Chapter 3 - The Uncle Who Came Back From the Dead
Roman fired.
Dominic disappeared behind the concrete wall.
Men shouted.
Emma dropped beside Adrian as another shot struck the elevator frame.
Thomas pulled her behind a pillar.
“Stay down!”
Adrian hated being low.
He hated that everyone standing around him could move faster.
He hated that the first instinct of people who cared about him was to place their bodies between his and a bullet.
But hatred was useless.
Thinking was useful.
“Roman,” Adrian said.
“Working on it.”
Roman fired twice toward the hallway.
Adrian spotted an old steel control box beside the elevator.
“Emma.”
She looked at him.
“Red switch.”
“What?”
“Pull it.”
She crawled toward it.
Another shot struck concrete.
Emma reached the box and pulled the switch.
Steel fire doors slammed down through the corridor.
The shooting stopped.
Roman looked at Adrian.
“You saw that?”
“I have eyes.”
“You could say thank you.”
“Don’t ruin the moment.”
Emma laughed once despite herself.
Then she looked guilty for doing it.
Adrian stared at her.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You laughed.”
“You’re impossible.”
“I’ve been told.”
Thomas interrupted.
“The doors won’t hold them forever.”
Adrian looked at him.
“Then start talking.”
“Here?”
“You brought me to an underground room while my dead uncle shoots at us. I’m flexible.”
Emma muttered, “That may be the first time anyone has called you flexible.”
Adrian slowly turned his head.
Even Roman smiled.
For a brief second, the impossible pressure broke.
Then Thomas opened the folder.
Dominic had started stealing from the Vale organization twelve years earlier.
Not cash.
Information.
Police names.
Judges.
Business owners.
Politicians.
Routes.
Accounts.
He sold protection on both sides of every conflict.
If two criminal organizations planned war, Dominic made money regardless of which one survived.
Adrian’s father discovered the betrayal.
Three weeks later Adrian’s father died in what everyone believed was a car accident.
Adrian was nineteen.
Dominic stepped in.
“He raised me,” Adrian said.
“He shaped you,” Thomas corrected.
“There’s a difference.”
Adrian’s eyes hardened.
Thomas continued.
“Your father was preparing to remove Dominic.”
“You have proof?”
Thomas pulled out a letter.
Handwritten.
Adrian recognized his father’s handwriting before touching it.
Adrian—
If anything happens to me, do not trust my brother.
His vision blurred for half a second.
He read the rest silently.
His father had discovered Dominic was selling intelligence.
He had planned to expose him.
He died before he could.
Adrian lowered the letter.
“Why didn’t you give me this?”
“I tried.”
“When?”
“The week after your father died.”
Thomas looked ashamed.
“Dominic found out.”
“What happened?”
“He threatened Emma.”
Emma looked at her father.
“I was sixteen.”
“I know.”
Thomas’s voice broke.
“He showed me a photograph of her walking home from school. Told me if I ever approached Adrian, my daughter would disappear.”
“So you disappeared first,” Emma said.
Thomas looked at her.
“I thought leaving would keep you safe.”
“You let me think you were dead.”
“I know.”
“For eleven years.”
“I know.”
Emma stood.
Her eyes filled with fury.
“You don’t get to say that like it makes it smaller.”
Thomas looked down.
Adrian watched her.
He knew abandonment.
Not the same kind.
But grief often spoke similar languages.
Emma turned away.
Adrian wanted to say something.
He had no idea what.
That realization bothered him more than he expected.
Roman checked the fire door.
“We need another exit.”
Thomas pointed toward a maintenance tunnel.
Adrian looked at it.
“Stairs?”
Thomas hesitated.
Emma glanced at Adrian.
He hated that pause.
“How many?”
“Twenty-six.”
Adrian looked toward Roman.
“Carry me.”
Roman nodded without expression.
That was why Adrian trusted him.
No pity.
No hesitation.
Emma looked surprised.
Adrian caught it.
“You expected me to sit here and die because there are stairs?”
