WHOLE STORY: The call came at 11:47 PM. A woman’s calm voice said my daughter was
Disclaimer: This story is entirely fictional and created for entertainment purposes only. It does not represent any organization or individual, nor does it encourage inappropriate behavior. The content was generated with AI assistance.
PART 2 – They Thought Her Father Was Just a Quiet Veteran
I stared at the photograph on my phone.
The image was clear. Too clear. Taken through Lily’s hospital window, the angle low, probably from the parking lot across the street. She was asleep, her face turned slightly toward the glass, the bandages visible even in the dim light.
Then the message beneath it.
*Some wars should stay buried, Walker.*
My hand tightened around the phone until the screen cracked along one edge.
Detective Chen saw my face change.
“What is it?”
I turned the phone toward her.
She read the message, and her expression shifted from professional calm to sharp alert.
“Marcus,” she said. “Check the window.”
Marcus moved immediately. He crossed the room, pulled the curtain aside carefully, and scanned the parking lot and the building across the street.
“Third floor, east side,” he said. “Fire escape access. Could have been taken from the roof of the parking garage.”
Chen was already on her radio.
“Unit 3, secure the perimeter around Mercy General. Possible threat against a patient. Room 214. Plainclothes only.”
She looked at me.
“Is there a connection between your past and Grant Morrison?”
“Yes.”
“That’s not a small detail, Mr. Walker.”
I took a breath. The hospital corridor stretched around us, too bright, too normal for the weight of what I was about to say.
“Thirty years ago, during my second deployment to the Middle East, a civilian intelligence contractor named Graham Morris was attached to our unit. He was young, ambitious, well-connected. His father had political ties back home. He treated the deployment like a resume entry.”
“What happened?”
“Morrison—Morris then—ran a supply operation. Weapons and medical equipment intended for our forward units. Shipments kept going missing. Men died because of what didn’t arrive on time.”
Anna watched me with wide eyes.
I continued.
“I filed a report after two soldiers from my squad were killed in an ambush that should never have been survivable if the supplies had reached us. My report triggered an investigation. Morris was pulled from the field, quietly reassigned, and eventually left the intelligence community under a cloud.”
“And he blames you for that.”
“Evidently.”
Chen’s jaw tightened.
“That was twenty-eight years ago, and he’s been in this country building power ever since. He changed his name. Built a fortune. Became untouchable.”
“Except he never forgot,” I said quietly.
Her phone buzzed. She read the message and exhaled slowly.
“Campus security just confirmed Grant Morrison visited Bradley University’s science building yesterday afternoon. Before the attack.”
The air in the room grew dense.
“So Lily was targeted,” I said. “Not because she helped Anna. Not because she filed a complaint. Because Morrison recognized her last name and saw a chance to hurt me through her.”
Anna made a small sound.
“He used my pain to cover his revenge.”
Chen’s face was hard.
“We need to move Lily to a secure floor.”
“Do it.”
She turned to give orders.
Marcus stepped closer to me, his voice low.
“Dan, this is bigger than a campus assault. If Morrison is desperate enough to threaten you directly after the attack, he’s worried. What else is he trying to bury?”
I looked at the photograph on my cracked phone screen.
“The same thing he buried thirty years ago.”
“What was that?”
I met his eyes.
“A shipment of weapons that never reached my men. Two dead soldiers. And a contract that was paid in full by someone who wanted that war to last longer than it should have.”
Marcus went very still.
“You think Morrison was selling supplies.”
“I think he was taking orders from someone wealthier than him. Someone who wanted chaos to continue. And I think when I filed that report, I interrupted something that was supposed to stay quiet.”
“Those people are still alive.”
“Yes.”
“And Morrison is their connection to the present.”
“Yes.”
His face darkened.
“Then Lily isn’t the only person in danger tonight.”
I already knew that.
But hearing someone else say it made the truth feel heavier.
Ruth appeared at the door.
“What’s going on? There are officers outside Lily’s room.”
“Someone threatened her.”
Her eyes widened.
“What?”
I showed her the phone.
Her face drained of color, but she didn’t cry. Ruth was built from the same stubborn stock as our mother.
“They can’t move her in this condition,” she said.
“I know.”
“What do they want?”
“Me.”
She shook her head.
“You can’t give them that.”
“Not planning to.”
Chen returned.
“Lily is being transferred to a private room on the fourth floor. Restricted access. Security at both elevators and stairwells. No one enters without authorization.”
