “What makes you think a few years of throwing money at the problem is going to produce the desired results? And like I said Awakaned humans are not sick. ”

Richard cut into his crab cake with his fork. “Would you rather we do nothing?”

“I’m alive, Father. Shouldn’t that be enough?”

The silence that lingered over their table lasted until they finished their first course. Knight shoved his empty bowl aside and looked everywhere but at his father as their dishes were removed.

“Your mother and I . . .” Richard began before trailing off. After a moment, he cleared his throat and forged ahead. “We worry about you. We always have. A lot of this could have been avoided if you’d just listened to us in the first place.”

“I did, remember? I went to Annapolis.”

Knight met his father’s gaze without blinking. He was his father’s son through and through in many ways, so he knew how to hear what wasn’t being said better than most people.

They’d wanted him to serve for only five years, finish his commission as an officer, and retire into a life of wealth. At thirty, Knight should have already worked on managing their company in preparation of inheriting it in the future. Except he had done none of that. He had stayed on with the Marines and later with the Awakaned Human Defense Force. The structure found in the military was something he hadn’t known he was missing in his life until he experienced it. Staying on was the first real instance of him truly defying his parents, and he knew it wouldn't be the last.

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