“Any word from my father?” I asked while looking at my phone screen. There were no missed calls or texts—not that Dad texted much.
“No.”
“What the hell?” I growled. I called his number once again. It had to be at least the tenth time that day. Again, it went to voicemail.
“I’m going to go by his house, then home to work,” I told him.
“I’ll see you in the morning,” he said.
I drove straight to my dad’s estate. No one answered. I used my key to let myself in. The house was empty and felt like it had been that way for a while. I walked through the house and into his bedroom. The bed was neatly made.
I opened the door to his massive closet. Part of me hoped to find his closet cleaned out. That would mean he’d taken a trip or skipped town. He was supposed to have been back from New York days ago. Even if he had decided to stay in the city, he would answer his phone. Something felt off.
It was like he’d vanished.