Hope Harper Daddy's Monkey Business Updated ◆

Her father leaned in. “He’s not hiring trainers or handlers. He’s hiring a bookkeeper .” He tapped his temple. “Numbers, Hope. My other language. If I get this job, we can pay off Kevin’s vet bills. Fix the roof. Buy more bananas. Corporate bananas. ”

“When do you start?”

“Hope,” he said, sliding a crumpled flyer across the sticky Formica. “I’ve done it. I’ve finally cracked the code.” hope harper daddy's monkey business

The monkeys weren’t performers. They were cover. The whole operation – the poker games, the tax-filing mandrill, the sequined vests – was a front for laundering money and smuggling confiscated primate habitats out of Africa.

The trouble began on a Tuesday. Hope came home from her shift at the local library – shelving books, breathing air that smelled like paper instead of monkey musk – and found her father sitting at the kitchen table, grinning like a chimpanzee who’d discovered a termite mound. Her father leaned in

“What’s Phase Four?” she asked.

“The monkeys aren’t the criminals, Hope,” her father said softly. “They’re the victims. Just like those artifacts. Just like the land Kimboko’s strip-mining.” “Numbers, Hope

Hope’s blood went cold.