Chapter 6 - Midnight at Meridian
Nola answered immediately.
“Mom?”
No response.
Then breathing.
“Mom?”
A man’s voice came through.
“Dr. Crest.”
Roman.
Dante’s face hardened.
Nola put the call on speaker.
“What did you do to her?”
“Nothing.”
“If you touched her—”
“I said nothing.”
“Then let me speak to her.”
A pause.
Her mother’s voice came through.
“Nola?”
Nola nearly collapsed with relief.
“Mom. Are you okay?”
“Yes. There’s a man outside the house.”
“Inside?”
“No.”
“Lock everything.”
“I did.”
Roman returned.
“I’m not a monster, Nola.”
Dante spoke.
“You became one.”
Silence.
Then Roman laughed softly.
“Dante.”
The sound contained eight years of hatred.
“I wondered how long before you started speaking for her.”
“No one speaks for me,” Nola said.
Roman paused.
Then laughed again.
“I like you.”
“I’m devastated.”
Silas actually smiled.
Roman continued.
“Midnight. Meridian Tower. Bring the archive. Bring Dante.”
“No.”
Everyone looked at Nola.
She continued.
“I’ll bring the archive. Dante stays.”
Dante stared at her.
Roman said, “You misunderstand the invitation.”
“No. You misunderstand me. If you need me to read my father’s cipher, you don’t hurt my mother.”
Roman’s voice cooled.
“You sound like Thomas.”
“Good.”
“He was stubborn too.”
“And he beat your mentor.”
“My mentor?”
“Victor Vale.”
Roman went silent.
Nola pressed.
“My father left the truth behind. Victor died. His network fractured. You spent years chasing what Thomas hid.”
Still silence.
“So yes,” she said. “My father beat him.”
Roman disconnected.
Dante looked at her.
“That was reckless.”
“He needed to hear it.”
“He may retaliate.”
“He already threatened my mother.”
“I’m moving her.”
“Good.”
Ortiz arranged federal protection.
Nola’s mother was taken to a secure location within the hour.
That removed Roman’s easiest leverage.
Not all of it.
Malcolm Vane remained captive.
And the archive still contained sections nobody could decode.
Nola worked on the cipher.
Her father’s system was painfully familiar once she saw it.
Drug abbreviations represented letters.
Dosages represented positions.
Childhood crossword clues became keys.
It was absurdly elaborate.
And deeply him.
By ten-thirty, she decoded the final section.
A list of account numbers.
Names.
And a set of recordings proving Roman Kade had taken over the old network five years earlier.
Enough to destroy him.
Nola looked at Dante.
“He knows this is here.”
“Yes.”
“He’ll kill for it.”
“Yes.”
“Then we don’t bring the real archive.”
Ortiz shook her head.
“He’ll know.”
“Not immediately.”
Dante studied her.
“What are you thinking?”
Nola looked at the portable drive federal investigators had created.
“We give him what he wants.”
Silas frowned.
“Why?”
“So he opens the door.”
Meridian Tower had been abandoned for seven years.
Once headquarters of Meridian Medical Procurement, it stood near the river, dark except for the top floor.
At 11:52 p.m., Dante and Nola entered.
No police visible.
That had been Roman’s condition.
But federal tactical teams waited three blocks away.
Ortiz had placed a transmitter inside Nola’s bracelet.
Dante hated the plan.
He had said so fourteen times.
Nola had counted.
“You could stay in the car.”
He looked at her.
“That was funny.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
They entered the elevator.
Dante wore black this time.
No ivory suit.
No public image.
Just a dark shirt and jacket.
His silver cross rested at his throat.
Nola looked at it.
“The letters.”
“What?”
“R.V.K.”
“Yes.”
“Who scratched them there?”
“I think Roman.”
“When?”
“Probably while I was unconscious.”
“Why?”
“To make me remember him.”
The elevator climbed.
Nola glanced at Dante’s side.
“How’s the incision?”
“Fine.”
“You’re lying.”
“Yes.”
“Thank you for the efficiency.”
He looked at her.
“If this goes wrong—”
“No.”
“Nola.”
“No last speeches.”
“I was going to say get behind me.”
“That’s worse.”
The elevator doors opened.
Roman stood alone.