“When?”
“Within the hour.”
I nodded.
“I’m staying with her.”
“Expected.”
Ruth gripped my arm.
“Be careful.”
“I will.”
She didn’t look convinced.
An hour later, Lily was settled in a room with no windows and a door that locked from the inside.
I sat beside her as the sedatives wore off and her eyes fluttered open.
She saw my face and blinked slowly.
I smiled.
“Hey, sweetheart.”
Her hand moved toward the communication board.
I helped her position it.
She pointed.
Y.
O.
U.
O.
K.
A.
Y.
I had to breathe before I could answer.
“Yeah,” I said. “I’m okay.”
She blinked once.
Then pointed again.
S.
O.
R.
R.
Y.
“Stop apologizing, Lily. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
Her eyes filled.
She pointed.
N.
O.
T.
M.
E.
I frowned.
“What’s not you?”
She pointed to the board again.
T.
H.
E.
M.
Not me. Them.
I stared at her.
“Who?”
She lifted her hand slowly to her own face, then to her jaw, then toward the window where the photograph had been taken.
She had seen something.
Before the attack.
She had seen Morrison.
I pulled out my phone and showed her Grant Morrison’s photograph.
Her eyes widened.
One blink. Yes.
“Did he talk to you?”
Another blink.
“When?”
She pointed to the date on the hospital clock, then traced a symbol in the air.
The Founders Circle.
The same symbol she had traced into my palm.
I felt the cold certainty settle deeper into my bones.
“He approached you before the attack.”
Blink.
“What did he say?”
She pointed to the board.
Y.
O.
U.
R.
F.
A.
T.
H.
E.
R.
S.
O.
W.
S.
O.
M.
E.
T.
H.
I.
N.
G.
My throat tightened.
“Did he threaten you?”
Blink.
Her hand trembled.
She pointed again.
S.
A.
I.
D.
H.
E.
W.
A.
S.
W.
A.
T.
C.
H.
I.
N.
G.
A chill ran down my spine.
Morrison had been watching Lily before the attack.
He had approached her, told her I had seen something, warned her that he was watching.
And when she didn’t back down, when she kept helping Anna, when she filed that complaint about the freshman—
He sent his son and the other boys.
Not to scare her.
To silence her.
Permanently.
But they failed.
And now Morrison knew I was involved.
And he was scared.
Scared enough to send a threat through an anonymous text.
Scared enough to show his hand.
I took Lily’s hand.
“He’s not going to touch you again.”
She blinked.
I stood.
“Detective Chen.”
She appeared at the door. “Yes?”
“I need to make a call.”
“Who?”
“Someone from my past who owes me a favor.”
She studied me.
“I can’t authorize anything illegal.”
“Then I won’t ask for authorization.”
Her eyes narrowed, but she didn’t stop me.
I stepped into the hallway and dialed a number I hadn’t called in ten years.
It rang four times.
A voice answered. Rough. Familiar.
“Walker. You’re either dead or in trouble.”
“Trouble.”
“Figured. What do you need?”
“Name. Graham Morris. Now Grant Morrison. Wealthy. Connected. Campus club called The Founders Circle. Funded through shell foundations. Possible link to weapons trafficking thirty years ago.”
“Thirty years is cold.”
“Not if someone’s still burying bodies.”
Silence.
“You sure about this?”
“The man’s son and two others nearly killed my daughter tonight.”
The silence stretched.
Then the voice said, “Send me what you have.”
“I will.”
“And Walker?”
“Yeah?”
“Anyone who goes after a man’s kid has already lost. Just doesn’t know it yet.”
The line went dead.
I returned to Lily’s room.
The night stretched ahead.
But the war I had tried to leave behind was no longer buried.
It had found my daughter’s bed.
And it would end here.
One way or another.
Detective Chen’s phone rang.
She answered, listened, and her face tightened.
“Understood,” she said.
Then she hung up and turned to me.
“Grant Morrison just filed a restraining order against you.”
I stared at her.
“For what?”
“Alleged harassment. He claims you threatened him at the hospital earlier tonight.”
“He threatened me in my daughter’s hospital room in front of witnesses.”
“He’s claiming you initiated contact.”
“Chen.”
“I know,” she said. “But he has lawyers and a judge who answers late-night calls. You have a preliminary order. You can’t go near him.”
