Chapter 4 - THE MAN INSIDE THE GATES
Marcus Dean stepped into the remaining strip of fluorescent light.
His service weapon was aimed directly at Robert.
Nathan’s face changed first.
Not fear.
Betrayal.
“You son of a bitch.”
Marcus almost looked apologetic.
“Put your gun down.”
Nathan did not move.
“I trained you.”
“I know.”
“I brought you into this house.”
“I know that too.”
“Then you know exactly how bad an idea this is.”
Marcus’s mouth tightened.
“Drop it.”
Robert placed one hand on Sam’s shoulder.
The boy was trembling.
Elizabeth remained perfectly still.
Her wheelchair looked painfully fragile in the underground archive.
“Marcus,” Robert said, “who are you working for?”
“Does it matter?”
“Yes.”
“No. It doesn’t.”
“It will to the police.”
Marcus gave a short laugh.
“The police are going to hear that Mr. Ellington brought an emotionally unstable street child into his house, became obsessed with a conspiracy theory, and died during a confrontation with his own security staff.”
Sam flinched.
Robert felt his anger sharpen.
“You’re planning to kill a twelve-year-old?”
Marcus looked away for half a second.
That was enough for Robert to see something.
He did not want to.
Good.
Men who did not want to kill were easier to reach than men who enjoyed it.
“Who has your family?” Robert asked.
Marcus’s eyes snapped toward him.
Nathan looked confused.
Robert continued.
“This isn’t about money.”
“Shut up.”
“You’re sweating.”
“Shut up.”
“You’ve known Sam for months. You taught him how to use the basketball hoop in the west courtyard. You gave him gloves when it snowed.”
Marcus’s weapon wavered.
“Robert,” Elizabeth said quietly, “keep talking.”
“You don’t want to hurt him.”
Marcus swallowed.
Robert took one step.
“Who threatened you?”
“Stop.”
“One more step and I shoot.”
“No, you don’t.”
Marcus’s face twisted.
Nathan moved.
Everything happened at once.
Nathan knocked Marcus’s gun hand upward.
The shot exploded through the basement.
Sam ducked.
Elizabeth screamed.
Robert threw himself across her wheelchair.
Nathan slammed Marcus against the shelving.
Boxes crashed around them.
Marcus struck Nathan across the jaw.
Nathan drove him to the floor.
Robert saw the gun slide beneath a shelf.
Sam ran toward it.
“No!”
Robert grabbed the back of the boy’s sweater just before Sam reached it.
Nathan pinned Marcus.
“Cuffs!”
One of the outside guards finally rushed into the aisle.
Within seconds, Marcus was restrained.
He lay on the concrete, blood running from his lip.
“Who hired you?” Nathan demanded.
Marcus stared at the floor.
“Talk.”
Nothing.
Robert crouched.
“Who has your family?”
Marcus closed his eyes.
“My daughter.”
Nathan’s anger vanished.
“What?”
“They have Emily.”
Robert knew Emily.
Seventeen.
A senior in high school.
She had visited the estate during Christmas parties.
“What do you mean they have her?”
“She disappeared yesterday.”
“Why didn’t you call the police?”
“I got a photograph.”
Marcus’s voice broke.
“She was tied to a chair.”
Sam looked horrified.
“They said if I told anyone, they would kill her.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“They used a voice changer.”
“What did they order you to do?”
“Delete the library footage.”
Nathan cursed.
“And tonight?”
“Follow you here. Take the drive.”
“Then what?”
Marcus looked up.
“Destroy it.”
Robert stared.
“Nothing about killing us?”
Marcus shook his head.
“The speech about our deaths?”
“I was trying to scare you.”
Nathan hauled him upright.
“We call the police.”
“No!”
Marcus fought against his restraints.
“They said they are watching.”
Robert stood.
“They are.”
Everyone looked at him.
“They knew about E-17. They knew where we were going.”
Elizabeth’s eyes moved to the archive ceiling.
“Then somebody followed us.”
“Or tracked us.”
Sam’s hand went to his backpack.
Robert looked at it.
“Give me your bag.”
“Why?”
“Now.”
Sam handed it over.
