Chapter 10 - THE MAN ABOVE VICTOR
Victor refused to speak for thirty-six hours.
Then someone tried to kill him inside federal custody.
That changed his personality considerably.
Marcus learned about the attempt while sitting beside Saint in Helen's clinic.
The dog had three new stitches.
Marcus had two.
Helen looked at both of them.
“I am charging double.”
Marcus scratched Saint behind the ear.
“He has no money.”
“He's better company.”
Sadie sat cross-legged beside them doing homework.
Actual homework.
A federal marshal had recovered her backpack from Rachel's apartment.
Math.
Vocabulary.
A book report on a story about a boy and a ship.
Marcus found the sight more unbelievable than any gunfight.
Sadie looked up.
“What?”
“You have schoolwork.”
“Yes.”
“People willingly do that?”
“You own companies.”
“Owned.”
“Same thing.”
Helen smiled.
Marcus's phone rang.
Agent Shaw.
“Victor is talking.”
Marcus stood.
At the federal building, Victor looked smaller.
Not physically.
Something behind his eyes had collapsed.
His lawyer sat beside him.
Shaw placed Marcus across the table.
“You asked for him.”
Victor smiled.
“Hello, cousin.”
Marcus said nothing.
Victor leaned back.
“Someone paid an inmate to put a sharpened toothbrush in my throat.”
“You make friends easily.”
Victor almost laughed.
“Do you know what bothers me?”
Marcus waited.
“I spent fifteen years thinking I was the clever one.”
“You weren't.”
“No.”
Victor's smile disappeared.
“I was useful.”
Shaw slid a recorder closer.
“Name.”
Victor looked at her.
“You think this ends with a name?”
“Try me.”
Victor looked at Marcus.
“Remember Senator Walter Grayson?”
Marcus did.
Grayson had spent twenty-four years in state politics before retiring.
Publicly clean.
Privately helpful.
“Victor.”
“You introduced us.”
“Yes.”
“He introduced me to someone else.”
“Who?”
Victor hesitated.
Fear.
Marcus had rarely seen Victor afraid.
“The Halcyon Group.”
Shaw frowned.
“Company?”
“Network.”
“What kind?”
Victor laughed.
“The kind that owns companies.”
Marcus leaned closer.
“Who runs it?”
“Nobody.”
“Enough games.”
“That's the point.”
Victor looked at him.
“There isn't one boss. Judges. developers. shipping executives. private security. politicians.”
“And trafficking.”
Victor's eyes moved away.
“Yes.”
Shaw asked, “Why use the Cole organization?”
“Infrastructure.”
Marcus felt sick.
Victor continued.
“Trucks that aren't inspected. warehouses near ports. workers who don't ask questions.”
Marcus whispered, “My infrastructure.”
Victor nodded.
“Your rules made it perfect.”
“How?”
“Everyone believed Marcus Cole didn't move people.”
Victor smiled bitterly.
“So nobody looked.”
That was the final poison.
Marcus's reputation for having limits had protected men with none.
Shaw asked about Jonah.
Victor looked amused.
“Jonah is clean.”
Marcus's face hardened.
“You framed him.”
“Of course.”
“Why?”
“Because you trust him.”
Simple.
Cruel.
Effective.
Jonah was released that evening.
He met Marcus outside.
No hug.
No speech.
Just two men standing in cold air.
Marcus said, “Sorry.”
Jonah looked at him.
“For what?”
“Believing it for three seconds.”
Jonah shrugged.
“Only three?”
“Two and a half.”
“I'm touched.”
Then Jonah became serious.
“What now?”
Marcus looked at the city.
“Everything goes.”
Jonah frowned.
“The organization?”
“Yes.”
“You can't just dissolve eighteen years.”
“Watch me.”
Marcus spent the next week doing something nobody expected.
He opened the books.
All of them.
Illegal gambling.
Payoffs.
Smuggling.
Shell corporations.
Cash accounts.
Judges.
Cops.
Contractors.
Marcus gave federal investigators access in exchange for protection for Rachel, Sadie, Elena, and cooperating employees who had no involvement in violent crimes.
Daniel warned him.
“You understand you're providing evidence against yourself.”
“Yes.”
“You could go to prison.”
“Yes.”
“For years.”
Marcus looked at him.
“I know how calendars work.”
Daniel leaned back.
“This isn't penance.”
“I know.”
“Good.”
Marcus's voice lowered.
“I don't expect forgiveness.”
The legitimate companies were placed under independent management.
Elena received control of the lawful family holdings.
She refused at first.
“I don't want your empire.”
“Good.”
“Dad.”
“The legal companies employ twelve thousand people.”
“That isn't fair.”
“No.”
Marcus smiled faintly.
“Neither is adulthood.”
She accepted under one condition.
“No hidden partners.”
“Agreed.”
“No political favors.”
“Agreed.”
“No armed men in board meetings.”
Marcus hesitated.