“What about the threat against Lily?”
“There’s no evidence connecting the text to him.”
“Anonymous number.”
“Yes.”
“He sent it.”
“Prove it.”
I looked at Lily.
Her eyes were closed again, exhaustion pulling her under.
“She can’t testify for weeks.”
“I know.”
“The university will bury the evidence.”
“They’ll try.”
“And Morrison walks.”
Chen’s expression was unreadable.
“Not if we find what he’s hiding.”
I looked at Marcus.
“The Founders Circle symbol. The old photo. The missing shipment.”
“We need more,” Marcus said.
“Then let’s find it.”
Anna, still wrapped in the gray sweater, stepped forward.
“I know where his office is,” she said.
Everyone turned.
“On campus. In the administration building. Third floor. He used it sometimes when he visited.”
“Can you get us in?” I asked.
Chen held up a hand. “We are not breaking into a university building.”
“Then what do you suggest?”
“I suggest we follow the law.”
“The law just gave him a restraining order against the victim’s father.”
“The law also protects evidence obtained illegally.”
Anna spoke quietly. “I still have my student ID.”
We all looked at her.
“It was never deactivated. They forgot.”
Chen’s face was a storm of professional caution and human frustration.
“I’m leaving this room for ten minutes,” she said. “When I come back, I don’t want to know where you’ve been.”
She walked out.
Marcus looked at me.
“We have nine and a half minutes.”
I looked at Anna.
“Are you sure?”
She nodded, fear and determination fighting in her eyes.
“He took my year. He’s not taking Lily’s.”
We moved.
The hospital halls were quiet at 2 a.m.
Anna led us through a service exit, across a dark lawn, and toward the Bradley University campus. Marcus carried a small bag with tools that were meant for breaking into his own car in case of emergency.
The administration building loomed ahead, old brick and locked doors.
Anna swiped her ID.
The lock clicked.
We stepped inside.
The hallway smelled of old carpet and photocopier toner. Emergency lights cast dim pools on the floor.
We took the stairs to the third floor.
Morrison’s office was at the end of the hall. A brass nameplate gleamed in the low light.
Anna tried her ID on the office door.
It didn’t work.
Marcus pulled out his kit.
Five seconds later, the lock turned.
We entered.
The office was elegant. Dark wood, leather chairs, framed photographs of Morrison shaking hands with politicians and university presidents.
I went straight to the desk.
Drawers were locked.
Marcus picked them one by one.
The third drawer held a file.
No label.
I opened it.
Inside were photographs.
Dozens of them.
Young women. Students. All taken without their knowledge. Some on campus. Some at parties. Some looking uncomfortable or afraid.
At the bottom of the file, a list of names.
Anna Ruiz was on it.
Lily Walker was on it.
Six other names I didn’t recognize.
Marcus whistled softly.
“This is a trophy collection.”
I looked at the wall. Behind a framed award, a small safe was embedded in the brick.
“We need that open.”
Marcus studied it.
“Not without equipment I don’t have.”
I looked at Anna.
“Call Detective Chen.”
She pulled out her phone.
While she did, I photographed everything. The list. The photographs. The file.
Marcus found another drawer with financial documents. Transfers to offshore accounts. Payments labeled “Consulting Fees.”
One transfer was dated two weeks ago.
Fifty thousand dollars to a company named Legacy Holdings.
The same word Anna had used.
Legacy.
I took photos of everything.
Anna’s voice was tense. “Detective Chen is on her way.”
“Good.”
We had maybe five minutes.
I kept looking.
Behind a painting of the university founder, I found a small leather notebook.
Black. Worn. No label.
I opened it.
Handwritten notes. Dates. Names. Coded references I couldn’t decipher.
But one phrase jumped out.
*Walker’s report. Destroyed. Confirm.*
The notebook trembled in my hands.
He had not only remembered me.
He had actively worked to destroy evidence of my report.
To protect whoever had been paying him.
And now, thirty years later, he was still protecting that secret.
I slipped the notebook into my jacket.
Headlights swept across the parking lot below.
Detective Chen had arrived.
We left the office exactly as we had found it, except for the missing notebook.
When Chen met us at the side entrance, her face told me she knew what we had done.
“Tell me you found something that justifies this.”
I handed her the photographs from my phone.
She scrolled through them.
Her face went still.
“He kept photographs of his victims.”
“Dozens.”
