Chapter 27 - Shadows of the Past
The summer of Marcus's junior year at Stanford unfolded like a golden chapter in a storybook. The estate was alive with laughter, late-night coding sessions on the terrace, and the joyful noise of children running through the manicured gardens. Eva’s voice filled every corner of the mansion, and Lily was winning track medals at her local middle school.
Yet, even in the most peaceful of lives, the ghosts of the past occasionally rattle their chains.
It happened on a warm Saturday evening in early July. I was sitting in my private study reviewing legitimate real estate portfolios when my encrypted private phone buzzed sharply against the mahogany desk. It wasn't the regular cellular network; it was an encrypted satellite frequency that hadn't rung in over three years—a direct line reserved exclusively for high-level underworld contacts and federal informants.
I picked up the receiver and pressed it to my ear without speaking.
"Damian," a gravelly, exhausted voice whispered on the other end. It belonged to an old-school FBI handler named Agent Miller, a man who had tolerated my syndicate activities for a decade in exchange for anonymous tips on cartel drug routes.
"Miller," I replied, my voice dropping into a cold, flat register. "It’s been a long time. If you're calling to audit my charitable foundation, you're wasting your time."
"I'm not calling about your foundation, Damian," Miller interrupted, coughing weakly. "I'm calling because of a name that just popped up on an Interpol red notice out of Eastern Europe. A name you thought you buried."
My grip on the receiver tightened. "Go on."
"Viktorov," Miller said heavily. "Everyone in the intelligence community thought he fled to Bucharest and stayed underground after you dismantled his Chicago operations three years ago. But he didn't stay quiet. He spent the last thirty-six months rebuilding his network, forming an alliance with an arms-trafficking cartel in the Balkans. And intelligence intercepted a secure communication packet originating from his command cell..."
Miller paused, and the silence on the line grew suffocating.
May you like
"What did the packet say, Miller?" I demanded, a cold chill running down my spine.
"The target isn't you, Damian," Miller whispered. "Viktorov knows your estate is too heavily guarded. The target is the boy. Marcus. Viktorov knows that breaking Marcus is the only way to destroy you."
