Chapter 8
I looked at Martin.
He didn’t run.
He didn’t argue.
He just stood there.
His face empty.
Dad moved in front of me.
Samuel stared at Martin like he had been punched.
“Tell me that isn’t what I think.”
Martin lowered his head.
Ortiz raised her weapon.
“Hands where I can see them.”
Martin lifted both hands.
“Martin?”
I said.
He looked at me.
“I can explain.”
I hated those words.
Adults always said them right before admitting something terrible.
Dad stepped closer.
“You were part of Victor’s network?”
“No.”
“Your name is in the archive.”
“I know.”
“Why?”
Martin looked at Samuel.
“Because I paid Victor.”
Samuel’s expression hardened.
“How much?”
“Two million dollars.”
Dad grabbed Martin by the shirt.
“You paid the man who hunted my family?”
“To save them!”
The room went silent.
Dad didn’t let go.
Martin continued.
“Eleven years ago, Victor found out I helped Claire escape.”
“So?”
“He threatened to kill her.”
Dad’s jaw tightened.
“He demanded two million dollars for her location.”
“And you paid him?”
“Yes.”
Dad shoved him backward.
“Why?”
“Because I gave him a false location.”
Everyone froze.
Martin breathed hard.
“The payment bought Claire seventy-two hours.”
Dad stared.
Martin looked at me.
“Those seventy-two hours were enough to fake the funeral.”
Samuel slowly sat.
“You never told me.”
“I couldn’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because Victor had people everywhere.”
Ortiz lowered her weapon slightly.
“But the archive records Martin as a payer.”
Dad looked at the monitor.
“Not every name is a criminal.”
The technician scrolled.
Each entry had codes.
Some red.
Some yellow.
Some blue.
Martin’s name was blue.
Dad exhaled.
“Blue indicates extortion victim or protected witness.”
Martin closed his eyes.
I felt anger leaving my chest.
Not completely.
But enough.
Dad released him.
“You should have told me.”
“You were missing.”
“You should have told my father.”
Martin looked at Samuel.
“I was protecting Claire.”
Samuel answered quietly.
“And condemning Nathaniel to eleven years believing his wife and son were dead.”
Martin had no response.
Neither did I.
There was no way to undo it.
Ortiz’s radio came alive.
“Suspect located.”
Everyone turned.
“Where?”
“North side of property. Moving toward lake.”
Victor.
Dad looked at Ortiz.
“He’ll have an extraction plan.”
She radioed officers.
“Block roads. Cover shoreline.”
Samuel pointed toward the back window.
“There’s an old boathouse.”
Dad’s face changed.
“Of course.”
He ran.
I followed.
“Ethan!” Ortiz shouted.
Dad turned.
“Stay here.”
“No.”
“Ethan.”
“I’m not staying behind again.”
For one second, we stared at each other.
Then Dad did something unexpected.
He nodded.
“Behind me.”
We ran through the yard with police.
The lake was black beneath the moon.
A speedboat engine started near the boathouse.
Victor stood on the dock.
A woman beside him.
Patricia.
I stopped.
She was holding a gun.
“Patricia?”
She looked at me.
Tears ran down her face.
Victor grabbed her shoulder.
“Get in the boat.”
She shook her head.
“No.”
“You know what happens if you don’t.”
Ortiz aimed.
“Victor! Drop the weapon!”
Victor pulled Patricia in front of him.
Human shield.
Dad whispered, “He took her family.”
“What?”
“Probably.”
Patricia shouted, “My daughter!”
Victor tightened his grip.
“Shut up.”
Patricia screamed toward police.
“He has my daughter!”
Ortiz lowered her aim slightly.
“Where?”
Patricia cried.
“I don’t know!”
Victor dragged her backward.
“If anyone moves, she dies.”
I looked at Dad.
He was thinking.
Fast.
The boat idled.
Victor had nowhere else to go.
Then I noticed something.
The dock lights.
Security cameras.
Dad followed my eyes.
“What?”
“Can you control the house from the card?”
He frowned.
“Some systems.”
“Lights?”
“Maybe.”
I held up the black card.
Victor saw it.
His eyes changed.
“The card.”
He forgot Patricia for half a second.
That was enough.
I threw it.
Not toward him.
Into the lake.
Victor screamed.
“No!”
He shoved Patricia away and dove after it.
Ortiz moved.