“He’s not just protecting a secret. He’s collecting leverage.”
“For decades.”
She looked up at me.
“This changes everything.”
“Then keep it safe.”
She studied the photographs again.
“Where did you find them?”
“His office.”
“Legally?”
“Define legally.”
She sighed heavily.
“I’m going to pretend you said ‘a concerned student left them at the front desk.'”
Anna nodded.
“I can do that.”
“Good.”
Chen looked at me.
“Morrison’s restraining order just became irrelevant. He’s going to be arrested tonight.”
“For what?”
“Possession of child exploitation material. Stalking. Conspiracy to commit assault.”
“Lily?”
“She’s a minor in the eyes of the law for the purposes of these photographs.”
I looked at the list of names again.
Six other girls.
“Who else is on this list?”
“Someone we need to contact before morning.”
Chen pocketed the evidence.
“Go back to Lily. Stay with her. I’ll handle the arrest.”
“You need backup?”
“I need you not to be in the room when I take him.”
She was right.
I nodded.
“Call me when it’s done.”
“I will.”
She turned to leave.
“Chen.”
She stopped.
“Thank you.”
She didn’t look back.
“This is my job, Mr. Walker.”
“Still. Thank you.”
I returned to the hospital.
Ruth was asleep in the chair beside Lily’s bed.
I sat in the dark and watched my daughter breathe.
At 4:17 a.m., my phone buzzed.
A single message from Detective Chen.
*He’s in custody. Evidence secured. We found more. I’ll explain in person.*
I closed my eyes.
The war wasn’t over.
But for the first time in thirty years, the man who started it was where he belonged.
I looked at Lily.
“You’re safe now,” I whispered.
Her hand moved in her sleep, reaching for something.
I took it.
And held on.
—
END OF PART 2 — LIKE, SHARE AND COMMENT “THE ENTIRE STORY” IF YOU WANT THE FULL STORY
PART 3 — THE STONE ROLLS BACK
I held Lily’s hand until my fingers went numb.
The monitor beside her bed counted breaths. Each one felt like a promise I wasn’t sure I could keep.
At 4:47 a.m., Marcus appeared at the door.
His face told me something had changed.
“Dan.”
I didn’t let go of Lily’s hand.
“Say it.”
“They’re processing Morrison’s arrest, but the safe in his office was empty when Chen’s team opened it.”
I looked up.
“Empty?”
“Cleaned out. Sometime between when we left and when the warrant was served.”
A cold weight settled in my stomach.
“We were in that office for ten minutes.”
“Exactly,” Marcus said. “Someone inside the department tipped him off, or someone on campus beat us to it.”
“Who knew we were there?”
“Chen. Me. Anna. You.”
I thought about the hallway. The silence. The one light that flickered at the far end as we walked out.
“Someone was watching.”
Marcus nodded slowly.
“Morrison might be in custody, but the machine he built is still running.”
Lily stirred.
Her fingers twitched against my palm.
I leaned closer.
“Hey, sweetheart.”
Her eyes opened. Foggy. Searching.
She found my face and held it.
Then she lifted her free hand and tapped her own chest three times.
Heart.
She was asking about my heart.
I forced a smile.
“I’m okay.”
She didn’t blink.
She knew.
I turned to Marcus.
“Call Chen. Tell her to check Morrison’s phone records for the last twelve hours. Every call. Every text.”
“Already ahead of you.”
He walked back into the hallway.
I looked at Lily.
“Someone took evidence from his office tonight.”
Her eyes widened.
She pointed to the board.
W.
H.
O.
“I don’t know yet.”
She pointed again.
H.
O.
W.
A woman’s voice answered from the doorway.
“Through me.”
I turned.
Detective Chen stood there, rain still beaded on her coat. Her face was pale, and her eyes held something I had never seen in them before.
Uncertainty.
“What do you mean?”
She stepped inside and closed the door behind her.
“The call about the safe being empty came from my own dispatcher. But I never ordered the safe to be opened until the warrant arrived.”
“Someone countermanded your order?”
“Someone higher.”
“Who?”
She didn’t answer.
Instead, she pulled out her phone and showed me a message.
It was from an internal department number.
*Safe search delayed until 6 a.m. per D.A. directive. Stand down.*
The time stamp was 3:52 a.m.
Twenty minutes after we left the office.
“The district attorney told your team to wait?”
“District attorney’s office says they never sent that message.”
