My Parents Said He Was A Wanted Criminal.

During the holiday break, I brought my boyfriend home to meet my parents. My dad is a retired detective. Throughout dinner, he kept serving my boyfriend food and pouring him drinks, being incredibly courteous. The moment my boyfriend left, Dad slammed his chopsticks down on the table. "Ethan's right leg can't support his weight properly when he walks. That's clearly an old gunshot wound. What kind of man are you dating?" I explained, "Ethan served in the military for two years. It's normal to have some old injuries." Dad scoffed. "Two years in the military? The calluses on that kid's left hand, between his thumb and index finger—those come from handling a gun for at least five years!" "Two years versus five years—that's almost triple the difference. If he has nothing to hide, why would he understate it?" I stood there, frozen. Dad had already picked up the phone. "Hey, Jack, I need you to run a background check on someone for me." Three days later, I found out my boyfriend was a wanted fugitive.

"Ethan, right? Have a seat, have a seat." As soon as we walked through the door, Dad greeted him with a smile. Ethan sat down and set his gifts on the table, extremely polite in his manner. Mom went into the kitchen to continue cooking while Dad started chatting with him. "Claire mentioned you run your own company?" "Yes, I sell security equipment. It's a small company, just getting started." "Mainly surveillance systems and access control, supplying office buildings and residential complexes." Dad nodded and asked, "Military background? I can tell from your posture." Ethan smiled. "I served two years, been out for a while now." "Which unit?" "Northeast region, regular infantry." I sat there listening, thinking the atmosphere was pretty good. Dad rarely showed this much warmth to a stranger. Ethan was charming, complimenting every dish, which made Mom beam with delight. Dad poured him a glass of whiskey. "Come on, have a drink." "Sir, I really can't hold my liquor." "Don't be shy. You're family now—I can't let you leave here sober, can I?" Ethan couldn't refuse and took a sip. Dad kept serving him food and drinks, asking questions left and right, acting like a truly dutiful future father-in-law. I felt pretty happy about it. Halfway through the meal, Mom said we were running low on ribs and needed to buy more, asking me to come along. I said okay. Once we got in the elevator, Mom was still smiling. The moment the elevator doors closed, her expression changed completely. "Claire." "Tell me the truth. What does Ethan really do?" I was stunned. "Didn't he already say? Security equipment." "He's not just in security. Your dad just texted me." "He said Ethan's right leg can't support his weight properly when he walks. That's clearly an old gunshot wound. What kind of man are you dating?" I explained, "Ethan served in the military for two years. It's normal to have some old injuries." Mom scoffed. "Two years in the military? Your dad says the calluses on that kid's left hand, between his thumb and index finger, show he's been handling guns for at least five years!" My mind went blank. Ethan had been my boyfriend for eight months. He was always gentle and considerate around me, never lost his temper, never even raised his voice. How could there be something wrong with him? Mom pulled me out of the elevator and we stood downstairs for a moment. "When you started dating him, did you ever see his ID?" I thought back. "I did. Once when he was buying train tickets, I glanced at it, but I didn't memorize the number." "What state did his ID say he was from?" "Wisconsin." "Has he ever taken you back to his hometown?" I shook my head. "Have you met his friends?" I shook my head again. Mom took a deep breath. "Alright, let's go back. Don't let him notice anything."

After dinner, Ethan helped Mom clear the dishes. Mom said it wasn't necessary, but he insisted, carrying plates into the kitchen. Dad took this opportunity to call me into his study. He closed the door, and his expression completely changed. "How did you meet him?" he asked directly. "At a friend's gathering. He was the one who added me on SnapChat," I said. "He pursued you?" "Yeah." "For how long?" "About a month. He picked me up from work every day, took me out on weekends. He was really attentive." Dad didn't respond, sitting down at his desk. "Dad, aren't you overthinking this?" I ventured carefully, "Isn't it normal for someone who served in the military to have calluses? A leg injury could have come from training exercises in the service." "When he walks, his right leg rotates outward," Dad interrupted me. "Do you know what kind of injury causes that posture?" I shook my head. "A bullet wound to the hip joint or thigh, with the bullet lodged in the bone. After it's removed, walking looks like that. This isn't a training injury—training injuries don't change your gait." "I've been a detective my whole life. I'm not wrong about this." I opened my mouth but didn't know what to say. "Also, there's a patch of noticeably hard skin on Ethan's left hand, between his thumb and index finger." "That comes from holding a gun long-term. A regular soldier serving two years wouldn't develop that. The thickness of those calluses takes at least five years." "Two years versus five years—that's almost triple the difference. Why would he understate it?" I couldn't answer. Dad picked up the phone on his desk and dialed a number. "Hello, Jack, this is Robert Mitchell. I need you to run a background check on someone... Yes, I need it today. Ethan, from Wisconsin." After hanging up, Dad looked at me. "Tonight, have him stay at a hotel, not here at home. Until we know for sure, I don't want him coming through that door." When I came out of the study, Ethan was sitting on the couch watching TV. Seeing me emerge, Ethan patted the seat next to him. "Come sit. This show's pretty interesting." I walked over and sat down. He naturally put his arm around my shoulders. "What did your dad want to talk about?" he asked casually. "Nothing much, just asking about your company." I looked at the man in front of me, and everything seemed normal. But also not normal. "I'll book you a hotel for tonight. We don't have a spare room." He glanced at me. "Okay." He didn't ask any questions. We'd been dating for eight months, and he'd never argued with me, never refused anything I asked. Now that I thought about it. Who could be that perfect? At one in the morning, I couldn't sleep. I suddenly remembered something. We'd been together for eight months, and he'd never let me visit his company. Every time I offered to pick him up, he'd say, "I'm working late today, don't come. I'll come to you." Where was his company, really? The next morning, Dad was up before me. "Jack found out a few things." "First, the identity 'Ethan' does exist, but the address registration was transferred from Wisconsin to here three years ago. The original records before the transfer can't be found." "Second, the security company he says he runs—he's not the registered owner. It's registered to a woman named Rebecca Hayes. What's his relationship to her? Don't know." "Third, and most importantly." "The photo on his ID matches someone in the fugitive database with ninety-one percent accuracy." My heart felt like someone had seized it. "What fugitive?" "In 2017, there was a gun-related incident in the Southwest. The suspect fled and hasn't been apprehended since." "DNA and fingerprints were recovered from the scene, but the identity was never confirmed." I sat on the couch, my whole body cold. "Dad, are you sure?" "Ninety-one percent match isn't one hundred percent, so I haven't drawn a final conclusion yet." He looked at me, his eyes serious. "Today, you're going to ask him out. Find a way to get his fingerprints." Dad pulled out a pair of transparent gloves and a glass from a drawer. "Get him to drink water. Don't wash the glass. Bring it back to me. Jack has connections to compare it against the fingerprint database." I stared at the glass, my hands trembling.

