Chapter 6 - The Name Hidden in the Ledger
At 4:17 in the morning, I stopped being a nurse who accidentally knew too much.
I became bait.
Not because Damian wanted me to.
In fact, Damian reacted to the idea so badly that Marcus quietly moved two glasses away from him before the argument began.
“We know they’re watching me,” I said.
“No.”
“That wasn’t a question.”
“It’s still the answer.”
Victor sat at Damian’s conference table, surrounded by printouts from Rebecca’s flash drive.
Marcus stood near the door.
Dr. Vasquez was still running DNA tests downstairs.
Damian stood across from me with both palms on the table.
“You are not bait.”
“I’m already bait.”
“You’re under protection.”
“If whoever made this list knows I found something, hiding me confirms it.”
“I don’t care.”
“I do.”
His eyes flashed.
“Mara.”
“Someone kidnapped Rebecca.”
His expression tightened.
“She knew this was happening. She left that drive for me.”
“And?”
“And hiding in your penthouse does nothing to find her.”
“I have people finding her.”
“The same people whose security systems have been compromised twice tonight?”
That landed badly.
Marcus looked at the ceiling.
Victor pretended to read.
Damian straightened.
“You enjoy challenging me.”
“No. I enjoy surviving.”
“Then listen to me.”
“Those things are not always the same.”
Victor suddenly coughed into his hand.
I looked at him.
“Are you laughing?”
“Absolutely not.”
Damian stared at his oldest friend.
Victor became fascinated by a spreadsheet.
I turned the laptop toward Damian.
“My status says forty-eight hours. That means somebody has a plan. If I act normal, they may expose themselves.”
“And if the plan involves killing you?”
“Then you prevent it.”
His expression became almost incredulous.
“You have tremendous confidence in me for someone who argues with every order I give.”
“I contain multitudes.”
Victor laughed openly this time.
Damian pointed toward the door.
“Leave.”
Victor stood.
“Gladly.”
Marcus followed him.
Cowards, both of them.
When the door closed, Damian stared at me.
The room was suddenly too quiet.
“What?” I asked.
“Do you understand what you’re asking?”
“Yes.”
“No, you don’t.”
“Then explain it.”
He came around the table.
“These people built insurance policies on thirty-two individuals. They have medical histories. Biological samples. Access to private facilities. They compromised my systems, Mercer’s people, perhaps government offices.”
“I understand.”
“They kidnapped your friend.”
“I understand.”
“And someone marked you as priority.”
“I know.”
His voice dropped.
“Then why are you standing here pretending this is another difficult night shift?”
That stopped me.
Because he was right.
I had been pretending.
My hands were cold.
My stomach had hurt for the last hour.
Every unfamiliar sound made me look toward the door.
But fear had never been useful during emergencies.
So I had put it somewhere else.
“I don’t know how to do this frightened,” I admitted.
Damian’s expression changed.
The anger disappeared.
“What?”
“When somebody crashes in the ER, you don’t get scared until afterward. If you panic while it’s happening, you make mistakes.”
“This isn’t the ER.”
“My brain doesn’t know the difference yet.”
He looked at me for a long time.
Then his hand moved.
Slowly.
Giving me time to step away.
I didn’t.
His fingers touched mine.
Not romantic.
Not possessive.
Just steady.
“You’re allowed to be afraid.”
“So are you.”
His eyes met mine.
“I don’t have that luxury.”
“That sounds exhausting.”
A faint smile appeared.
“It is.”
For several seconds, Boston’s skyline flickered beyond the windows.
Then Marcus knocked.
The moment disappeared.
“We found something.”
Damian released my hand.
Marcus entered carrying a tablet.
“Northstar Legacy Holdings has six corporate layers. But one registration document from eight years ago lists an original legal representative.”
“Name?” Damian asked.
Marcus turned the screen.
Edwin Price.
Victor, who had followed him back inside, went still.
Damian noticed.
“You know him.”
Victor nodded.
“So do you.”
“I know hundreds of lawyers.”
“Price represented your father.”
The air changed.
Damian looked at the name again.
“When?”
“Final ten years of his life.”
“For what?”
“Private structures. Trusts. Offshore holdings.”
Marcus scrolled.
“Price died five years ago.”
“Then Northstar predates Mercer’s current conflict,” I said.
Victor nodded.
“By years.”
Damian looked unsettled.
“Meaning this may have started with my father.”
Nobody spoke.
I had heard very little about Alexander Cross.
Only fragments.
He had built the organization Damian inherited.
