After a steeled breath I hop up to climb inside and drop to the concrete floor below.

Fishing my phone from my pocket, I switch on the light. Hundreds of metal chairs are lined up neatly throughout the room that is also equipped with a flat screen TV and several couches against the walls. There’s a small stage up front with an enormous Confederate flag hanging from the ceiling and a podium with a cross carved into the front.

Hate boils in my blood, merging with the deep-seated anger burning inside of me.

I spot a wooden door off to the left so I move toward it and make my way inside to find a large office. I rifle through the desk first, opening drawers, collecting the few file folders inside. I don’t spare a glance, eager to get the fuck out of here.

I scan the light around the room to make sure I don’t miss anything, and stop short when I catch a glimpse of all of the framed photos along the wall.

Walking closer to get a better look, I find it’s generation after generation of people who have all been a part of this shit. Some are so old they’re in black and white, while others are in full color.

When I make it to the last group picture my heart stops cold. I shake my head as my vision blurs, certain I’ve lost my fucking mind.

Slowly pulling the frame from the wall with a shaking hand, I look closer and realize it’s no mistake. There, in the very front row is my father, standing next to Dixon. They both smile proudly back at the camera with the rest of the men surrounding them, each wearing a navy blue T-shirt, showcasing the KKK insignia embroidered over their chests.

My stomach twists violently as bile rises in my throat.

The roar of an engine cuts through the silence, temporarily relieving me of the urge to throw up.

Withdrawing my gun, I tuck the picture and files beneath my arms and crouch down next to a large cabinet, my weapon trained and ready.

I hear the main door being opened before a familiar voice fills the air. “Any word on Johnson?” That churning in my stomach worsens when I realize it’s Dixon. “Good, let’s hope the nigger doesn’t wake up. If he does, then at least he knows to back off. He came too close.”

I sit in complete and utter shock as I listen to the man I respected all my life and loved like a father, speak about ordering the attack on Terrell.

“I wish I could have been there to help. I’ve been dying to lay it to the fuckin’ coon since I was forced to hire him on at the department, thanks to his rant to the mayor. He’s a mouthy fucker, always trying to stick his nose where it doesn’t belong.”

Heavy footfalls enter the office but he doesn’t turn on the light, simply grabbing something from the desk and walking back out. My finger twitches just above the trigger, but somehow I manage to refrain from blowing his goddamn brains out.

“Is everything in place at the location for Friday night?” I tense, my interest peaking. “Very good. That’s what I like to hear.”

Silence.

“Yeah, I got it. Just locking up and leaving now. See you soon.”

Once he leaves and I hear his vehicle pull away, I stay where I am for a long while, shock and a biting pain slicing through my chest.

All the way back to my truck I’m completely numb. I’m in such a fucked up state of mind that I don’t remember the drive to my mother’s house.

Using the hidden key under the mat, I let myself into my childhood home. I don’t bother being quiet as I enter the kitchen and drop into a chair at the table. When I stare down at the photo I’m barely able to make out the faces with the only light being the one shining from the stove, but I don’t need to. I know who they are. It’s an image I will never forget.

I feel like my whole life has been nothing but a lie. Like the life I knew never really existed.

My father wasn’t a hero—he was a fucking monster.

The revelation wraps around my heart like a poisonous snake, constricting inside my chest until I can’t breathe. With my fist clenched I bring it down on the glass, welcoming the sharp stab of pain as the shards cut through my rough skin. I hear my mother cautiously leaving her room. Knowing her, she has her phone in one hand and a gun in the other, something both my father and I always taught her.

“It’s me,” I choke out, my voice like sandpaper against wood.

“Grayson?” Her footsteps pick up at the sound of my voice and the hall light flips on. I bow my head at the intruding brightness. A gasp flies from her mouth, as she looks me over. I can only imagine what I look like; knowing Prichard’s blood is on me. She sets her pistol and phone down on the counter before rushing over to me. “Honey? What happened?” Her feet swiftly falter when she spots the smashed frame in front of me.

For the first time, I lift my head and look at her. The pain and fear twisting her face is all the confirmation I need. Not that I had any remaining doubt, but I had hoped, prayed, this was all some fucked up nightmare.

Her hand wraps around her throat nervously as tears immediately form in her eyes.

“Tell me,” I demand, barely able to get the words out.

She shakes her head. “Grayson, please. Leave it alone. Just—”

I slam my fist down on the table, causing her to flinch. “Stop the bullshit and tell me the goddamn truth!”

She squeezes her eyes shut, tears pouring down her cheeks, but I have zero sympathy. Not when I’ve been completely blindsided by the truth of his betrayal.

“My entire life was a lie,” I grind out through clenched teeth.

“No. No, it wasn’t.”

“Yes, it was,” I shout. “My whole life I thought he was a hero. My own father, the man I looked up to more than anyone else. When really he was nothing more than a corrupt asshole.”

Her sobs grow louder as she drops down to her knees in front of me. “No, Grayson. You need to listen to me. Your father…your father was a good man, he really was. He was just misguided.”

“Misguided? He was a fucking racist, Mom. There’s nothing good about that.”

“It’s how he was raised, honey. For a long time he didn’t know any better. He was changing though. He did change. And after so many years of hate he finally…he finally let go of it all. It’s why…” She trails off, agony washing over her face.

“What? Fucking say it! Don’t keep any more shit from me.”

With deep breaths she tries to compose herself. “He wanted out. He resented what they stood for, but most of all he hated that he’d become his father, someone he despised.”

I’d never met my grandfather. He died of emphysema not long after I was born and my father rarely spoke of him.

“You live what you learn, Grayson,” she continues, her words thick with pain. “I didn’t realize until after we were married just how deep his hate ran. I watched him struggle with it over the years. It’s hard to refute something that has been ingrained into your blood since birth, but he eventually saw the light. He realized what they stood for was wrong. So he told them he wouldn’t be a part of it anymore. They were furious, Grayson.” Her sobs return full force. “A week later…he was dead.”

I tense.

“Are you trying to tell me they killed him?”

She nods. “Yes, I believe they did. I think they were worried he would expose them, so they got rid of him.” Her forehead falls to my knee, her body trembling with emotion as she falls apart.

I think about her revelation, my head reeling as I remember the words my father said to me right before he died.

Seek the truth and you will find justice.

“Dixon,” I mutter, trying to comprehend everything. “Dixon is a part of it.”

Lifting her head, she reveals her bloodshot eyes, delivering a solid blow to my chest. “Yes. He’s their leader. I hated that you worked with him, but I was too afraid to say anything. He’s a cruel man, Grayson. I knew if we moved he’d find us, and I was scared he would do the same thing to you. It’s why you need to forget about this. I can’t lose you, too. I’ll never survive it. Please, you have to let this go.”