The room went quiet.
Lily’s hand tightened around mine.
“It’s like a keyhole,” I said slowly.
Chen frowned. “What?”
“A lock that only opens when the right person turns the key. Someone in the department sent that order. Someone with access to internal communications. And when the safe was finally opened, it was empty.”
Chen’s jaw tightened.
“I have someone in my unit I’ve trusted for five years.”
“Maybe you still can trust them.”
“Or maybe I can’t.”
She looked at Lily, then back at me.
“I’m going to handle this quietly.”
“Quietly won’t find who emptied that safe.”
“Loudly will get me removed from the case.”
She wasn’t wrong.
The system protected itself.
But the system hadn’t spent twenty-eight years learning how to survive outside it.
I looked at Marcus, who had returned.
“How deep do the Morrison family connections go?”
“Statewide,” Marcus said. “Judge Morrison—Preston Hale’s grandfather—presided over several cases involving Bradley University. Grant Morrison’s father served on the state appeals court. The district attorney who signed off on Morrison’s original appointment to the board? Retired last year. His replacement was endorsed by the Morrison family PAC.”
A network.
Not a circle.
A web.
And Lily had walked right into the center of it.
I stood.
“Chen, I need you to do something that might get you in trouble.”
“Define trouble.”
“I need you to not officially know where I am for the next few hours.”
Her eyes searched mine.
“You’re going after who emptied the safe.”
“I’m going after what they took.”
“That’s not your job.”
“It’s my daughter’s life.”
She stared at me for a long moment.
Then she took out her badge and placed it on the bedside table.
“I’m going to the bathroom,” she said. “When I come back, I expect you to be here with your daughter.”
She walked out.
Marcus looked at me.
“You have a plan?”
“Find out who else knew about that safe besides Morrison.”
“How?”
“I’m going to call the one person Morrison trusts more than anyone.”
“His son.”
“His lawyer.”
I pulled out my phone and dialed the number for Morrison’s attorney, the woman who had stood beside him in the hospital hallway.
It rang three times.
A groggy voice answered. “This is Patricia Lang.”
“Ms. Lang, this is Daniel Walker.”
A pause.
“Mr. Walker, it is four in the morning.”
“I know. I need to ask you one question, and I need an honest answer.”
“What question?”
“Did you know about the safe in Grant Morrison’s office?”
Another pause.
Longer this time.
“I’m his attorney. I don’t discuss my client’s possessions.”
“I’m not asking as his attorney. I’m asking as someone who just watched evidence against him disappear because someone inside the system got to it first.”
Silence.
Then, quietly: “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I think you do.”
“I think you’re desperate and tired and looking for someone to blame.”
“I’m looking for someone who emptied a safe that contained photographs of my daughter.”
She said nothing.
“Ms. Lang, you represented Morrison. You know what kind of man he is. You saw those photographs.”
“I saw nothing.”
“Then you’re lying to yourself.”
The line went dead.
I lowered the phone.
Marcus raised an eyebrow.
“Helpful?”
“Maybe not.”
But something about her pause told me she hadn’t been surprised.
She had been afraid.
I looked at Lily.
She was watching me with eyes that understood more than I wanted her to.
I sat back down.
“Okay,” I said. “New plan.”
Ruth stirred in her chair.
“What plan?”
I looked at the board Lily had used.
Then at the symbol she had drawn in my palm hours ago.
The circle. Two lines.
“Founders Circle isn’t just a club.”
Ruth frowned.
“What else could it be?”
“A foundation. A trust. Something that holds money, property, and secrets across generations.”
Marcus nodded slowly.
“I can dig into property records. Trust documents. See if Morrison’s name appears on anything connected to the university.”
“Do it.”
“And you?”
I looked at Lily.
“I’m going to talk to the one person who might know exactly what that symbol means.”
“Who?”
“Anna.”
Anna was still in the hospital, in a small room on the first floor with a victim advocate.
She answered the door wrapped in that same gray sweater, eyes red from crying but clear.
“Mr. Walker.”
“Anna, I need to ask you something.”
“Anything.”
“Before Morrison approached Lily, did he ever show you that symbol?”
She blinked.
“Yes.”
“When?”
“The first time I was brought to his office. After the complaint against his son. He had it on a ring.”
“A ring?”
“A signet ring. Gold. He twisted it while he talked.”
“He told you what it meant?”
