Chapter 8 - The Two-Hour CountdownTwo hours.
That was all the warning we had.
The facility went into lockdown.
Doors sealed.
Security systems activated.
Every external communication was monitored.
But Ethan was inside.
Or close enough to control the building.
At 4:12 p.m., the first screen went black.
At 4:17, our satellite connection failed.
At 4:22, someone opened the east gate.
At 4:31, the lights died.
We moved Emily to a reinforced room.
She was terrified.
“Dad, are they coming?”
“Yes.”
I didn't lie anymore.
“But they won't reach you.”
She stared at me.
“You promise?”
“Yes.”
She stepped closer.
“Why did you never tell me?”
“Tell you what?”
“That you used to do this.”
I looked away.
“You mean fight?”
“Run toward danger.”
I smiled without humor.
“That's not the same thing.”
She touched my arm.
“You always told me you were just a man who worked in an office.”
“I was.”
“For a little while.”
“Yes.”
She looked down.
“You lied to me.”
“I was trying to keep you safe.”
“And it still found me.”
I had no answer.
She sat down.
Then suddenly:
“Dad.”
“What?”
“Michael wasn't the one who started it.”
I turned.
“What do you mean?”
“He said something once.”
“When?”
“Months ago.”
She stared at the floor.
“He said, ‘Your father thinks the past is buried.’”
My chest tightened.
“What else?”
“He said, ‘When the old man comes back, everything ends.’”
Old man.
Me.
This had never been about Michael's marriage.
It was revenge.
Or maybe something larger.
An agent entered.
“We found the source.”
“What?”
“Ethan's signal.”
“Where?”
The agent showed me a map.
A warehouse.
Ten miles away.
“Let's go.”
Emily stood.
“No.”
I looked at her.
“I need you here.”
She shook her head.
“I know the Harrington network.”
“You've already done enough.”
“No.”
Her voice was stronger now.
“I know where Michael keeps the spare keys.”
Everyone stopped.
She reached inside her jacket.
Pulled out a keycard.
“I stole this three months ago.”
I stared.
“Why?”
“Because I knew I would need it.”
The woman I had come to rescue suddenly looked different.
Still bruised.
Still exhausted.
But no longer helpless.
We moved.
The warehouse was empty.
Too empty.
We entered.
Rows of metal shelves.
Old computers.
Crates.
Then a voice came through the speakers.
“Welcome, Arthur.”
Ethan.
Again.
“Where are you?”
“Above you.”
I looked up.
A glass office overlooked the warehouse.
Ethan stood behind it.
Older than the photograph.
Gray hair.
Scar across his temple.
But unmistakably him.
Emily whispered:
“That's him.”
Ethan opened the office door.
He walked downstairs.
No weapon.
No guards.
Just him.
I raised my gun.
“You're alive.”
“Yes.”
“You betrayed us.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because your government betrayed us first.”
I tightened my grip.
“You joined them.”
“I infiltrated them.”
“For fifteen years?”
“They would have killed everyone otherwise.”
I laughed bitterly.
“And Emily?”
Ethan looked at her.
“I tried to keep her alive.”
“By letting Michael abuse her?”
“No.”
His eyes darkened.
“Michael exceeded his orders.”
“What orders?”
“He was supposed to control you.”
“Not hurt her.”
“No.”
Silence.
Then Ethan said:
“Victoria changed the plan.”
I looked at him.
“Why?”
“Because she discovered Emily had found the ledger.”
Emily spoke.
“I never found the ledger.”
Ethan shook his head.
“You found the first clue.”
“What clue?”
“The names.”
Emily's face changed.
“The people in the basement.”
“Yes.”
Ethan looked at me.
“They weren't prisoners.”
I frowned.
“Then what were they?”
“Witnesses.”
The word hit hard.
“Witnesses to what?”
Ethan opened his coat.
Pulled out a photograph.
A young woman.
A child beside her.
“Every woman marked ‘resistant’ was trying to escape the network.”
“What happened to them?”
“Some escaped.”
“Some?”
His eyes dropped.
“Some didn't.”
Emily took a step forward.
“Who killed them?”
Ethan answered:
“Your mother.”
Emily froze.
“What?”
I turned to Ethan.
“Don't.”
“I have proof.”
“Don't you dare.”
He placed a folder on the floor.
“Read it.”
Emily picked it up.
Inside were letters.
Signatures.
Photographs.
And one name.
LINDA COLLINS.
My late wife.
Emily's mother.
The woman I had loved more than anyone.
The woman who had died when Emily was sixteen.
Emily looked at me.
“Dad…”
I couldn't speak.
Ethan whispered:
May you like
“Your wife wasn't a victim of the network.”
“She was part of it.”
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