Chapter 6 - The Man Behind Meridian
“Step away from the file.”
Harris held the gun steadily.
Adrian moved slightly in front of me.
Harris smiled.
“Still protecting the waitress.”
“She’s worth protecting.”
“Touching.”
Marco shifted.
Harris pointed the weapon at him.
“Don’t.”
Nobody moved.
My father stared at Harris.
“All these years.”
“All these years,” Harris repeated.
“You were inside the task force.”
“Yes.”
“You killed Matteo.”
“Yes.”
Adrian’s face went still.
Harris smiled.
“That one hurt, didn’t it?”
Luca lunged.
Adrian caught him.
“Not now.”
Harris ordered us upstairs.
Two armed men waited.
Bellamont Lodge was empty.
Or supposed to be.
We were forced onto the terrace.
The same terrace where everything began.
Harris placed the Meridian file on a table.
“Seventeen years,” he said. “Daniel kept running. Victor kept digging. Matteo kept hiding things.”
He looked at me.
“And then a waitress ruined the cleanest assassination I ever planned.”
“You marked the glass.”
“Carver did.”
“The shooter?”
“Backup.”
“Why did he recognize me?”
Harris smiled.
“Because we had been watching you for months.”
My father closed his eyes.
I understood.
“You knew Dad would eventually contact me.”
“Yes.”
“So you used me to draw him out.”
“Yes.”
Adrian’s assassination had served two purposes.
Remove Adrian.
Flush out Daniel.
“What about Victor?”
“Victor became inconvenient.”
“Is he alive?”
“For now.”
A vehicle arrived.
Two men dragged Victor onto the terrace.
Rachel ran toward him.
Marco stopped her.
Victor was injured but alive.
He looked at Daniel.
“You idiot.”
Daniel almost smiled.
“Good to see you too.”
Harris sighed.
“Reunions.”
He lifted the Meridian file.
“Now we finish this.”
His plan was simple.
Destroy the evidence.
Kill Adrian and Luca.
Kill Daniel and Victor.
Make it look like an internal criminal war.
I would disappear.
Another innocent casualty.
But Harris had made one mistake.
He still thought I was invisible.
While he talked, I watched.
The terrace.
The tables.
The security cameras.
The musician platform.
The champagne station.
And Adrian’s whiskey glass.
Its reflection.
Exactly as he had used it the first night.
In the glass, I could see Marco’s hand.
He was signaling.
Three fingers.
Then two.
Then one.
I dropped.
Adrian moved instantly.
Gunfire erupted.
Marco attacked the nearest guard.
Luca tackled another.
My father pulled Rachel behind a table.
Harris fired toward Adrian.
Missed.
I crawled behind the champagne station.
A gun slid across the floor.
Harris reached for it.
So did I.
He was faster.
He pointed it at me.
Then Adrian hit him from the side.
They crashed against the railing.
Harris fought hard.
Adrian fought harder.
But Harris pulled a knife.
He slashed Adrian’s arm.
Adrian stumbled.
Harris raised the blade again.
I grabbed a champagne bottle.
Swung.
It shattered against Harris’s wrist.
The knife fell.
Marco tackled him.
Police sirens approached.
Real police.
Not Harris’s people.
Marco had transmitted everything.
The wire I had worn at the Marlowe house was still active.
Harris had confessed.
All of it.
He was arrested before sunrise.
Meridian began collapsing by noon.
Accounts were frozen.
Officers arrested.
Officials exposed.
Carver was found two days later.
Alive.
He made a deal.
The surviving shooter’s autopsy revealed poison.
Harris had killed his own man to prevent him from talking.
Victor survived.
So did Rachel.
My father faced consequences too.
Not prison.
But seventeen years of explanations.
The hardest one was mine.
We sat together one evening.
“Why didn’t you come back after Mom died?”
He cried.
I had never seen my father cry.
“Because they were watching you.”
“You could have sent something.”
“I was afraid.”
“So was I.”
“I know.”
“No. You don’t.”
He nodded.
“You’re right.”
That mattered.
He didn’t excuse himself.
He didn’t ask forgiveness.
He simply stayed.
For once.
Adrian recovered from the knife wound.
He visited me three days later.
No bodyguards inside.
He brought coffee.
“Is this poisoned?” I asked.
He almost smiled.
“You’ve become difficult.”
“I learned from you.”
He sat across from me.
“You could leave.”
“Leave what?”
“This city.”
“Why?”
“Because people know your name now.”
“I’m tired of people deciding where I’m allowed to live.”
He nodded.
“Fair.”
“What about you?”
“What about me?”
“Meridian is gone.”
“Mostly.”
“You still going to be a terrifying mysterious businessman?”
“I was considering gardening.”
I laughed.
It surprised both of us.
Then he became serious.
“I owe you.”
“No.”
“Elena—”
“You don’t.”
“You saved me twice.”
“Then buy me dinner.”
He stared.
“That’s all?”
“For now.”
His smile appeared slowly.
“Dinner.”
“One condition.”
“What?”
“No armed men at the table.”
“Nearby?”
I sighed.
“Fine.”
He stood.
At the door, he stopped.
“Elena.”
“What?”
“Why did you warn me that night?”
The question surprised me.
“You were a stranger.”
“You didn’t know whether I was good or bad.”
“No.”
“You risked your life anyway.”
I thought about it.
Then answered simply.
“Because I saw what was happening.”
He nodded.
“The girl who sees.”
My father’s message.
Trust the girl who sees.
I smiled faintly.
“Maybe.”
Adrian left.
For the first time in days, the apartment became quiet.
Then someone knocked.
I looked through the peephole.
No one.
I opened the door carefully.
A small package sat outside.
No return address.
Inside was the old photograph of my father and Matteo Vale.
But now there was something written beneath the original message.
Fresh ink.
Four words.
MERIDIAN WAS NEVER THE BEGINNING.
My phone rang.
Victor Dane.
I answered.
“Elena,” he said.
His voice was shaking.
“I found the person who ordered Harris to create Meridian.”
I gripped the phone.
“Who?”
Victor inhaled.
May you like
Then someone knocked again.
This time from inside my apartment.
