Chapter 7 - The Enemy Was Already Inside
The photograph changed everything.
Alexander Cross.
Dr. Samuel Keane.
Attorney Edwin Price.
Thomas Mercer.
Four men standing together twenty years earlier, smiling as if they had built something worth celebrating.
Northstar.
Damian stared at the image during the entire drive back to Boston.
He barely spoke.
I had seen him angry.
Protective.
Suspicious.
Amused.
I had never seen him wounded.
That was what he looked like now.
Not because his father had lied.
Something told me Damian expected lies from Alexander Cross.
It was because the lie had survived him.
“I spent fifteen years undoing his messes,” Damian finally said.
Nobody responded.
“Every company I made legitimate. Every politician I stopped paying. Every route I closed.”
Victor looked toward him.
“You couldn’t know.”
“I should have.”
“You were twenty-eight when he died.”
“And already running half the organization.”
“You were running what he wanted you to see.”
Damian looked at the photograph again.
“Apparently.”
I studied him.
“What happened between your father and Mercer’s?”
Damian glanced at Victor.
Victor answered.
“Thomas Mercer died in a boating accident eleven years ago.”
“And Ethan blamed Alexander?”
“At first.”
“For what?”
“The accident.”
“Was he responsible?”
Damian stared ahead.
“I don’t know.”
Victor looked surprised.
“You always said—”
“I said my father denied it.”
“That isn’t the same thing.”
“No.”
“So Ethan inherited his father’s side of Northstar?” I asked.
“Maybe,” Damian said.
“But Leo works for Ethan and didn’t know everything.”
“Mercer keeps information compartmentalized.”
“So does Damian,” Victor said.
Damian looked at him.
“You chose a remarkable time to become funny.”
“I may not get another chance.”
The tension between them had changed since the container yard.
Damian still did not trust Victor.
But years of friendship kept surfacing beneath the suspicion.
I wondered whether that was dangerous.
Or human.
Marcus received a call before we reached the city.
“Team searched Keane’s secondary properties. Empty.”
“Rebecca?” I asked.
“Nothing.”
My stomach sank.
“But we found a traffic-camera hit on the sedan.”
“Where?”
“Heading toward Cambridge at 1:48.”
Damian leaned forward.
“Track every camera.”
“Already doing it.”
The vehicle stopped at the penthouse.
Before we entered, Marcus blocked the elevator.
“Boss.”
Damian looked at him.
“What?”
“We have a bigger problem.”
“When don’t we?”
Marcus turned his tablet.
A news alert filled the screen.
FEDERAL INVESTIGATORS RAID CROSS HOLDINGS WAREHOUSE
Damian stared.
Another alert appeared.
UNREGISTERED MEDICAL MATERIALS DISCOVERED IN BOSTON PORT INVESTIGATION
Victor cursed.
“They’re framing you.”
Damian took the tablet.
The report claimed federal agents had received an anonymous tip regarding illegal medical shipments connected to Cross Holdings.
The warehouse in question was not the one we had searched.
It was another facility.
“What’s there?” I asked.
Marcus looked toward Damian.
“Nothing illegal.”
“You’re certain?”
“Yes.”
Damian’s smile was humorless.
“Not anymore.”
His phone began ringing.
Then Victor’s.
Then Marcus’s.
News organizations.
Lawyers.
Company executives.
Politicians.
The trap had moved into public view.
Someone was not merely trying to kill people.
They were dismantling Damian’s legitimacy.
One accusation at a time.
We entered the penthouse.
Televisions switched on.
A helicopter circled one of Cross Holdings’ warehouses live on screen.
Reporters filled the street.
Damian watched silently.
I noticed something.
The warehouse address.
“Wait.”
Everyone looked at me.
“That building.”
“What about it?” Damian asked.
“I’ve been there.”
Victor frowned.
“Why?”
“Crosswell used temporary storage there last winter when our supply room flooded.”
Marcus looked at Damian.
“You knew?”
“No.”
“It was an emergency logistics arrangement,” I said. “Procurement handled it.”
“Name?”
I thought.
“Crosswell’s procurement director is Alan Pierce.”
Marcus typed.
Then stopped.
His face changed.
“What?”
“Pierce is missing.”
“How long?” Damian asked.
“Didn’t report yesterday. Staff assumed illness.”
“Phone?”
“Off.”
