Chapter 13 - Beneath the Old HouseWe reached the old property at dawn.
The house was gone.
Only a concrete foundation remained.
My father had hidden something beneath it.
We searched the basement entrance until Claire found a steel hatch.
It opened into a tunnel.
The tunnel led beneath the old foundation.
At the end was a room.
My father was there.
Alive.
Older.
Wounded.
And holding Noah.
I stopped walking.
For a moment, father and son stared at each other.
My father whispered:
“I'm sorry.”
I couldn't speak.
Noah looked at me.
“Are you my dad?”
I nodded.
He ran toward me.
I fell to my knees.
He wrapped his arms around my neck.
I held him.
Every missing birthday.
Every night.
Every photograph I never had.
Three years disappeared into one impossible embrace.
Then my father said:
“We have to leave.”
“Who is coming?”
“Everyone.”
My mother entered the room.
She saw Noah.
She broke down.
She knelt.
“Noah.”
The boy stepped behind me.
He remembered her.
She looked devastated.
“I should have protected you.”
He didn't answer.
We began moving through the tunnel.
Then we heard footsteps.
Lots of them.
My father turned off the lights.
“Too late.”
Voices echoed.
“Julian!”
Someone called my name.
Not shouting.
Almost casually.
Victor Mercer stepped from the darkness.
An older man in a gray suit.
Calm.
Immaculate.
Terrifying.
Behind him stood six men.
Victor smiled.
“You've made this much harder than it needed to be.”
My father stepped forward.
“This ends tonight.”
Victor laughed.
“No. It ends with your daughter.”
My chest tightened.
Evelyn was still at the hospital.
Protected.
Or so I thought.
My phone rang.
A hospital administrator.
“Mr. Voss, there has been a security breach.”
I felt my blood drain from my face.
Victor smiled.
“Your wife is no longer safe.”
My father lunged.
Gunfire exploded.
People screamed.
I grabbed Noah.
We ran.
Claire pulled the emergency gate open.
My mother stayed behind.
“Go!”
I shouted:
“Mom!”
She looked at me.
“Take care of him.”
Then the gate slammed.
We ran through the tunnel.
Behind us came another gunshot.
Then silence.
We reached the surface.
My phone rang again.
A nurse.
Her voice was shaking.
“Mr. Voss, your wife is in labor.”
“What?”
“She’s only thirty-two weeks.”
My heart stopped.
“Get a doctor.”
“We have one.”
“Who?”
Silence.
Then the nurse whispered:
“Dr. Marcus Hale.”
I froze.
“That’s impossible.”
“He says he's here to deliver the baby.”
I looked at Claire.
She was white.
“Julian,” she whispered.
“What?”
“That isn't Marcus.”
Then she pointed toward the hospital entrance.
A man in a surgical mask was walking inside.
The same watch.
The same hands.
The same posture.
My father's old photograph flashed through my mind.
I removed the mask from my memory of the face.
And realized who the man really was.
Not Marcus.
Not Victor.
May you like
Someone much closer.
Someone I had trusted for years.
