Chapter 4: The Collector
Rain drummed against the warehouse roof with the steady rhythm of a ticking clock.
Detective Lucas Grant leaned against a stack of rusted shipping containers while Theodore tore open the detective's first-aid kit.
"You need stitches."
Grant glanced at the blood soaking through his sleeve.
"I need five minutes."
"You've been shot."
"I've had worse."
Theodore shook his head but wrapped a pressure bandage around the wound anyway.
"Who are these people?"
Grant remained silent for a moment.
Finally he said one word.
"Ghosts."
Theodore frowned.
"I've arrested drug traffickers. Arms dealers. Contract killers. Mafia accountants." Grant tightened the bandage himself. "Every one of them was afraid of someone they called the White Raven."
"The foundation?"
Grant nodded.
"Officially, it's a humanitarian organization that funds hospitals, orphanages, and disaster relief around the world."
"And unofficially?"
"No one who investigates them stays on the case."
Grant reached into his coat and pulled out a slim flash drive.
"I didn't want to show this to anyone until I knew who I could trust."
He handed it to Theodore.
"What's on it?"
"Everything I managed to copy before Internal Affairs locked me out."
They found an old laptop inside the warehouse office. It took almost three minutes to boot.
Grant inserted the drive.
Hundreds of files appeared.
Financial records.
Shipping manifests.
Hospital contracts.
Private security invoices.
Then a folder simply labeled:
DECEASED
Theodore opened it.
His stomach tightened.
Hundreds of names.
Each accompanied by an official death certificate.
Each marked with a second status.
ACTIVE
"What..."
Grant nodded grimly.
"According to government records, these people died."
"But according to surveillance reports..."
Theodore opened another file.
A smiling woman officially declared dead five years earlier was boarding a cargo ship in Lisbon.
Another "dead" man appeared in security footage entering a laboratory in Switzerland.
Another was seen at a private airport in Argentina.
"They're alive."
"Most of them."
"Why fake their deaths?"
Grant looked toward the rain outside.
"I don't know."
The laptop suddenly chimed.
A new file had appeared.
Neither of them had downloaded it.
The folder name blinked.
FOR THEODORE
Grant immediately unplugged the internet cable.
"It isn't connected."
"I know."
He slowly opened the folder.
A video.
Timestamp:
Thirty-six hours ago.
Rosalie appeared on the screen.
Alive.
She looked exhausted.
Her hair was tied back carelessly, and dark circles surrounded her eyes.
Behind her was a room Theodore didn't recognize.
She looked directly into the camera.
"If you're watching this..."
"...then they failed to keep me buried."
Theodore's breathing stopped.
Rosalie smiled faintly.
"I'm sorry."
"I never wanted you involved."
She looked over her shoulder as though someone had entered the room.
Then continued.
"Theodore..."
"If Sebastian tells you he didn't know..."
"...don't believe him."
Grant looked sideways at Theodore.
Rosalie continued.
"He isn't the mastermind."
"But he has protected them for years."
Theodore felt the room tilt beneath him.
"No..."
Rosalie lowered her voice.
"The White Raven didn't begin outside the Vale family."
"It began because of the Vale family."
The recording glitched.
Static.
Rosalie returned.
"If I disappear before telling you everything..."
"...find Subject Nine."
Again.
That phrase.
Subject Nine.
The screen froze.
Then turned black.
Neither man spoke.
Finally Theodore whispered,
"Sebastian wouldn't..."
Grant interrupted quietly.
"You don't know that."
"I've known him my whole life."
"You've known the version he wanted you to know."
A metallic clang echoed through the warehouse.
Both men froze.
Another.
Closer.
Grant quietly drew his service pistol.
Someone was inside.
The warehouse lights flickered once.
Twice.
Then every bulb shut off simultaneously.
Darkness.
Only the rain outside remained visible through broken windows.
Grant whispered,
"Stay behind me."
Footsteps.
Slow.
Measured.
Almost casual.
A flashlight beam drifted across the warehouse floor.
Not searching.
Approaching.
Then a calm voice filled the darkness.
"Detective Grant."
Another step.
"I've heard excellent things about you."
Grant aimed toward the voice.
"Police!"
No response.
Instead, another flashlight clicked on.
Then another.
Three.
Five.
Eight.
Every aisle between the shipping containers glowed with moving beams.
They were surrounded.
Theodore counted at least ten people.
All dressed in black raincoats.
All wearing smooth white masks shaped like raven skulls.
The tallest figure stepped into the faint light.
Unlike the others, his mask bore thin silver lines across the beak.
"The Collector," Grant whispered.
"You know him?"
"No."
Grant's grip tightened.
"But everyone knows the name."
The masked man inclined his head politely.
"Mr. Vale."
"We've been looking for you."
Theodore answered,
"I'm not going anywhere."
The Collector chuckled.
"You misunderstand."
He slowly raised an old pocket watch.
"I wasn't asking."
He pressed the button.
Click.
A deafening explosion rocked the far side of the warehouse.
Dust and steel rained from the ceiling.
Grant grabbed Theodore.
"Run!"
Gunfire erupted.
Not from Grant.
From the masked figures.
Suppressed weapons flashed through the darkness.
Bullets tore into shipping containers.
Grant returned fire twice.
One masked attacker collapsed.
The others barely reacted.
Theodore sprinted toward a loading dock.
Another explosion erupted behind them.
The floor cracked.
Rusted containers toppled like dominoes.
One slammed directly between Theodore and Grant.
"Grant!"
"I'm here!"
His voice came from somewhere beyond the collapsing steel.
Then...
Silence.
Theodore climbed over twisted metal desperately searching for him.
Nothing.
Smoke filled the warehouse.
A hand suddenly grabbed Theodore's ankle.
He kicked instinctively.
It wasn't an attacker.
Grant.
Covered in dust.
Alive.
"Breathe," Grant coughed.
"We have to move."
The warehouse entrance burst open.
More masked figures poured inside.
Far too many.
Grant looked around once.
Then pointed upward.
"The roof."
They climbed an emergency ladder onto the warehouse roof just as flames spread below.
Rain hissed against the growing fire.
For a moment, they believed they'd escaped.
Then a helicopter rose above the neighboring buildings.
No police markings.
Black.
Silent.
A spotlight locked onto them.
The Collector's voice echoed through a loudspeaker.
"There is nowhere left to run."
A rope descended from the helicopter.
Not to rescue them.
To deliver someone.
A lone figure slid smoothly onto the rooftop.
Tall.
Broad-shouldered.
Dressed in an immaculate charcoal suit despite the storm.
He wasn't wearing a mask.
Theodore's eyes widened.
"Sebastian?"
The newcomer looked almost identical to Sebastian.
The same dark hair.
The same sharp jawline.
The same calm expression.
Only his eyes were different.
Ice blue.
Not brown.
He smiled.
"I'm afraid you've mistaken me for my brother."
Theodore's blood ran cold.
Brother?
The stranger extended a gloved hand.
"My name is..."
He paused, as though savoring Theodore's confusion.
"...Alexander Vale."
May you like
Theodore stared in disbelief.
Sebastian had once sworn he was an only child.
