Chapter 11 - The Price of a Son
Richard wanted the ledger.
Marcus wanted Eli.
Neither trusted the other.
The exchange was arranged at an abandoned Hale Biodyne research facility.
Marcus arrived alone.
At least, Richard believed he did.
Daniel watched remotely.
Rebecca had discovered something hidden inside Anna's notebook.
Coordinates.
They led beneath the facility.
Marcus entered carrying a metal case.
Richard waited.
Eli sat nearby.
Unhurt.
Terrified.
Marcus looked at him.
“I'm getting you home.”
Richard smiled.
“Home?”
“He met you four days ago.”
Marcus looked at Richard.
“And I've done more for him in four days than you did for me in eleven years.”
Richard's smile disappeared.
“Ledger.”
“Eli first.”
Richard nodded.
Eli stood.
Then alarms suddenly sounded.
Richard frowned.
“That isn't mine.”
Daniel's voice came through Marcus's hidden earpiece.
“Marcus.”
“We have company.”
Black vehicles surrounded the building.
Richard looked genuinely afraid.
For the first time Marcus realized something.
The Circle had come.
And they weren't there to help Richard.
Richard whispered.
“They know.”
“Know what?”
“That I lost control of you.”
Gunfire shattered glass outside.
Marcus grabbed Eli.
They ran.
Richard followed.
The three men who had destroyed Marcus's life were no longer enemies for one terrifying moment.
They were prey.
They reached the underground corridor.
Anna's coordinates led to a hidden laboratory.
Inside were hundreds of archived files.
And one old server.
Marcus turned it on.
A video appeared.
His father.
Jonathan Hale.
Recorded twelve years earlier.
“If Marcus is watching this, then I failed.”
Marcus stared at the screen.
His father continued.
“Richard is not the head of the Circle.”
“He never was.”
“The person controlling Lazarus is someone Marcus trusts more than anyone.”
Marcus looked toward Daniel through the camera feed.
His father spoke the final name.
“Daniel Mercer.”
Marcus stopped breathing.
His chief of security.
His closest friend.
May you like
The man who had protected him for eleven years.
Daniel.
