Chapter 9 - ATLAS COMES HOME
Kessler saw Marcus Hale reach for Atlas’s IV.
He did not shout.
He picked up a stainless-steel stool and drove it into Marcus’s back.
Marcus crashed into the wall.
Atlas woke.
The mastiff’s growl filled the room.
Marcus turned.
“You stupid doctor.”
Kessler grabbed the emergency alarm.
Marcus knocked it from his hand.
Atlas stood.
Weak.
Bandaged.
But enormous.
“Atlas,” Kessler whispered. “Stay.”
The dog did not stay.
Marcus reached beneath his coat.
Atlas lunged.
By the time clinic security reached the room, Marcus was on the floor with Atlas’s jaws clamped around his sleeve.
He still had his arm.
Barely.
Kessler immediately called Dylan.
Six hundred miles away, Dylan answered on the first ring.
“What?”
“Marcus Hale tried to kill Atlas.”
Dylan’s face changed.
Patrick watched.
“I told you.”
“Is Atlas alive?”
“Yes.”
“Marcus?”
“Also alive.”
“Keep him that way.”
Molly heard the tone.
“Dylan.”
He looked at her.
“No killing.”
His jaw tightened.
“Fine.”
Patrick studied them.
“You sound like your mother.”
Dylan ignored the comment.
Sarah ordered agents to secure Marcus and send a federal team to the cabin.
The shooter in the trees had disappeared.
They found shell casings.
No body.
No blood.
Patrick insisted it had been Raymond.
“Why would Marcus turn on Victor?” Molly asked once they were inside.
Patrick poured coffee with shaking hands.
“Because Marcus was never Victor’s.”
“Whose was he?”
“His own.”
Dylan frowned.
Patrick opened a drawer.
Inside were files.
“He spent fifteen years documenting every side. Victor. Conrad. You.”
“Why?”
“To take control after they destroyed each other.”
Molly stared.
“He wanted Dylan’s organization?”
Patrick nodded.
“He created the conditions for the war.”
“Atlas disappearing?”
“Marcus arranged it.”
“Libby?”
“Useful.”
“Victor?”
“Useful.”
“Conrad?”
“Useful.”
Dylan looked furious.
“He gave Libby access.”
“Yes.”
“He sold Ellis’s gambling debt to her.”
“Yes.”
“He knew about Patrick’s collar.”
Patrick nodded.
“He knew there was a key. Not where.”
Molly thought about Blackwoods.
The surveillance.
“Raymond worked for Marcus?”
“Recently.”
“Why?”
“Victor stopped paying him.”
“So Raymond simply changed employers.”
Patrick’s mouth twisted.
“Raymond always worked for whoever made him feel important.”
Molly looked away.
It hurt to hate someone she had once loved like family.
Dylan sat opposite Patrick.
“You disappeared for eleven years.”
Patrick met his gaze.
“Yes.”
“You could have contacted me directly.”
“I didn’t trust you.”
“You left a note telling Molly she could.”
“I said you could earn it.”
Dylan almost smiled.
“Fair.”
Patrick looked at Molly.
“How much has he earned?”
Molly stared at her coffee.
“Ask me after nobody is trying to kill us.”
Patrick laughed.
The sound brought childhood crashing back.
Her father’s laugh.
She almost cried again.
Instead she asked the question she had been avoiding.
“Why didn’t you come home when Mom got sick?”
Patrick’s face crumpled.
Dylan stood.
“I’ll give you privacy.”
Molly shook her head.
“No.”
Patrick looked surprised.
“He should hear it.”
She didn’t know why.
Maybe because Dylan carried his own dead mother like a wound.
Patrick folded his hands.
“I tried.”
“You wrote that.”
“I drove to Harrow Falls.”
“And Sarah stopped you.”
“No.”
Molly frowned.
“The letter says—”
“I lied.”
The room went silent.
Patrick’s eyes filled.
“I reached the hospital parking lot.”
Molly couldn’t breathe.
“I saw you through the second-floor window.”
“Why didn’t you come inside?”
“Because Marcus called me.”
Dylan went still.
“What?”
“He already knew I was there. He sent me a photograph of you entering the hospital.”
Molly’s skin turned cold.
“He threatened me?”
“He said if I walked through the doors, your mother wouldn’t survive the night.”
Tears filled Molly’s eyes.
“So you left.”
“Yes.”
“I needed you.”
“I know.”
“She needed you.”
“I know.”
“You should have trusted me enough to tell me.”
Patrick nodded.
“Yes.”
No excuse.
No defense.
Molly cried quietly.
“I don’t know how to forgive you.”
Patrick’s voice broke.
“You don’t have to.”
That somehow made forgiveness feel possible someday.
Not now.
But someday.
Dylan’s phone rang.
Kessler.
Marcus was in federal custody.
And talking.
“He wants immunity,” Kessler said.
“For what?” Dylan asked.
“Everything.”
Sarah immediately arranged a secure video call.
Marcus appeared on a screen.
His right arm was wrapped.
He looked exhausted.
Dylan stared at him.
“You stood beside me for twelve years.”
Marcus smiled weakly.
“And you never looked down.”
“What does that mean?”
“You were born at the top. Men like me hold the ladder.”
Molly felt no sympathy.
