Chapter 8 - THE VIDEO THEY USED TO CONTROL MY FATHER
The video was not evidence of Juniper being harmed.
Gideon learned that two hours later.
It was worse in a different way.
Thomas Vale confessed.
Federal agents confronted him with Norah’s statement.
For several minutes, Thomas refused to explain.
Then Gideon asked everyone else to leave.
Father and son sat across from each other in a hospital consultation room.
“What video?”
Thomas stared at the table.
“I never wanted you to see it.”
“That sentence stopped working when a child was kidnapped.”
Thomas closed his eyes.
“Juniper’s final week.”
“What about it?”
“You were exhausted.”
“I remember.”
“You were angry.”
“I remember that too.”
Juniper’s pain had become difficult to control.
Gideon had fought with doctors.
Nurses.
Insurance coordinators.
He once shouted at a BrightPath supervisor after a medication delivery failed.
None of that frightened him.
Then Thomas said, “You hit Adrian.”
Gideon went still.
Memory.
Kitchen.
2:00 a.m.
Adrian arriving uninvited.
Telling Gideon the business needed his signature.
Gideon telling him to leave.
Adrian saying Juniper was asleep anyway.
Gideon punching him.
Once.
Hard.
“You recorded it?”
“Northstar’s delivery technician did.”
“Why?”
“He had a body camera.”
“What?”
“Internal liability policy after a series of complaints.”
Gideon remembered the technician standing near the kitchen.
He had forgotten entirely.
“The footage showed me striking Adrian.”
“Yes.”
“So?”
Thomas’s jaw tightened.
“Then Juniper came into the hallway.”
Gideon remembered.
She had awakened.
Weak.
Confused.
Crying.
He dropped immediately to his knees.
She asked why Daddy was mad.
He held her.
Apologized.
The video, edited selectively, could make the situation look different.
An unstable father exploding violently in a home with a terminally ill child.
“Adrian threatened you with it?”
“Not directly.”
“Malcolm?”
Thomas nodded.
“When I began questioning Northstar’s billing two years ago, Malcolm showed me a copy.”
“And?”
“He said regulatory scrutiny could expose everything.”
Gideon stared.
“You let them steal millions because you were afraid someone would release a video of me punching Adrian?”
“It wasn’t just you.”
“What else?”
Thomas’s voice weakened.
“The night Juniper died, I ordered the hospice nurse to give you a sedative.”
Gideon stopped.
“What?”
“You had been awake almost four days.”
“Rachel gave me something for anxiety.”
“Because I asked her physician.”
“That isn’t a crime.”
“No.”
Thomas looked sick.
“But Malcolm edited records to suggest you were impaired while responsible for Juniper.”
Gideon stood.
“You believed that would destroy me?”
“It could have destroyed your custody reputation after her death. Your companies. Your public credibility.”
“My child was already dead.”
“I was trying to protect you.”
“No.”
Gideon slammed one hand onto the table.
“You were protecting the story you wanted people to believe about us.”
Thomas flinched.
The great Judge Vale flinched.
“You should have told me.”
“I thought you’d hate me.”
“I do right now.”
Thomas lowered his eyes.
“But not because of a video.”
That was the tragedy.
Thomas had helped conceal millions in fraud to prevent a scandal Gideon would have survived in a week.
Shame had been more powerful than truth.
Malcolm knew it.
Used it.
When Gideon returned to Lena’s room, Rachel’s deadline was forty-two minutes away.
Vega had assembled a tactical plan.
“You are not going inside alone.”
“He asked for me.”
“He expects police.”
“Then why make the demand?”
“To control our approach.”
They cloned the original microSD.
The real one was already in federal evidence.
Malcolm could not destroy the case now.
That meant he wanted something else.
Escape.
Money.
Or Gideon.
The old Northstar distribution center sat near the industrial canal on Chicago’s southwest side.
Snow had begun again.
Gideon wore a wire.
A ballistic vest beneath his coat.
He hated both.
Norah watched from the hospital television room while Lena rested.
Before he left, she gave him Button.
He stared.
“I thought you needed him.”
“You do.”
“I’m not taking your rabbit into a hostage situation.”
“He’s lucky.”
“One eye is missing.”
“He’s still alive.”
Fair point.
Gideon tucked Button inside his coat.
At 10:58 p.m., he entered the warehouse.
No lights except a row of hanging work lamps.
“Malcolm?”
His voice echoed.
“Walk.”
A speaker crackled.
Gideon followed painted arrows between empty loading racks.
The building smelled of cold metal and dust.
At the far end, Rachel sat in a chair.
Alive.
Malcolm stood behind her.
Silver hair.
Dark coat.
Gun in hand.
“You look tired,” Malcolm said.
“So do you.”
“I’ve had an inconvenient Christmas.”
“You attacked a mother, hunted a seven-year-old, and kidnapped a nurse.”
“Yes.”
“Very inconvenient.”