At first glance, he looked ordinary.
That was the unsettling part.
Forty-ish.
Tall.
Sandy hair.
Scar along his left cheek and neck.
No theatrical menace.
No raised weapon.
He simply stood beside a long table.
Malcolm Vane sat at the far end.
Alive.
Hands restrained.
“Dante.”
Roman smiled.
Dante did not.
“Roman.”
Eight years collapsed into one word.
Nola could feel it.
Roman’s gaze shifted to her.
“Dr. Crest.”
“Release Malcolm.”
“Archive first.”
“No.”
He smiled.
“You really are Thomas’s daughter.”
“And you became everything he warned about.”
That struck.
Roman’s smile thinned.
“You listened to the tapes.”
“Yes.”
“Then you heard what your father thought of me.”
“I heard what he feared you might become.”
Roman’s eyes hardened.
Dante stepped forward.
“This is between us.”
Roman laughed.
“It stopped being between us when you gave Victor my location.”
“I know.”
That answer disrupted him.
Roman had expected denial.
Dante continued.
“I betrayed you.”
Nola looked at him.
“I believed my father. I gave him the location. I was wrong.”
Roman’s expression twisted.
“You want forgiveness?”
“No.”
“Then what?”
“The truth.”
Roman stared.
Dante’s voice remained steady.
“You survived. You could have come back.”
“To what?”
“To me.”
“You?”
Roman laughed bitterly.
“The son who chose his father?”
“I chose wrong once.”
“Once?”
Roman stepped closer.
“I spent eleven months in hospitals. I lost half the movement in my left hand. Victor’s men hunted me for two years.”
Dante’s face tightened.
“I didn’t know.”
“That is your favorite defense.”
“No.”
Dante took another step.
“It is my greatest failure.”
Roman stopped.
For a moment, Nola saw the old friend beneath the hatred.
Then it vanished.
“Archive.”
Nola placed the case on the table.
Roman opened it.
Ledgers.
Tapes.
Drive.
Everything looked real.
Because most of it was.
The incriminating originals were already with federal investigators.
Roman picked up the drive.
“Cipher key?”
“In my head.”
He smiled.
“Good.”
Nola’s stomach tightened.
That smile meant he had expected exactly that.
Roman looked toward Malcolm.
“Doctor Vane.”
Malcolm lifted his head.
“I’m sorry, Nola.”
“What?”
Roman pressed a button.
The room locked.
Metal shutters dropped over the windows.
Dante moved instantly toward Nola.
Too late.
Three hidden doors opened.
Men entered.
Weapons drawn.
Roman smiled.
“Did you truly believe Malcolm was my prisoner?”
Nola stared at Vane.
Malcolm stood.
His wrists had never been secured.
The restraints fell away.
“I’m sorry,” he repeated.
Nola felt sick.
“You worked with Victor.”
“Yes.”
“And Roman.”
“Yes.”
“For twenty years?”
Malcolm’s face looked old.
“Twelve.”
“Why?”
“Money at first.”
“And later?”
“Survival.”
Roman handed him the drive.
“Check it.”
Malcolm connected it to a computer.
Nola watched the screen.
Files opened.
Roman’s smile vanished.
“These are copies.”
“Yes.”
“Where are the originals?”
“Safe.”
Roman looked at Nola.
“You came here with nothing?”
“No. I came with enough.”
“For what?”
“To keep you talking.”
A red light blinked on Nola’s bracelet.
Transmission active.
Roman saw it.
His expression changed.
He grabbed her wrist.
Dante moved.
Two guns pointed at him.
Nola did not flinch.
Roman ripped off the bracelet.
“You brought police.”
“No.”
“Federal agents, actually.”
For one beautiful second, Roman looked surprised.
Then he smiled.
“That might have mattered.”
He lifted his phone.
The building’s power died.
Complete darkness.
Dante reached for Nola.
Gunfire cracked somewhere near the far wall.
People shouted.
Nola dropped.
A hand grabbed her.
Not Dante’s.
She was pulled through a doorway.
She fought.
An arm locked around her.
A voice whispered against her ear.
“Quiet.”
Rafe.
She stopped.
“Where’s Dante?”
“Behind us.”
“Is he hurt?”
“I don’t know.”