“No. But I saw him touch it when he mentioned his father.”
“His father?”
“The judge. He said, ‘My father built this university. This ring was his.'”
The judge.
The grandfather of Preston Hale.
The same name on the list.
I pulled out my phone and sent a text to Marcus.
*Check Judge Morrison’s estate. Any property deeds, trusts, or foundations tied to “Legacy Holdings.”*
Marcus replied within seconds.
*Already running.*
I looked at Anna.
“Thank you.”
“Did I help?”
“You gave me a door.”
She hugged herself.
“I want to help more.”
“You already saved Lily’s life.”
“That doesn’t feel like enough.”
I looked at her—a young woman who had been broken by these people and was still standing.
“It’s more than most people ever do.”
Her eyes filled.
I left her with the victim advocate.
The hospital hallway was quiet.
Dawn was still an hour away.
My phone buzzed.
Marcus.
*Found it. Judge Robert Morrison established a trust in 1987 called “The Legacy Fund.” Managed by Morrison family interests. Properties include a private estate, a construction company, and a parcel of land three miles from Bradley University.*
*What kind of land?*
*A former military supply depot. Decommissioned in 1990. Title transferred to Legacy Fund the same year.*
My blood ran cold.
A supply depot.
Transferred the year after I filed my report.
Morrison hadn’t just buried evidence.
He had buried the very ground where those missing weapons had passed through.
And he had been sitting on it for thirty years.
Waiting.
I looked at Lily.
She had fallen asleep again.
Ruth watched me with worried eyes.
“Dan, whatever you’re thinking—”
“I’m thinking that the war I thought ended thirty years ago has been sitting under our feet the entire time.”
“What are you going to do?”
I picked up my jacket.
“Go see what’s on that land.”
“At dawn? Alone?”
“Not alone.”
I looked at Marcus, who had appeared in the doorway.
He sighed.
“I should have stayed retired.”
“Too late.”
We left the hospital as the first gray light touched the sky.
The land was surrounded by a chain-link fence, rusted and overgrown with weeds.
A faded sign read: *U.S. Government Property — No Trespassing.*
Below it, a newer sign: *Legacy Holdings — Private.*
Marcus cut the lock with bolt cutters.
We walked through wet grass that reached our knees.
At the center of the property stood a concrete bunker, half-sunken into the earth.
The door was steel.
Locked.
But the lock was new.
Someone had been here recently.
Marcus studied it.
“This is a commercial-grade electronic lock. Requires a code.”
“Can you bypass it?”
“Not without frying the system and alerting whoever installed it.”
I looked around.
The property was surrounded by trees.
No cameras visible.
But that meant nothing.
Then I noticed something.
A small patch of ground near the bunker entrance.
Disturbed.
Recent.
I knelt and brushed aside the grass.
A faint tire track.
And beside it, a scuff mark.
Like someone had knelt here.
I looked closer.
In the dirt, barely visible, was a symbol.
The circle.
Two lines.
But this time, a third line curved through the center.
A variation.
A key.
I pulled out my phone and photographed it.
Then I called Marcus over.
“Recognize this?”
He studied it.
“That’s not the Founders Circle symbol.”
“No.”
“That’s older.”
“How old?”
He pulled out his own phone and searched.
His face went pale.
“That’s a variant of a military logistics insignia used by a private contracting firm in the late 1980s.”
“What firm?”
The name came up on his screen.
*Morris Logistics International.*
The same company Graham Morris—Grant Morrison—had worked for.
A company that had been dissolved in 1991.
But whose records had never been fully audited.
I stood.
“He didn’t just bury the evidence.”
Marcus looked at me.
“He buried the operation.”
“The weapons. The contracts. The bodies.”
“Maybe.”
I stared at the bunker door.
And I knew.
Whatever was inside that bunker would either finally bury the past—
Or bring the entire house down with it.
I looked at Marcus.
“Can we get in without the code?”
He studied the lock again.
“Give me thirty minutes.”
“Make it twenty.”
The sun was rising.
And somewhere, in a cell, Grant Morrison was waiting for the same sunrise.
But he didn’t know who else was waiting for him.
I pulled out my phone and sent one more message to Detective Chen.
*Found the depot. Going in. Stay close.*
Her reply came immediately.
*I’m already on my way.*
I looked at Marcus.
“Time’s running.”
He smiled grimly.
“It always is.”
—
TO BE CONTINUED.
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