Chapter 3 - The Files Proved Dr. Parker Wasn't the Mastermind—He Was Being Forced to Participate in Something Much Larger Than His FamilyWe took Parker to a secure location.
Not prison.
Not yet.
I wanted answers.
Eli sat in another room with one of my men and a child therapist we trusted.
He had finally eaten.
That mattered.
Before leaving the basement, we found one more file.
Project Haven.
The name sounded harmless.
The contents weren't.
Children from troubled homes.
Adults declared mentally unstable.
People who had no relatives.
The system identified vulnerable people.
Parker's clinic became the intake point.
They were brought underground.
Drugged.
Recorded.
Some were used in experimental treatments.
Others were transferred.
Transferred where?
We didn't know.
But one symbol appeared on every transfer file.
A black triangle.
I recognized it.
A private organization on the East Coast.
The Haven Foundation.
Officially, a charity.
Unofficially, a network for wealthy men who paid for access to vulnerable people.
I called my contact.
“Find Haven Foundation.”
He went silent when I said the name.
Then:
“Boss, you don't want this.”
“Find it.”
“Understood.”
Meanwhile, Parker sat across from me.
He looked exhausted now.
“I never wanted this.”
“Then why did you do it?”
“They had my daughter.”
I stared.
“Lucy?”
He nodded.
“They took her.”
“So you cooperated.”
“They told me if I stopped, she'd die.”
I looked at him.
“Where is she?”
“I don't know.”
“Who took her?”
“Victor.”
Dr. Victor Hale.
Parker continued.
“He worked with my father.”
“Your father?”
“My father built the first clinic.”
I looked at the files.
The network was generational.
Parker inherited it.
Then tried to escape.
His own daughter was taken.
Now his son had discovered the truth.
Eli had been both witness and leverage.
Parker's wife had died under suspicious circumstances.
Perhaps she had been trying to expose the network.
I asked:
“How did your wife die?”
“Car accident.”
“Do you believe that?”
Parker closed his eyes.
“No.”
“Who killed her?”
“I don't know.”
“Who knew?”
“Victor.”
I stood.
“Then we're going to find him.”
Parker looked surprised.
“You're helping me?”
“No.”
I looked toward the room where Eli was staying.
“I'm helping your son.”
He lowered his head.
“I don't deserve it.”
“Probably not.”
He nodded.
“At least you're honest.”
I almost smiled.
Then a call came in.
Victor had been located.
A private clinic outside Portland.
When we arrived, it was empty.
But there was a message on the reception desk.
A photograph of Eli.
On the back:
BRING MORETTI.
Underneath:
WE HAVE THE GIRL.
Lucy.
Eli's missing sister.
May you like
I looked at Parker.
“We're going.”
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