“No.”
“You did.”
“I expected you to threaten the stairs first.”
His mouth twitched.
Roman locked the wheelchair.
Adrian transferred his weight.
The process was ugly.
Real life often was.
Roman lifted him.
Another guard carried the chair.
Adrian despised every second.
He could feel Emma watching.
Not with pity.
With awareness.
That was somehow harder.
They reached the top.
Roman lowered Adrian into the chair.
Adrian adjusted himself.
Emma said nothing.
Good.
Then she stepped closer.
“You okay?”
Bad.
“I’m fine.”
“That wasn’t convincing.”
“Neither was your kidnapping.”
“I wasn’t kidnapped.”
“You disappeared and left your shoes in an abandoned building.”
“My father told me to leave them as markers.”
“Your father is terrible at subtlety.”
Thomas looked offended.
Emma almost smiled.
They exited through a drainage tunnel behind the building.
Dominic’s men had disappeared.
No bodies.
No vehicles.
No Dominic.
Back at the estate, Adrian locked down the property.
No staff allowed to leave.
No visitors allowed inside.
Emma sat at the kitchen island drinking coffee.
Her hands finally started shaking.
Adrian noticed.
“You’re afraid now.”
She looked at him.
“I was afraid before.”
“You hid it.”
“I was busy.”
“With what?”
“Keeping you from noticing.”
He studied her.
“Why?”
“Because you like fear too much.”
Adrian went still.
Emma regretted the words immediately.
But she did not take them back.
“You think you know me?”
“No.”
“Then don’t pretend.”
“I’m not.”
She placed the cup down.
“I think you spent two years making people terrified because fear feels better than pity.”
His expression darkened.
“You should stop.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re getting close to a line.”
Emma leaned toward him.
“Would you fire me?”
“Yes.”
“Then do it.”
Silence.
Adrian did not.
Emma nodded.
“That’s what I thought.”
He nearly exploded.
Instead he turned the chair sharply.
“Come with me.”
“Where?”
“My office.”
“Am I being fired there?”
“No.”
“Shame. I already rehearsed my speech.”
Adrian rolled away.
She followed.
His private office overlooked the city.
Chicago glowed beyond enormous windows.
Adrian opened a safe.
Inside were documents from the shooting investigation.
He placed one photograph on the desk.
The image showed the rooftop where the sniper fired.
Emma leaned closer.
“What am I looking at?”
“The shooter had a clean line to my chest.”
“So?”
“He didn’t take it.”
She looked at Adrian.
“He shot your spine deliberately.”
“Yes.”
“Because Dominic wanted you alive.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“That is what we’re missing.”
Emma examined the picture.
Then another.
Then another.
She stopped.
“What’s this?”
A white object was visible near the rooftop door.
Adrian zoomed in.
Hospital supply bag.
Emma stared.
“Why would that be there before you were shot?”
Adrian felt cold.
Roman entered.
“We identified the surgeon.”
Adrian looked up.
“Name?”
“Dr. Elias Grant.”
“Where is he?”
“That’s the problem.”
Roman placed a tablet on the desk.
A recent surveillance photograph appeared.
Dr. Grant walking into a restaurant.
Date stamped two days ago.
Emma frowned.
“Why is that a problem?”
Roman swiped to the next image.
Grant was entering the restaurant with a woman.
Sofia.
Adrian stared at his sister.
Roman’s voice lowered.
“She’s met him six times in the last month.”
Adrian’s phone buzzed.
Message from Sofia.
I NEED TO TELL YOU WHAT REALLY HAPPENED IN THE OPERATING ROOM.
Then another message appeared.
DON’T TRUST ROMAN.
Adrian looked slowly toward his security chief.
Roman had already seen it.
Neither man spoke.
A sound came from the hallway.
Sofia’s voice.
“Adrian?”
Roman reached for his gun.
The office door opened.
Sofia stepped inside.
May you like
Blood covered her hands.
And behind her, someone was dragging a body.