He had controlled docks and construction contracts for decades.
He had also been feared enough that older patients sometimes stopped speaking when his name was mentioned.
“What exactly did your father build?” I asked.
Damian stared through the windows.
“A system.”
“What kind?”
“One that made powerful people dependent.”
Victor spoke carefully.
“Alexander collected information.”
“Blackmail?”
“Insurance,” Victor said.
The word made my skin crawl.
“Not financial insurance,” Damian added. “Secrets. Affairs. debts. Criminal activity. Anything that guaranteed loyalty.”
“Northstar sounds like an extension of that.”
Damian’s jaw tightened.
“My father never told me about it.”
Victor looked at him.
“Maybe he didn’t intend to.”
Marcus’s phone buzzed.
He answered.
Listened.
Then looked at me.
“Rebecca’s car was found.”
I stood.
“Where?”
“Logan Airport parking garage.”
“Was she there?”
“No.”
“Cameras?”
“Show her entering at 11:06 last night.”
“Alone?”
Marcus hesitated.
“No.”
My pulse increased.
“Who was with her?”
“We’re pulling the image now.”
The security feed loaded.
Grainy.
Rebecca walked through the garage beside a man in a baseball cap.
She didn’t appear physically restrained.
But her shoulders were rigid.
The man’s hand remained near her elbow.
They disappeared behind a pillar.
Another camera caught them entering a black sedan.
I leaned closer.
“Can you enhance his face?”
Marcus did.
The image sharpened slightly.
Victor cursed.
Damian became motionless.
I looked between them.
“You know him.”
Neither answered immediately.
“Who is he?”
Damian’s voice was almost emotionless.
“Dr. Samuel Keane.”
“Who?”
Victor looked sick.
“My father’s personal physician.”
I stared.
“Your father had a personal doctor involved with Northstar?”
“We don’t know that.”
“Rebecca left with him.”
“He retired years ago,” Damian said.
“From Crosswell?”
“Crosswell didn’t exist yet.”
Victor added, “Keane ran a private medical suite Alexander used.”
The connection clicked into place.
“Medical records.”
“Yes.”
“Blood samples.”
Damian’s face hardened.
“Possibly.”
“And your father’s enemies.”
Silence.
Marcus began searching.
“Keane owns a property outside Lexington.”
“Go,” Damian ordered.
“Already sending a team.”
“No. We go.”
Marcus nodded.
I reached for my coat.
Damian looked at me.
“You’re staying.”
“Rebecca is my friend.”
“This may involve my father.”
“That does not make Rebecca less kidnapped.”
“Mara—”
“I’m coming.”
He closed his eyes briefly.
Victor looked at Marcus.
“How long before he realizes resistance is pointless?”
Marcus shrugged.
“I figured it out three hours ago.”
Damian opened his eyes.
“I hate both of you.”
We left at 4:42.
The sky was beginning to pale behind Boston.
Dr. Keane’s property sat behind stone walls near a wooded road.
Damian’s security arrived first.
Gate open.
House dark.
No vehicles.
We entered carefully.
Inside, the home looked abandoned in a hurry.
Drawers open.
Cabinets emptied.
Fireplace ashes still warm.
I found Rebecca’s scarf on the kitchen floor.
“She was here.”
Damian touched my shoulder.
“We’ll find her.”
In the study, Marcus discovered a hidden safe.
Empty.
Victor found documents burning inside the fireplace.
Most were destroyed.
One page survived.
Damian pulled it out with metal tongs.
A list of initials.
Dates.
Payments.
At the bottom appeared the same Northstar symbol from Rebecca’s files.
And beneath it was a handwritten line:
SUCCESSOR MUST NEVER CONTROL THE FULL LEDGER.
Damian read it twice.
“Successor,” I whispered.
“You,” Victor said.
Damian’s father had built Northstar.
Someone had inherited it.
But apparently not Damian.
Marcus searched the desk.
A hidden compartment clicked open.
Inside was a photograph.
Old.
Maybe twenty years.
Alexander Cross stood beside Dr. Keane.
Between them were three other men.
One was Edwin Price.
One I didn’t recognize.
The final man was younger, but unmistakable.
Victor leaned closer.
“No.”
Damian stared at the photograph.
“What?”
Victor pointed.
“That man.”
“Who is he?”
Victor’s face drained of color.
“Ethan Mercer’s father.”
Suddenly the war between Damian Cross and Ethan Mercer looked entirely different.
Their fathers had not been enemies.
May you like
They had been partners.
And whatever they had created together had survived both of them.