Emergency lights flickered.
Nola saw a narrow service corridor.
Rafe shoved a keycard into her hand.
“Basement exit.”
“You’re coming.”
“No.”
“Rafe.”
“I brought him to you. I started this.”
“You were following Roman’s orders.”
“I can end it.”
“That’s not how this works.”
He looked at her.
For the first time, she saw how exhausted he was.
“I betrayed Dante because Roman convinced me Dante had become Victor.”
“Did you believe him?”
“I wanted to.”
“Why?”
“My brother died working for Victor.”
There it was.
Another wound.
Another person Roman had turned toward revenge.
Nola gripped his arm.
“Then stop giving dead men control of living people.”
Rafe stared.
A gunshot echoed.
He pushed her toward the stairs.
“Go.”
Nola ran three steps.
Then stopped.
She could not leave Dante.
She turned back.
Rafe swore.
“Doctor.”
“I’m tired of men telling me where to go.”
She ran toward the main floor.
Emergency lights pulsed.
She found Malcolm first.
He was bleeding from the shoulder.
Alive.
“Roman?”
“Roof.”
“Dante?”
“Went after him.”
Of course he did.
Nola pressed gauze to Malcolm’s wound.
“You stay here.”
“You’re going up?”
“Yes.”
“That’s insane.”
“I’ve had a long week.”
She took the stairs.
Thirty-two floors.
By twenty, her lungs burned.
By twenty-eight, she hated Dante personally.
At thirty-two, she pushed through the roof door.
Wind hit her.
Roman stood near the edge.
Dante faced him.
Both were injured.
Neither held a weapon.
The city glittered below.
Roman laughed.
“You always were stubborn.”
Dante’s breathing was labored.
“You always talked too much.”
Nola stepped out.
“Both of you stop.”
They turned.
Dante’s face filled with fury.
“Nola.”
“Don’t.”
Roman smiled.
“The doctor returns.”
Sirens sounded below.
Federal teams entering.
Roman looked over the edge.
Then at Nola.
“You think this ends with me?”
“No.”
She stepped closer.
“It ends with evidence.”
Roman’s smile faded.
“Your father thought paper could stop powerful men.”
“He was right.”
“He died.”
“And you spent twenty-six years trying to find what he hid.”
Roman stared.
Nola continued.
“That means he still beat you.”
Something in Roman broke.
He lunged.
Not at Nola.
At Dante.
They collided.
Dante’s surgical wound reopened.
Nola saw the dark stain spread across his shirt.
“Dante!”
Agents burst through the roof door.
Roman was restrained.
Dante fell.
Nola caught him before he hit the concrete.
His eyes struggled to focus.
“Doctor,” he whispered.
“I’m here.”
“You always are.”
“Don’t be charming right now.”
His mouth moved faintly.
Nola pressed both hands against his side.
“Stay with me.”
His eyes closed.
“No.”
She pressed harder.
“Dante. Look at me.”
Nothing.
“Dante!”
Agents shouted for medics.
Nola felt for his pulse.
Weak.
Then weaker.
She bent close.
“You do not get to survive a gunshot, argue with me for six days, and die because you ripped your own stitches chasing your terrible childhood friend.”
No response.
“Do you hear me?”
His fingers moved.
Barely.
Then his eyes opened.
Nola laughed through tears.
“That’s right.”
His lips parted.
“Nola.”
“What?”
He tried to speak.
She leaned closer.
“I should have said this before.”
Her heart stopped.
“Then say it later.”
He smiled weakly.
“There may not be—”
“No.”
“Nola.”
“Later.”
Medics reached them.
Nola moved with them.
They loaded Dante onto a stretcher.
As the elevator doors opened, Ortiz ran toward them.
“We have Roman. We have Vane. We have the records.”
Nola nodded.
Then Ortiz caught her arm.
“There’s something else.”
“What?”
“We searched Roman’s private server.”
Nola looked at Dante.
“What did you find?”
Ortiz’s face changed.
“A file on your father.”
Nola’s stomach dropped.
“And?”
“Thomas Crest didn’t die where you were told he died.”
Nola stared.
Ortiz lowered her voice.
May you like
“The man buried under your father’s name may not be Thomas Crest.”
The elevator doors closed.
