Chapter 8 - The Warehouse Where Two Men Were Supposed to Die
Warehouse Nine had been abandoned for six years.
After Owen's death, Nathan rebuilt operations elsewhere.
He could never stand entering it.
Patrick apparently chose it because he understood symbolism.
And cruelty.
Nathan arrived with Cal and a small team.
Federal agents stayed outside the perimeter.
Vivian remained with Ellie.
Nathan had not trusted her at first.
Ellie had.
Strangely.
“She knows she's bad,” Ellie said.
“That isn't normally a security qualification.”
“She said sorry.”
“Also not a qualification.”
But there were agents at the cabin.
Atlas too.
Ellie would be safe.
Nathan entered Warehouse Nine through the east loading entrance.
Dark.
Water dripped through damaged roof panels.
Old fire scars remained along the beams.
Ten years vanished.
Nathan could almost smell smoke again.
Owen.
He pushed the memory aside.
“Patrick!”
His voice echoed.
Lights switched on.
Clara sat tied to a chair thirty feet away.
Alive.
A bruise darkened one temple.
Nathan's control snapped.
Patrick stood behind her.
Evan beside him.
Three armed men nearby.
“Nathan.”
Patrick smiled.
“You look healthy.”
“I disappoint people.”
“You always did.”
Nathan looked at Clara.
Her eyes found his.
“Ellie?”
“Safe.”
She closed her eyes in relief.
Patrick laughed.
“Always the mother.”
Nathan ignored him.
“You wanted me.”
“I wanted Daniel's evidence.”
“You have it.”
Patrick's smile disappeared.
“Where?”
“Federal custody.”
For the first time, fear touched his uncle's face.
Nathan continued.
“So is Owen's.”
Evan looked toward his father.
Patrick's jaw tightened.
“Bluff.”
“Vivian gave me Malcolm's letters.”
Now Patrick truly reacted.
“Where is she?”
“Somewhere you can't reach.”
“You always had terrible taste in women.”
Nathan smiled coldly.
“Still better than my taste in uncles.”
Patrick's face hardened.
Clara almost smiled despite everything.
Nathan saw.
That small smile kept him grounded.
Patrick stepped around her.
“You think this is about Owen.”
“It began before him.”
“Your father began it.”
Nathan paused.
“What?”
Patrick laughed.
“Samuel Mercer wanted expansion.”
Nathan's father.
“No.”
“Yes.”
Nathan refused to show uncertainty.
Patrick continued.
“He was losing money. Real money.”
Nathan knew his father had struggled near the end.
Not how much.
“He asked Malcolm for help.”
Patrick gestured around the warehouse.
“Cole routes saved Mercer Holdings.”
“With drugs.”
“With money.”
“My father prohibited narcotics.”
“In public.”
Nathan felt sick.
Was Patrick lying?
Probably partly.
Maybe not entirely.
Patrick excelled at mixing truth with poison.
“Then why hide it?”
“Because Samuel changed his mind.”
Patrick shrugged.
“Men become moral after profits arrive.”
Nathan stared.
“Did my father order Owen's death?”
Patrick laughed.
“No.”
Something inside Nathan loosened despite himself.
“He loved Owen.”
“Did you?”
Patrick's expression changed.
That was enough.
Nathan stepped closer.
“You raised us.”
“I did.”
“You taught Owen to drive.”
“Yes.”
“You bought Atlas for him.”
Patrick looked toward the floor.
“Yes.”
“And then you killed him.”
Silence.
Clara watched.
Evan shifted nervously.
Patrick finally said, “Owen was going to destroy everything.”
“He was your nephew.”
“He was naïve.”
“He was family.”
“Family is exactly why he should have understood.”
Nathan's stomach turned.
There it was.
Patrick's entire philosophy.
Family meant silence.
Family meant complicity.
Family meant sacrificing the inconvenient person to protect the structure.
Nathan had once believed versions of the same thing.
That frightened him.
“Daniel?”
Patrick looked at Clara.
“Wrong place.”
Her face hardened.
“You murdered my husband.”
“I didn't drive the car.”
“Did you order it?”
Patrick smiled slightly.
“Yes.”
Clara flinched.
Nathan's hand moved toward his weapon.
Ellie's voice.
Don't become bad when you save Mama.
He stopped.
Patrick noticed.
“What happened to you?”
Nathan stared.
“You used to have teeth.”
“No.”
Nathan lowered his hand.
“I used to mistake anger for strength.”
Patrick laughed.
“And now what? The maid taught you morality?”
Clara's eyes flashed.
Nathan smiled.
“Mostly her daughter.”
Even Evan looked confused.
Patrick became impatient.
“Give me the evidence.”
“No.”
Patrick put a gun against Clara's head.
Nathan froze.
“Evidence.”
“You shoot her, you die here.”
“Maybe.”
Patrick smiled.
“But you'll spend the rest of your life knowing another person died because you wanted to be righteous.”
Nathan looked at Clara.
She shook her head.
No.
Do not surrender.
Patrick wanted the evidence destroyed.
Federal agents already had copies.