The next morning, Ethan texted me saying he wanted to check out downtown. We went to a mall in the city center, browsed for a while, then I suggested getting coffee. When I was ordering, my hands kept shaking. When I came back with the tray, Ethan was looking at his phone. Seeing me approach, he immediately put it down. "Careful, it's hot." He took his cup. I noticed how he held it. Thumb and middle finger gripping the sides, the other three fingers suspended in air. My heart sank. Dad had mentioned that experienced shooters habitually keep their index finger suspended independently, ready to pull a trigger. We sat for over an hour, making small talk. He kept talking about getting married in the future, buying a house, having kids—so earnestly. If this had been before yesterday, I would have felt happy. But now, I just felt a chill down my spine. When we parted ways, Ethan asked, "What did your parents think of me? Did I do anything wrong?" "They liked you. Don't overthink it." "That's good." He touched my head. "Next weekend I'll pick you up and we'll go look at houses." "Okay." He turned and walked into the subway station. I clutched the glass I'd secretly hidden in my bag. When I got home, Dad was waiting in the living room. I handed him the glass. He put on gloves and held the glass under the lamp to examine it. On the glass surface were three clear fingerprints. "That's enough," Dad said. He placed the glass in an evidence bag, took photos, and sent them to Jack. "Fingerprint comparison takes time. Fastest result is tonight." I said, "Dad, if he really is a fugitive..." "What do you want to say?" "I want to say, he was good to me..." "Good to you?" Dad finished my sentence. "Claire, people capable of those kinds of things are a hundred times better at treating you well than ordinary people." "Because they know that only by completely fooling you will you never question who they really are." At five in the afternoon, Jack called. Dad answered, listened for a few moments, and his expression changed. "Okay, I understand." He hung up and looked at me. "It's a match." "The fingerprints recovered from the 2017 Southwest gun incident scene are identical to Ethan's." "So he..." "His current identity is fake. No one knows his real name. The suspect from that case only had a codename: Scorpion." Scorpion. The man I'd been dating for eight months had the codename Scorpion. Dad stood up and walked to the window. "Jack already reported it. Following protocol, tonight or tomorrow, someone will come take him in." "What should I do now?" "I'll call him," Dad said. "Tell him I want to take him out for a meal, have a proper talk." "He's your boyfriend right now. He won't refuse." I looked at my dad. This fifty-nine-year-old man, standing straight as a tree. Mom came out of the kitchen, still wearing her apron. "You two need to stop." Her voice trembled slightly, but her expression was steady. "As a mother, I don't want to get involved in this. But there's one thing." She looked at me. "You've been dating him for eight months. Has he ever done anything inappropriate to you?" I thought about it. No. Not once. He always stopped at the right moment, always respected my wishes, always stopped before I felt uncomfortable. Now that I thought about it. He knew he couldn't leave any evidence. Dad glanced at me and picked up the phone, dialing Ethan's number. "Hello, Ethan, I'd like to take you out for dinner, tonight if you're available?" Something was said on the other end. Dad laughed. "Drink with you? I've never been afraid of anyone." After a few more words, he hung up. "He'll be here at seven." The clock on the wall pointed to six-forty. I stood on the balcony looking down. On the street below, people came and went. That black sedan—when did it park there? I didn't know. But the front end was pointed directly at the building entrance. Two people sat inside. I couldn't see their faces. Jack's people were already here. At five minutes to seven, the doorbell rang. Dad went to answer it. I stood at the end of the hallway and saw Ethan standing at the door, holding two more bags. He'd changed into a dark jacket, his hair fixed with gel, looking particularly sharp. "Sir, I brought you some good liquor." Dad smiled and took the bags, stepping aside to let him in. As Ethan was changing his shoes, his movement paused. He'd seen those two figures on the balcony. His smile was different from all his previous smiles. "Claire, are you and your dad hiding something from me?" Cold sweat covered my back.

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