Victor swore softly.
“Find him.”
Marcus began issuing orders.
I walked toward the window.
The city below looked ordinary.
People commuting.
Coffee shops opening.
Traffic building.
Somewhere Rebecca was missing.
Somewhere a man named Dr. Keane knew why.
And now federal agents were raiding Damian’s warehouses.
The entire scheme felt too coordinated for one person.
“Damian.”
He turned.
“What if this isn’t about killing you?”
He studied me.
“Explain.”
“Northstar could have killed you quietly if it has the medical access we think it does.”
Victor nodded slowly.
“So why destroy the company?”
“Exactly.”
Damian’s gaze narrowed.
“Someone wants the organization.”
“Or your assets.”
Marcus looked up.
“Hostile takeover?”
“Not through normal markets,” Victor said. “Cross Holdings is privately controlled.”
“Who inherits if Damian dies?” I asked.
Nobody answered.
That told me the question mattered.
I looked directly at him.
“Who?”
Damian walked toward the bar but didn’t pour anything.
“I have no children.”
“That wasn’t the question.”
“My estate transfers corporate voting control through a trust.”
“To?”
“Victor.”
Silence.
I slowly turned toward him.
Victor’s face lost all expression.
Marcus stopped moving.
Damian continued watching him.
Victor stood.
“You think I’m doing this?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t need to.”
“Sit down.”
“No.”
“Victor.”
“If you die, I get voting control. Convenient.”
“That arrangement was written twelve years ago.”
“Which makes it worse.”
Marcus quietly shifted closer.
Victor noticed.
“Oh, excellent. Marcus thinks I’m going to attack him now.”
Marcus shrugged.
“I think everyone might attack everyone.”
I couldn’t blame him.
Victor turned to Damian.
“I took Rusk’s envelope because I was trying to verify what he gave me.”
“You hid it.”
“Yes.”
“You authorized him secretly.”
“Yes.”
“You knew Northstar’s name.”
“Yes.”
“And my estate gives you control.”
Victor stared at his oldest friend.
“Yes.”
The single word landed hard.
Then Victor reached inside his coat.
Marcus moved instantly.
Weapon drawn.
Damian didn’t flinch.
Victor slowly removed an envelope.
Old.
Creased.
He placed it on the table.
“The original.”
Damian looked at it.
“Rusk’s?”
“Yes.”
“You kept it?”
“I kept what you never asked to see because you never knew it existed.”
Damian opened the envelope.
Inside were photographs.
Shipping manifests.
Handwritten codes.
And one ledger page.
I moved closer.
Several names were listed.
Payments beside each.
Cross employees.
Port workers.
Medical personnel.
One name was circled in red.
ALAN PIERCE.
Crosswell’s missing procurement director.
Marcus read it.
“Pierce is involved.”
Victor nodded.
“Rusk believed Pierce was Northstar’s link inside the clinic.”
I looked at Damian.
“Then why did Rebecca’s employee ID appear on your fake blood sample?”
“To frame her,” Victor said.
“Or because Pierce used staff credentials.”
Marcus searched Pierce’s access profile.
His expression changed.
“He had administrator privileges.”
“For procurement?” I asked.
“Enough to access specimen inventory.”
Damian closed his eyes briefly.
Then his phone rang.
Unknown number.
He answered.
Nobody spoke.
“Cross.”
Silence.
Then a voice came through loud enough for me to hear.
Male.
Calm.
“Good morning, Damian.”
His expression became stone.
“Mercer.”
Ethan Mercer.
The man behind the waiter.
The enemy Damian thought had started the war.
Mercer continued.
“I assume by now you’ve discovered that someone has been borrowing both our names.”
Damian looked toward the photograph of their fathers.
“You knew about Northstar.”
A pause.
“Yes.”
“How long?”
“Long enough.”
“Where is Rebecca Sloan?”
“I don’t have her.”
Damian’s eyes narrowed.
“Then who does?”
“I think you know.”
“Keane.”
“Yes.”
“Why call me?”
Mercer’s tone changed.
“Because Northstar just took one of my people too.”
Damian glanced toward Victor.
“Who?”
Mercer answered.
“My daughter.”
The room became silent.
Then Mercer said the words that turned two enemies into something far more dangerous.
“We can keep fighting each other, Cross.”
May you like
A pause.
“Or we can find out who our fathers left behind.”
