My Brother Arrested Me At Thanksgiving Dinner

up. “Ma’am. Clare. Breathe.”

I shook my head, trying to clear it. It wasn’t possible. My father was a man who balanced checkbooks and complained about the price of gas. He wasn’t a spy. He wasn’t a traitor.

“There’s a mistake,” I said, my voice barely a whisper. “This is a deepfake. An error. It’s not him.”

Rock’s expression was full of a pity I hated.continue reading …