Chapter 5 - Victor Hale Knew My Every Move—Because He Had Helped Create the Woman I Became
I wanted to shoot him.
Everything inside me wanted it.
But I didn't.
That was exactly what Hale expected.
Daniel grabbed my arm.
“Don't.”
Hale smiled.
“Good girl.”
The old phrase hit me harder than a bullet.
Training rooms.
Cold floors.
Long nights.
His voice.
Again.
Breathe.
Again.
Slow down.
Again.
You don't miss when you control the moment.
I had spent fourteen years trying to forget.
Now I understood something terrible.
Hale hadn't taught me to shoot because he believed in me.
He had taught me because he intended to use me.
“You trained me.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because your father had something I wanted.”
“The ledger.”
Hale nodded.
“And because your mother had betrayed me.”
I stepped forward.
“What happened to her?”
He smiled.
“You still care.”
“She’s my mother.”
“She stopped being your mother when she chose ideals over family.”
I raised the gun.
Hale laughed.
“That's your weakness, Mara.”
“Which is?”
“You still need people to be good.”
The helicopter moved closer.
Daniel whispered.
“He's stalling.”
“Why?”
“Because reinforcements are coming.”
Hale continued.
“Give me the ledger.”
“No.”
“Then I kill Daniel.”
I looked toward him.
Daniel shook his head.
“Don't.”
Hale smiled.
“He still sacrifices himself for you.”
I stared at Daniel.
“How much did you know?”
He hesitated.
“All of it.”
I felt betrayed.
“You knew Hale created me.”
“Yes.”
“You knew about my mother.”
“Yes.”
“You knew my father lied.”
“Yes.”
I stepped back.
“And you let me live that life.”
Daniel swallowed.
“I thought it was safer.”
“No.”
I shook my head.
“You thought you could protect me.”
“Yes.”
“And instead you destroyed fourteen years of my life.”
His eyes filled with regret.
“I know.”
Hale watched us.
He was enjoying every second.
That's when I understood.
His real weapon wasn't the guns.
It was secrets.
He didn't need to kill people.
He only needed to make them distrust each other.
So I lowered the gun.
Hale frowned.
“You're right,” I said.
His expression changed.
“You trained me.”
“Yes.”
“You taught me how to control fear.”
“Yes.”
“You taught me how to read a target.”
“Yes.”
“You forgot one thing.”
Hale smiled.
“What?”
“I learned how to think without you.”
I fired.
Not at Hale.
At the helicopter's fuel line.
The pilot panicked.
The aircraft veered away.
Hale ducked.
Daniel grabbed me.
We ran.
Adrian opened fire behind us.
We reached the woods.
Three vehicles waited.
We escaped in the middle one.
Twenty minutes later, we stopped at a farmhouse.
I locked the door behind us.
No one spoke.
Finally, Daniel said, “You were right.”
“I know.”
“I should have told you.”
“Yes.”
“I thought I was protecting you.”
“I know.”
He looked at me.
“I never stopped loving you.”
My heart twisted.
I hated how much I wanted to believe him.
But love couldn't erase fourteen years.
It couldn't resurrect birthdays.
It couldn't undo funerals.
It couldn't give back the years I spent wondering why I hadn't been enough to keep him alive.
I turned away.
“Where is my mother?”
Daniel said, “We have a lead.”
He showed me a photograph.
An older woman standing outside a small church.
My mother.
Alive.
The photograph had been taken three months earlier.
My knees almost gave out.
“Where?”
“St. Helena.”
I stared at the image.
A church in rural Illinois.
I remembered my mother taking me there when I was five.
She used to say the place had beautiful stained glass.
I couldn't stop the tears.
Adrian quietly left the room.
Daniel stayed.
“I'll take you.”
“No.”
“I know the route.”
“No.”
He looked at me.
“I have to do this alone.”
He nodded.
“I understand.”
I packed the ledger.
And the brass key.
And the gun.
Because I had finally accepted something.
I wasn't the frightened diner owner anymore.
But I also wasn't the weapon Hale had created.
I was something different.
Something neither version of my life had expected.
My own person.
At dawn, I drove toward St. Helena.
I expected my mother to run.
Instead, she was waiting.
She stood outside the church in a dark blue coat.
Her hair was silver.
Her face was older.
But her eyes were mine.
She looked at me.
Neither of us moved.
Then she whispered:
“Mara.”
I cried.
And for the first time in fourteen years, I ran toward my mother.
She held me like I was eight again.
“I’m sorry.”
I buried my face against her shoulder.
“Why didn't you come back?”
“Because I was afraid.”
“Of Hale?”
She shook her head.
“Of what you'd become if you knew the truth.”
I pulled away.
She looked at the ledger.
“He found you.”
“Yes.”
“Then there isn't much time.”
“Tell me everything.”
My mother looked toward the road.
“Hale was never the real leader.”
I frowned.
“Who is?”
She whispered one name.
“Your father.”
I stared at her.
“That’s impossible.”
“I wish it were.”
May you like
My mother's eyes filled with tears.
“Your father created Black Harbor.”
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