“You poisoned Atlas.”
Marcus looked at her.
“I arranged it.”
“Why?”
“Because Patrick’s ledger could destroy everyone.”
“Including you.”
“Yes.”
Dylan leaned toward the screen.
“What do you want?”
“Protection.”
“From whom?”
Marcus laughed.
“Raymond.”
Molly frowned.
“You’re afraid of Raymond?”
“You should be.”
“He works for you.”
“He did.”
“What changed?”
Marcus looked toward someone offscreen.
“Raymond found something in Victor’s archive.”
“What?”
“A list of offshore accounts.”
Dylan frowned.
“So?”
“They total almost nine hundred million dollars.”
Patrick whistled softly.
“Victor’s emergency fund.”
Marcus nodded.
“Raymond took access codes.”
Molly understood.
“He doesn’t want a boss anymore.”
“No.”
“He wants to disappear.”
“Yes.”
“Then why is he shooting at us?”
“Because he can’t access the accounts without Patrick.”
Everyone looked at Patrick.
He frowned.
“I don’t know any access codes.”
Marcus smiled.
“Not consciously.”
“What does that mean?”
“Victor used a two-part encryption system. One key belonged to him.”
“And the second?”
“Eleanor.”
Dylan’s mother.
Patrick looked confused.
Marcus continued.
“Eleanor gave her half to Patrick.”
“I never received—”
Then he stopped.
Molly saw recognition.
“What?”
Patrick slowly reached beneath his shirt.
A small Saint Christopher medal hung around his neck.
Molly remembered it.
He had worn it every day of her childhood.
Patrick stared.
“Eleanor gave this to me.”
Dylan stood.
Marcus nodded.
“The key is inside.”
Patrick removed the medal.
A seam ran along the edge.
Dylan opened it carefully.
Inside was a tiny strip of microfilm.
Marcus smiled.
“Raymond knows.”
Molly’s stomach dropped.
“When did he learn?”
“Yesterday.”
“Then he followed us here for that.”
“Yes.”
Patrick looked toward the window.
“Where will he go next?”
Marcus hesitated.
Sarah stepped forward.
“Your immunity depends on cooperation.”
Marcus sighed.
“Blackwoods.”
“Again?”
“The building connects to old river tunnels.”
Molly remembered the underground chamber.
“What does Raymond need there?”
“Victor’s banking terminal.”
Dylan frowned.
“The archive computer?”
“No.”
Marcus looked at Molly.
“Under the main ballroom.”
“There was nothing under the ballroom.”
“You found the first chamber.”
Molly’s heart sank.
“There’s another.”
Patrick stood.
Marcus continued.
“Raymond has Libby.”
Dylan’s eyes sharpened.
“What?”
“She escaped federal transport forty minutes ago.”
Sarah swore.
“How?”
“Two agents were compromised.”
Molly stared.
Everything rotten seemed to have another layer.
“Why take Libby?”
“Her biometric print opens Victor’s terminal.”
Dylan looked at Patrick’s medal.
“He needs three things.”
“Libby.”
Marcus nodded.
“The microfilm.”
“Yes.”
“And Victor’s password.”
Marcus smiled.
“No.”
He looked at Molly.
“You.”
Molly blinked.
“Why me?”
“Patrick built the final security question.”
Patrick went pale.
“I did what?”
Marcus laughed.
“You don’t remember?”
Patrick stared into space.
Then his face changed.
“Oh, God.”
“What?” Molly demanded.
Patrick sat down.
“Eleanor asked me to create a phrase Victor could never guess.”
“And?”
“I used something from when you were little.”
Molly closed her eyes.
Of course.
Her father had built an international criminal fortune around a childhood memory.
“What phrase?”
Patrick shook his head.
“I don’t remember exactly.”
Raymond did not need Patrick alive.
He needed Molly to remember.
Dylan immediately began arranging their return to Harrow Falls.
Molly stopped him.
“Raymond will expect us.”
“Yes.”
“He wants me.”
“Yes.”
“So we make him think he won.”
“No.”
“Dylan.”
“No.”
“You can’t keep deciding that.”
“And you can’t keep volunteering to become bait!”
Patrick slowly looked between them.
“Oh.”
Molly glared.
“Do not.”
Patrick raised his hands.
“I said nothing.”
Dylan looked annoyed.
Sarah looked amused.
For one second, the room felt almost normal.
Then Molly’s phone rang.
Unknown number.
She answered.
Libby screamed.
“Molly!”
A slap sounded.
Then Raymond’s voice.
“Midnight. Blackwoods ballroom.”
Molly’s hand tightened around the phone.
“Let her go.”
“Bring Patrick.”
“No.”
“Bring the medal.”
“No.”
“And Molly?”
“What?”
Raymond laughed.
“Wear your waitress uniform.”
Her face went cold.
“Why?”
“Because I want you to remember exactly where you belonged before you started thinking you mattered.”
The call ended.
Dylan looked at her.
Molly slowly put down the phone.
Then she smiled.
Not because anything was funny.
Because Raymond had just made the same mistake Libby made.
He thought humiliation meant weakness.
Molly picked up her old Blackwoods name tag from the table.
“All right.”
Dylan frowned.
“What are you doing?”
May you like
She pinned it to her shirt.
“Going back to work.”