Nathan emptied it onto a metal table.
Schoolbooks.
A pencil case.
An apple.
Two candy wrappers.
A blue knit hat.
Then something small and black rolled out.
Nathan picked it up.
A GPS tracker.
Marcus cursed.
“Wasn’t mine.”
Robert’s stomach sank.
“Sam, where did you get this backpack?”
“School.”
“Did anyone touch it today?”
He thought.
“Mr. Mercer.”
The room froze.
“Julian?”
“He came to school.”
Robert’s pulse hammered.
“When?”
“Lunch.”
“Why?”
“He said he was nearby and wanted to bring me the science notebook I forgot.”
Elizabeth shut her eyes.
Robert took out his phone.
He called Julian.
One ring.
Two.
Three.
Voicemail.
Again.
Voicemail.
He called Julian’s wife.
No answer.
Then Nathan spoke.
“Robert.”
He had connected the flash drive to an isolated laptop.
Folders appeared.
Hundreds of documents.
Foundation accounts.
Wire transfers.
Invoices.
Shell companies.
Photographs.
Audio files.
The files went back five years.
Elizabeth moved closer.
“Oh my God.”
Nathan opened a spreadsheet.
Amounts filled the screen.
$300,000.
$450,000.
$1.2 million.
$2.8 million.
All transferred from charitable grants into companies that appeared legitimate.
Robert recognized one.
“Halcyon Consulting.”
Elizabeth looked at him.
“What?”
“Julian recommended them for our international expansion.”
Nathan opened the ownership records Nora had stored.
Halcyon Consulting was controlled through three shell entities.
The final beneficial owner was hidden behind an offshore trust.
But Nora had written a name beside it.
J. MERCER.
Sam stared at the screen.
“My mom found this?”
“Yes,” Elizabeth whispered.
“She died because of it?”
Nobody answered.
Robert opened the audio folder.
One file was dated the day before Nora’s death.
NORA_4.
He pressed play.
Static.
Then Nora’s voice filled the archive.
“If anything happens to me, the transfers were authorized using Elizabeth Ellington’s foundation credentials without her knowledge.”
Sam stopped breathing.
Nora continued.
“I confronted Julian Mercer this morning. He said I was confused. I’m not confused. Eight million dollars is missing.”
Robert clenched his fists.
On the recording, a door opened.
Nora’s voice dropped.
“Oh God.”
A man spoke in the background.
“You really should have left this alone.”
Julian.
Robert recognized him instantly.
Sam began crying.
The audio ended.
Nobody moved.
Then another file caught Elizabeth’s eye.
ELIZABETH_CAR.
Nathan clicked.
A document appeared.
Vehicle Service Authorization.
Three days before Elizabeth’s crash.
The Mercedes had supposedly been serviced because of a brake warning.
The authorization bore Robert Ellington’s electronic signature.
Robert stared.
“I never signed that.”
Elizabeth looked at him.
“The same way someone used your security login tonight.”
Nathan opened the service notes.
BRAKE HYDRAULIC LINE REPLACEMENT.
But beside the mechanic’s name was a handwritten memo from Nora.
Mechanic paid $50,000 through Mercer-controlled vendor five days after crash.
Robert’s vision narrowed.
Julian had not merely stolen money.
He had tried to kill Elizabeth.
And he may have murdered Nora.
Sam whispered, “Where is he?”
Robert checked his phone again.
Still nothing.
Then a new email arrived.
From Julian Mercer.
Subject line:
I KNOW YOU HAVE E-17.
Robert opened it.
There were only two sentences.
BRING THE DRIVE TO ELLINGTON FOUNDATION HEADQUARTERS AT MIDNIGHT.
COME ALONE, OR MARCUS DEAN’S DAUGHTER WILL NOT SEE MORNING.
Attached was a photograph.
Emily Dean was tied to a chair.
Behind her stood a man wearing a black mask.
But in the corner of the photograph was something Elizabeth recognized.
A bronze sculpture.
She leaned toward the screen.
“Robert.”
“What?”
“I bought that sculpture.”
“For where?”
May you like
Her eyes lifted.
“Julian’s office.”