There was nothing Nathan could give that would save Patrick.
He needed time.
“Evan.”
Patrick's son looked at him.
Nathan continued.
“You know he plans to blame you.”
Evan frowned.
“Shut up.”
Patrick said.
Nathan ignored him.
“Your signatures are on Warehouse Twelve transfers.”
Evan's face changed.
“Your father kept his name off half the files.”
Patrick snapped, “He is lying.”
“Am I?”
Nathan took another step.
“Vivian kept records.”
Evan looked toward Patrick.
“Dad?”
“Don't listen.”
Nathan knew doubt.
He had lived inside it for days.
Now he weaponized it.
“Malcolm's letters say Patrick acted alone when Owen died.”
Evan's gun lowered slightly.
“Evan.”
Patrick warned.
Nathan continued.
“The pension accounts? Your signatures.”
Evan looked terrified.
“Dad said—”
“Yes.”
Nathan smiled bitterly.
“Patrick says many things.”
Clara suddenly kicked backward.
The chair struck Patrick's knees.
His gun moved.
Nathan lunged.
A shot fired.
Cal's team entered.
Chaos.
Nathan reached Clara.
Patrick fell.
Not shot.
Evan had tackled him.
His own son.
Cal disarmed the other men.
Federal agents flooded the warehouse moments later.
Nathan cut Clara's restraints.
She immediately grabbed his face.
“Ellie.”
“Safe.”
“Are you hurt?”
“No.”
She kissed him.
Neither planned it.
Neither cared.
Nathan froze for half a second.
Then kissed her back.
Everything disappeared.
Warehouse.
Agents.
Patrick shouting.
Ten years of grief.
When they separated, Clara looked shocked.
“Sorry.”
Nathan stared.
“Don't apologize.”
Then Patrick laughed from the floor.
Nathan turned.
His uncle was handcuffed.
“You think this ends anything?”
Nathan walked toward him.
Patrick looked almost eager.
He wanted Nathan angry.
Violent.
Wanted proof they were the same.
Nathan crouched.
“You killed my brother.”
Patrick stared.
“You killed Daniel Walsh.”
“Yes.”
“You tried using a six-year-old child.”
Patrick smiled.
“And you're going to do what?”
Nathan looked at the gun on the floor.
Then back at Patrick.
“Nothing.”
Patrick's smile vanished.
Nathan stood.
“The courts will.”
“You don't believe in courts.”
“I didn't.”
Nathan looked toward Clara.
“I changed.”
Patrick laughed bitterly.
“For a housekeeper?”
Nathan's expression hardened.
“For myself.”
He walked away.
Patrick shouted after him.
“Nathan!”
Nathan did not turn.
For ten years, Patrick had controlled him through Owen's death.
Through rage.
Through guilt.
Walking away was the first thing Nathan had ever done that Patrick could not control.
Outside, dawn had begun.
Clara stood beside him.
“You kept the wish.”
“Yes.”
She touched his face.
“You came for me.”
“Yes.”
“You could have been killed.”
“Yes.”
“That was stupid.”
“Apparently morality didn't cure everything.”
She laughed.
Then cried.
Nathan pulled her close.
For a long time, neither spoke.
Eventually Clara whispered, “I kissed you.”
“I remember.”
“That complicates my employment situation.”
Nathan smiled into her hair.
“You're still worried about being fired?”
“A little.”
“You are unbelievably difficult.”
“So I've been told.”
Nathan looked down.
“Clara.”
She met his eyes.
“I am going to kiss you again.”
“That sounded like a threat.”
“It was a warning.”
She smiled.
“Okay.”
This kiss was slower.
No fear.
No gunfire.
No Patrick.
When it ended, Clara rested her forehead against his.
“What about Vivian?”
Nathan looked toward the sunrise.
“She gets to decide who she is next.”
“And us?”
Nathan hesitated.
“I don't know.”
Clara smiled sadly.
“Good.”
He frowned.
“Good?”
“For once you didn't pretend you could control everything.”
Nathan almost objected.
Then stopped.
She was right.
Again.
His phone rang.
Cal.
Nathan answered.
“Nate.”
“What?”
“You need to get back to the cabin.”
Nathan's heart tightened.
“Ellie?”
“Fine.”
“Vivian?”
Cal hesitated.
“Gone.”
Nathan stared.
“What do you mean gone?”
“She left before agents could question her.”
“Why?”
“She took Owen's metal box.”
Nathan's face hardened.
Clara heard.
“Vivian ran?”
“Yes.”
Cal continued.
“And Nathan?”
“What?”
“She left a note.”
“What does it say?”
Cal read.
Patrick was never the last secret.
Ask who paid for Rebecca’s treatment.
Nathan stopped breathing.
Clara looked at him.
“Who is Rebecca?”
Nathan could barely answer.
“The woman I was supposed to marry.”
The woman who died thirteen years ago.
Long before Owen.
Long before Vivian.
Long before Nathan believed any of this had begun.
May you like
And suddenly Patrick's arrest no longer looked like the end.
It looked like the middle.