Rachel almost smiled despite the tape across her mouth.
Malcolm extended one hand.
“The card.”
Gideon held up the duplicate.
“Rachel first.”
“You know how this works.”
“Actually, I don’t. My friends usually don’t commit federal kidnapping.”
“Adrian was always sentimental about you.”
“You’re working for Adrian?”
Malcolm laughed.
“No.”
That surprised Gideon.
“Then who?”
“Myself.”
“Northstar?”
“Adrian created Northstar. I made it useful.”
Gideon kept him talking.
“You built the phantom accounts.”
“I built protection around them.”
“Dead children.”
“Dead records.”
“They had names.”
“That is why they were useful.”
Gideon felt something cold settle in him.
“Juniper?”
Malcolm’s expression changed.
“She was Adrian’s idea.”
Pain hit Gideon like physical force.
“Why?”
“Because nobody audits grief.”
Behind the walls, tactical officers listened.
Every word recorded.
“Did Adrian know you attacked Lena?”
“Afterward.”
“Did he order it?”
“No.”
That mattered.
Adrian was guilty of enormous fraud.
But Malcolm had escalated independently.
“You panicked.”
Malcolm smiled.
“Lena found the original payment architecture. She had Cross. She had your father. She had me.”
“So you tried to kill her.”
“I tried to retrieve company property.”
“You hit her with a tire iron.”
“Words become dramatic when police write them down.”
Gideon glanced at Rachel.
“What do you want now?”
“A plane.”
“Not happening.”
“Cash.”
“Possible.”
“Five million.”
“You kidnapped the wrong millionaire. My liquidity is terrible in December.”
Malcolm almost laughed.
That was good.
Keep him talking.
“Card first.”
Gideon tossed it onto the floor halfway between them.
Malcolm stared.
“You pick it up.”
“No.”
“Then we stand here.”
Malcolm pushed the gun against Rachel’s temple.
Gideon’s heartbeat hammered.
“Fine.”
He walked forward.
Five steps.
Four.
Three.
Inside his coat, something moved.
Button slid.
The stuffed rabbit fell to the floor.
Malcolm looked down.
“What the hell is that?”
Gideon followed his gaze.
One second.
Rachel moved.
She threw her head backward into Malcolm’s face.
The gun fired.
The sound exploded through the warehouse.
Gideon lunged.
Malcolm stumbled.
Rachel fell sideways.
Gideon struck Malcolm’s arm.
The weapon skidded beneath a pallet.
Malcolm hit Gideon in the ribs.
Pain detonated.
They fell.
Malcolm was older but stronger than Gideon expected.
Desperate men often were.
He reached for something at his ankle.
Knife.
Gideon trapped his wrist.
“Police!”
Lights flooded the warehouse.
Malcolm froze.
Red dots appeared across his chest.
Vega shouted.
“DON’T MOVE!”
For one second, Gideon thought it was over.
Then Malcolm smiled.
“Too late.”
A red light began blinking on the wall.
Gideon looked up.
Industrial fuel tanks.
A wired ignition system.
Malcolm had rigged the warehouse.
Rachel screamed beneath the tape.
Vega saw it.
“EVACUATE!”
Malcolm twisted free.
Ran toward a side door.
Agents tackled him.
Gideon grabbed Rachel.
They ran.
The first explosion hit before they reached the loading bay.
Heat threw Gideon forward.
Glass shattered.
Something heavy struck his shoulder.
He lost Rachel’s arm.
Smoke swallowed everything.
“Rachel!”
No answer.
Then he heard a child’s voice.
Impossible.
“Mr. Vale!”
Gideon froze.
Through smoke.
Again.
“Gideon!”
Not Norah.
A recording?
His phone.
He had accidentally answered a call during the explosion.
Norah was screaming through the earpiece.
“Get up!”
He realized he was on the ground.
“Gideon, get up!”
Juniper’s voice existed only in memory.
But Norah’s was real.
Now.
Needing him.
Gideon pushed himself upright.
Found Rachel.
Dragged her toward the exit.
They crossed the threshold seconds before another section of the roof collapsed.
Outside, medics took Rachel.
Vega ran toward Gideon.
“Malcolm is in custody.”
“Adrian?”
“We have agents moving.”
Gideon looked at his phone.
Norah was still connected.
“You okay?” she demanded.
He started laughing.
Then coughing.
“Yes.”
“You sound terrible.”
“I’ve had better Christmases.”
“It’s not Christmas anymore.”
He looked at the time.
12:07 a.m.
December twenty-sixth.
She was right.
Gideon stared at the burning warehouse.
Christmas was over.
The hunt was not.
Because Adrian Cross had vanished from his Gold Coast penthouse thirty minutes earlier.
And the FBI found something in his empty bedroom that made Gideon’s blood run cold.
A train ticket.
Two seats.
Chicago to Milwaukee.
Passenger names:
May you like
ADRIAN CROSS.
NORAH HART.
