Chapter 3 - THE HUNT
The city felt different when you were looking for someone who didn't want to be found. It became a grid of possibilities, a maze of alleys and parking lots and temporary addresses. I moved through it with a focus I hadn't had in years. I wasn't the retired boss anymore; I was a hunter, and the prey was my own flesh and blood.
Frank and his team had set up a command center in one of my old service yards. It felt like walking into a time machine. The smell of oil, the sound of metal tools, the hum of the old generators—it was all there, exactly as I had left it.
"We tracked the SUV," Frank said, pointing to a map on the wall. "They’re in a motel near the airport. Cheap place. Paid in cash. Marissa’s out right now. Brian’s alone."
"Is he armed?" I asked.
"Hard to say. But he’s scared, Boss. He’s been pacing the room for three hours. He hasn't left the door."
"Good," I said. "He should be scared."
I didn't bring a gun. I brought a copy of the ledger I had found in the hospital file, along with a stack of photos—photos of Lily and Mason in the hospital, the tubes, the bruises, the look of terror in their eyes.
I drove to the motel. It was a miserable place, the kind of spot where people went to disappear. I walked up to the door of Room 114, my heart beating with a steady, metronomic rhythm. I didn't knock. I used the master key Frank had managed to secure.
The door swung open.
Brian was sitting on the bed, his back to the door, staring at a blank television screen. He looked gaunt, his clothes rumpled, his hair unkempt. He turned around, his eyes widening as he saw me.
"Dad?"
"Hello, Brian," I said, closing the door behind me and locking it.
"I... I can explain," he stammered, scrambling back against the headboard. "It wasn't supposed to happen like that. Lily was being difficult, and Mason—"
"Stop," I said, my voice cutting through the room like a blade. "Don't you dare talk about them. Don't you dare put their names in your mouth."
I walked over to the bed and tossed the photos onto the mattress. Brian didn't look at them. He kept his eyes on me, his breathing shallow.
"They're alive, Brian. That’s the only reason you’re still breathing right now."
"I needed the money," he cried out, his voice cracking. "The debts... these people, they were going to kill me! I thought if I could just get the kids to my sister-in-law, I could clear the books and—"
"You drugged your own children," I said, stepping closer. "You locked them in a closet and you left them to die while you tried to run from the consequences of your own incompetence. You aren't a man, Brian. You’re a coward. You’re a parasite."
"I'm your son!"
"My son died a long time ago," I said. "Or maybe he never existed. Maybe you were always this."
I reached into my pocket and pulled out the note he had written. "Did you think I wouldn't find out? Did you think I wouldn't know the truth about the closet?"
He went silent.
"Mason recorded you, Brian. He recorded every word you said to them. He recorded the fear you instilled in them. And the police have it all."
Brian’s face turned gray. "You... you can't."
"I don't have to," I said. "The law is going to do it for me. But I didn't come here for the law. I came here to give you a choice."
He looked at me, bewildered. "What choice?"
"You can walk out of here, go to the nearest station, and turn yourself in. You can confess to everything, sign over your rights to the children, and disappear. If you do that, I might—I emphasize might—make sure you have a legal team that keeps you from rotting in the worst part of the prison system."
"And if I don't?"
"Then I release the ledger," I said, pulling it out. "I release the names of everyone you owed money to. I give them the locations of every place you’ve hidden the assets you stole. I let the wolves have you, Brian. And I don't think they’ll be as patient as I am."
He stared at the ledger, then at me. He knew I wasn't bluffing. He knew that the man who had built an empire was more than capable of tearing his world down to the foundation.
"I need time," he whispered.
"You have five minutes," I said, pulling out my pocket watch. "Five minutes to decide if you want to go to prison or if you want to be hunted. The choice is yours."
May you like
I sat in the chair by the door and watched the second hand tick. The room was silent, save for the sound of Brian’s ragged breathing. He looked at the window, then at the door, then back at me. He was searching for an escape, for a loophole, for a way to manipulate the situation, just as he had his entire life.
But he was out of room. He was out of time. And for the first time, he realized that there was no one left to blame.
