Chapter 3 - The Ghost in the Archives
Marcus was bleeding profusely, slumped against the base of his desk, gasping for breath as the cold reality of his defeat settled in. He looked up at Julian, a twisted, blood-flecked smile forming on his lips.
“You think... you think she’s waiting for you?” Marcus wheezed, coughing up a drop of crimson. “You broke her, Julian. When she walked out of that house four years ago, she had nothing. No money, no identity, no protection. By the time I realized you might go looking, she had vanished into the wind.”
Julian pressed the barrel harder against Marcus's skin. “Don't test me, Marcus. Give me a name, a location, anything, or I promise your death will take days.”
“I... I don't know where she went,” Marcus groaned, clutching his shoulder. “We tracked her to a bus station in Upstate New York, and then... nothing. Her credit cards were abandoned. Her phone was thrown in a river. She wiped herself clean just to stay away from your world.”
Julian’s jaw tightened. He knew Clara. She was brilliant, resourceful, and fiercely proud. If she wanted to hide from the ruthless reach of the Moretti and Vance empires, she wouldn't use digital trails. She would use the old ways—cash, small towns, and sheer anonymity.
“If she survived the birth... where would a woman with nothing go?” Julian muttered to himself.
“Check the coast,” Marcus whispered mockingly, his eyes glazing over slightly from blood loss. “Somewhere cold. Somewhere far away from Manhattan.”
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Julian didn't waste another second. He signaled his men to secure Marcus for a permanent holding cell beneath the city docks, where traitors went to be forgotten. Then, he walked out into the cool night air, pulling out a secondary, encrypted satellite phone.
“Get the private jet prepped,” Julian ordered his pilot. “We’re flying north.”
