Chapter 8 - The Price of Trust
Bastion didn't speak for almost a minute.
Evelyn Shaw.
His lawyer.
The woman currently recovering from the warehouse abduction.
His biological mother.
Victor sat on the stairs.
“Elena raised you.”
“Why?”
“To protect you.”
“From whom?”
Victor looked at the ledger.
“Your biological father.”
Bastion's eyes hardened.
“Alexander.”
“No.”
Another foundation cracked.
Evelyn had been nineteen when Bastion was born.
Alexander adopted him privately.
Elena raised him as her own.
The biological father was never named.
But he had belonged to Meridian's earliest incarnation.
Alexander feared the man would eventually claim Bastion.
So he erased the truth.
“Who was he?” Bastion asked.
Victor shook his head.
“Alexander never told me.”
Beatrice found a sealed envelope.
FOR BASTION.
Inside was a letter.
Alexander's handwriting.
Son,
Blood makes relatives. Choice makes family.
If you are reading this, I failed to tell you myself.
Whatever you discover about the man who fathered you, remember this: he did not make you.
You made yourself.
Bastion folded the letter.
Beatrice watched him carefully.
No comfort.
No pity.
Just presence.
He noticed.
“Don't.”
“Don't what?”
“Look at me like that.”
“I'm looking at you like you've just discovered your entire childhood was falsified.”
“Exactly.”
“Fine.”
She turned away.
“I'm looking at the wall.”
He laughed unexpectedly.
Small.
Broken.
Real.
Then Victor's phone rang.
Unknown number.
He answered.
A man's voice said:
“You opened the ledger.”
Everyone froze.
“Yes,” Victor said.
“Then Bastion knows.”
“Who is this?”
The caller ignored him.
“Bring Beatrice Abbott to Pier Twenty-Three tomorrow at midnight.”
Bastion took the phone.
“No.”
The voice chuckled.
“Still giving orders.”
“Touch her and—”
“And what?”
Silence.
“You don't know me, son.”
Bastion stopped breathing.
Beatrice stared at him.
The caller continued.
“But I know everything about you.”
The line disconnected.
Bastion looked at the phone.
Beatrice already knew.
The man behind Meridian had finally called.
And he had called Bastion son.
Later, at the hotel, Beatrice found Bastion standing alone by the windows.
“You're not going tomorrow,” he said.
“Yes, I am.”
“No.”
“You know how this conversation ends.”
“This one ends differently.”
“Why?”
“Because I said so.”
She laughed.
Wrong answer.
Bastion turned.
“Beatrice.”
“No. You don't get to lock me away because you're scared.”
His expression changed.
“I am scared.”
That silenced her.
“Not for myself.”
She looked at him.
He stepped closer.
“That's the problem.”
Neither spoke.
The city glowed behind them.
Beatrice's pulse betrayed her.
She disliked that too.
“Don't,” she whispered.
“What?”
“Whatever you're thinking.”
“You don't know what I'm thinking.”
“I audit people for a living.”
“You audit numbers.”
“People are messier numbers.”
He almost smiled.
She stepped backward.
“Don't fall in love with me, Mercer.”
The humor vanished from his face.
“Why?”
“Because I'm difficult.”
“I noticed.”
“I'm loud.”
“I noticed.”
“I don't follow instructions.”
“Painfully noticed.”
“And men like you don't fall in love. You acquire things.”
His eyes remained on hers.
“You're not a thing.”
“Good answer.”
“It wasn't an answer.”
He moved closer.
Beatrice's back touched the dark paneled door.
Bastion braced one hand beside her.
No touch.
No force.
Only proximity.
Then the lights went out.
A metallic sound came from the hallway.
Someone tried the handle.
Bastion locked the door.
Beatrice whispered, “Bastion?”
A voice answered from the other side.
Not Bastion's.
“Open the door, Beatrice.”
She recognized it.
Howard Kline.
May you like
Then he added:
“I know who Bastion's father is.”