“Now!”
Police rushed.
Victor hit the water.
Dad stared at me.
“You threw the master key into Lake Michigan?”
“I figured you could make another.”
He looked horrified.
Then laughed.
“You are definitely my son.”
Officers dragged Patricia away.
Two others searched the water.
Victor surfaced twenty feet from the dock.
He was swimming toward the card.
A police boat cut him off.
“Hands up!”
Victor ignored them.
He dove.
The card disappeared beneath the black water.
Then Victor disappeared too.
Seconds passed.
Ten.
Twenty.
An officer shined a light.
No Victor.
Thirty seconds.
A diver entered.
Dad stared at the water.
“He has a breathing device.”
Ortiz looked toward the boathouse.
“Search it.”
Inside, police found diving equipment.
A submerged tunnel connected the boathouse to an outlet beyond the property.
Victor had prepared for everything.
We ran toward the far shore.
Too late.
An abandoned truck sat near a dirt road.
Engine warm.
Victor was gone.
Again.
Ortiz cursed.
Patricia sat in an ambulance.
She told police Victor had kidnapped her twelve-year-old daughter, Lily, two days earlier.
He had forced Patricia to monitor the bank.
Forced her to report any activity involving my account.
That was why she panicked.
But one thing didn’t fit.
“Why did you shove me?” I asked.
Patricia looked ashamed.
“I didn’t know who you were.”
“That doesn’t make it better.”
“No.”
She cried.
“It doesn’t.”
I appreciated that she didn’t make excuses.
She wiped her face.
“When I saw the account, I realized Victor had been waiting for you.”
“Why didn’t you warn me?”
“I tried to call him first because he had Lily.”
She looked down.
“I’m sorry.”
Dad stood beside me.
“Do you know where Lily is?”
Patricia shook her head.
“He moved her every few hours.”
“Any sounds? Signs? Anything?”
Patricia closed her eyes.
“When he let me speak to her, I heard trains.”
“What kind?”
“Freight.”
“And bells.”
“Church bells?”
“I think so.”
Martin arrived.
His phone was filled with news alerts.
The archive was already causing arrests.
Two bank executives had resigned.
Federal prosecutors announced emergency warrants.
Accounts were being frozen.
But Victor still had Patricia’s daughter.
Dad asked Patricia, “Did he say anything else?”
She thought.
“He kept mentioning a warehouse.”
“Where?”
“I don’t know.”
Then she remembered.
“Number forty-seven.”
Dad looked at Samuel.
Samuel’s face changed.
“What?”
I asked.
He turned toward Ortiz.
“There’s an old Cross Technologies warehouse south of Chicago.”
“Number?”
Samuel swallowed.
“Forty-seven.”
Dad grabbed his coat.
“I know the building.”
Ortiz immediately organized transport.
Patricia stood.
“I’m coming.”
“No,” Ortiz said.
“That’s my daughter.”
“And you’re a witness.”
“She needs me!”
I understood her.
I looked at Dad.
He looked at me.
Then at Ortiz.
“Let her ride with us.”
Two hours later, we approached Warehouse 47.
The building sat near freight tracks.
A church stood three blocks away.
Its bell rang at six in the morning.
Patricia started crying.
“She’s here.”
Police surrounded the warehouse.
Thermal cameras detected one person inside.
Small.
Alone.
They breached the side door.
Patricia ran in after them.
“Lily!”
A girl was tied to a chair in an upstairs office.
Alive.
Patricia collapsed beside her.
I watched from the doorway.
Mother and daughter held each other.
Dad put his arm around me.
I leaned into him before I even realized I was doing it.
Then an officer called Ortiz.
“Detective, you need to see this.”
A wall behind the office had photographs pinned across it.
My mother.
Me.
Dad.
Samuel.
Martin.
Patricia.
Dozens of pictures.
Victor had been tracking everyone.
But in the center was a photograph taken three months earlier.
Mom leaving her hospital.
Beside her was a doctor.
Ortiz read the name written beneath it.
“Dr. Raymond Hale.”
I recognized him immediately.
He had treated my mother.
He had held my shoulder after she died.
He had looked me in the eyes and said they had done everything they could.
Dad’s hand tightened around mine.
May you like
On the wall beneath Dr. Hale’s picture, Victor had written one sentence.
CLAIRE WAS ONLY THE FIRST PATIENT.
