Vector || An Ryeji Adventure

The Letter

You would think that I might have remembered the cold emptiness of my childhood, an expatriate from parental love, and would be determined to change and raise my own child as I wished I had been. But, of course, I didn't. I handed her to nannies as I had been and told myself that buying nice things for her would make up for my absence. Then I resumed my carnival ride of insanity, excess, and recklessness.

The poor girl was deprived of even the most basic care and affection that a father should provide. In 25 years, I had never attended a single birthday or watched a performance at school. The nannies would call and remind me that Mary's birthday was approaching, and I would beg them to buy something.

Mary tried repeatedly to contact me as she approached adulthood. She knew no way to reach me, so she called the company over and over throughout the years, but I had made it clear that I was not to be disturbed. To me, she had become a shadow who only reminded me of my shame.

Two years ago, I received a call from my company saying that Mary was desperately trying to reach me. I'm not sure why I didn't hang up. She had given birth, and wanted me to meet my grandson. I would have felt more embarrassed to not attend than I was motivated by love to see her and the boy. So I got drunk and made my way to the hospital.

Mary was holding the baby and whispering in its ear. I put on my best sneer and approached the bed. I was only a footstep away when Mary looked up at me, smiled, and said into the child's ear "David, I want you to meet your grandfather."

I staggered out of the room. The next thing I remember was sitting in the rain on a bench in St James Park. I felt like I had awakened in someone else's clothes, and in someone else's life.

I had deprived Mary of everything a child should have. I had ignored her, neglected her, abandoned her, and when I saw her in the hospital with that dear child, what did she do?

She showed me love.

Me. An aberration. A merchant of death.

The person who most deserved to hate me, to spit on me, showed me love. And she named her child after me. I had given her nothing. But to Mary, I wasn't a drunk, or an addict, or a monster. In her heart I had somehow, against all reason, all faith, remained her father.

It took me three months to get sober, and I have been ever since. Mary taught me how to feel affection, and how to care for someone beside myself. I play with my grandson every day, and we, including my son-in-law, Robert, have come together as a family, even though there are parts that will always be missing, because of me.

So I beg you again, Ms Hwang: I deserve to pay for the life I have lived. But Mary, Robert, and David - they are my victims. Please, please don't harm them. Should it help, I will pay you whatever amount you ask. Furthermore, bear in mind that my family knows nothing of my plans to be a whistleblower.

I had a friend in the current government that I trusted deeply. I told him that I planned to go public with some of the human rights abuses and illegal weapons trading that is widespread in the West. I had no illusions about what my so-called friend would do. I was lighting a fuse. I know that they are going to kill me, and since my daughter and granddaughter will inherit my company, they will kill our entire family, both as insurance and as an example to others. In such cases, they usually turn to people like you.

You have righted many of the wrongs in the world, and you have done it at great personal cost. Everyone who you have killed has deserved their fate, but ask yourself: of all the terrible people you have assassinated, why were they chosen? There is a plenitude of evil people and evil regimes. Take, for example, the group you destroyed in Mongolia. Did MI6 tell you that their camp is on one of the largest lithium deposits in the world? Or that the gold from Rome was used to bribe corrupt leaders?

You might be surprised to learn that my daughter and I have watched you perform online, and have listened to many interviews with you. The wonderful, warm, and talented woman that I see there, laughing with her friends, is not a person that would murder an innocent mother, father, and child. I know that the world sometimes needs those who are hammers, and often those who, like you, are scalpels. But I don't want you to feel guilty, or to hesitate. In fact, I pardon you for killing me.

I am 63 now, Ms Hwang. I am at an age where my past is laid out like a tapestry, my failings exposed in the light. Please be sure that when you, too, see that record, that you are not alone, and are not afraid of what you might see.

We will meet soon,

David Allam