Elena stared.
“Fine.”
Sadie returned to school.
The first day, Marcus sat inside a black sedan across the street.
Rachel noticed.
“You're stalking an elementary school.”
“Protecting.”
Rachel gave him a look.
Marcus sighed.
“Watching from a respectful distance.”
“Better.”
Saint sat in the back seat.
The dog had gained eight pounds.
His coat looked darker now that dirt and old blood were gone.
His scars remained.
They always would.
Sadie came running out after class.
She saw the car.
Her face lit up.
Marcus felt something unexpected.
Then she opened the back door and hugged Saint.
Not him.
“Of course.”
Rachel laughed.
Sadie eventually looked up.
“Hi, Marcus.”
“Second place again.”
She smiled.
Then her smile disappeared.
A man stood across the street.
Gray suit.
Silver tie.
Watching.
Marcus immediately opened the door.
The man turned and walked away.
Saint growled.
Marcus followed.
“Stay with Sadie.”
Rachel shouted, “Marcus!”
He crossed the street.
The man entered a parking garage.
Marcus followed.
Level two.
Empty.
The man waited beside a concrete pillar.
Marcus stopped.
“You've been following the girl.”
“No.”
“Wrong answer.”
The man reached slowly inside his jacket.
Marcus tensed.
He removed a photograph.
Placed it on a car hood.
Marcus looked.
Senator Walter Grayson.
Beside him stood six men and two women.
One woman made Marcus freeze.
His late wife.
Catherine Cole.
Marcus stared.
The photograph had been taken thirteen years ago.
One year before Catherine died from what doctors called an aggressive heart condition.
“What is this?”
The stranger spoke.
“Your wife knew.”
Marcus looked up.
“Knew what?”
“About Halcyon.”
Marcus's blood turned cold.
“Who are you?”
“Thomas Reed's brother.”
Marcus stared.
The stranger continued.
“Thomas wasn't the first person who tried to expose them.”
Marcus looked at Catherine's face.
“She knew?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn't she tell me?”
“Maybe she tried.”
Marcus remembered arguments.
Catherine begging him to leave the business.
Telling him the people around him were worse than he believed.
He had assumed she meant Victor.
Maybe she meant something larger.
“How did she die?”
The man's expression told him before the answer came.
“We don't think it was natural.”
Marcus looked at the photograph again.
A decade of grief rearranged itself inside him.
“Proof?”
“Not yet.”
“Then why come to me?”
“Because the people who tried to kill Victor are cleaning the board.”
“Who is next?”
The man looked toward the garage entrance.
“Rachel Quinn.”
Marcus turned.
Across the street, Rachel stood beside the car.
Sadie and Saint with her.
Marcus started running.
A delivery van came around the corner.
Too fast.
It jumped the curb.
Straight toward them.
Rachel screamed.
Marcus shouted.
“MOVE!”
Saint reacted first.
He slammed into Sadie.
Knocked her behind the parked sedan.
Rachel jumped aside.
The van missed them by inches and crashed into a light pole.
Airbags exploded.
Marcus reached the driver.
Door locked.
The man inside lifted something.
Not a gun.
A lighter.
Marcus saw the gasoline cans in the back.
“DOWN!”
The van exploded.
Glass shattered across the street.
Marcus covered Rachel and Sadie.
Saint stood over all three.
Flames climbed thirty feet.
People screamed.
Sirens began in the distance.
Marcus looked through the smoke.
The driver was gone.
The seat empty.
A trap.
A warning.
On the pavement beside the burning van lay a black envelope.
Marcus opened it.
One sentence.
ANTHONY FAILED.
CATHERINE FAILED.
YOU WILL TOO.
Sadie read it.
“Who is Catherine?”
Marcus looked at the flames.
“My wife.”
“Where is she?”
Marcus swallowed.
“Gone.”
Sadie slipped her hand into his.
Marcus stared down.
She said nothing.
Neither did he.
Across the street, security cameras had captured the attack.
By evening Agent Shaw identified the van.
It belonged to a charity.
The Grayson Children's Foundation.
Marcus stared at the name.
Senator Walter Grayson had spent thirty years building a reputation as a defender of vulnerable children.
Hospitals carried his name.
Schools displayed his photograph.
News anchors called him a humanitarian.
Marcus looked at Shaw.
“Where is Grayson?”
“Officially?”
“Yes.”
“Retired in Virginia.”
“Unofficially?”
Shaw turned her laptop.
A private jet had left Virginia that morning.
Destination unknown.
Passenger manifest sealed.
Marcus looked at Catherine's old photograph.
Then Sadie.
Then Saint.
The war he thought had ended was larger than ever.
But this time Marcus didn't have an empire.
No army.
No political protection.
No network of frightened men.
May you like
For the first time in eighteen years, he would have to fight without becoming the thing he was fighting.
And somewhere beyond the city, Walter Grayson already knew Marcus was coming.
