Chapter 8 - The Man in the Trench Coat
Julian stopped dead in his tracks, the damp concrete beneath his sneakers slick with motor oil. He stared at the older man's face. The high cheekbones, the slight crook in the bridge of the nose, the distinctive golden-brown ring circling the irises—it was looking into a mirror warped by decades of hard living and regret.
"Arthur?" Julian managed, his voice trembling in the cold exhaust of the loading bay.
"Keep your voice down," Arthur Vance rasped, his eyes darting toward the security cameras above the loading dock, their red operational lights conveniently dead. "Victoria has half the municipal police force on her payroll, and the private contractors she hired aren't in the business of leaving witnesses."
"You died," Clara said, clutching Maya against her chest. "Your records were expunged."
"Records can be burned. Flesh cannot," Arthur replied, opening the side sliding door of the van. "Get in. Both of you. Unless you want the Vance family trust attorneys declaring your daughter a ward of the state within the hour."
Julian hesitated, stepping between Clara and his supposed uncle. "How did you find us? How do we know this isn't another trap?"
Arthur pulled a worn, silver pocket lighter from his coat, clicking the flame once to illuminate a faded tattoo on his inner wrist: the original caduceus logo of the Vance Institute, branded long before Victoria turned it into a corporate empire.
"I received an alert the second your private lab accessed the criminal database," Arthur said, his voice flat and urgent. "I’ve had a watchdog script running on that file for twenty-five years. Victoria didn't just steal my research, Julian. She stole you from my late wife's crib, and she used my biological material to maintain the bloodline requirement of my father's will."
Maya let out a weak, sharp wail, cutting through the damp chill.
May you like
From the stairwell door behind them, the heavy steel bar slammed open. Two men dressed in dark tactical gear stepped out into the loading bay, their hands reaching inside their jackets.
"Get in!" Arthur barked, drawing a heavy revolver from his belt.
