Chapter 4 - Shadows of the Past
The next forty-eight hours were a blur of calculated paranoia and desperate planning.
Logan did not go to work. He called the school and told them Eli had the flu. He kept the curtains drawn, the doors locked, and the security system armed.
He knew they couldn't just walk into a local police station. If Vance Corporation's reach was as deep as Mira claimed, handing over the drive to a beat cop would be a death sentence.
Logan needed a federal connection. He needed someone outside the city's jurisdiction.
He paced the living room, his phone in his hand, racking his brain. Then, he remembered Marcus.
Marcus Thorne was Logan's old college roommate, a man who had gone on to join the FBI’s financial crimes division in Washington D.C. They hadn't spoken in years, not since Marcus had attended Mira's funeral.
Logan dialed the number.
It rang four times before a gruff voice answered. "Thorne."
"Marcus. It's Logan Whitmore."
There was a long pause on the line. "Logan? Man, it's been a long time. How are you? How's the boy?"
"Marcus, I need your help," Logan said, keeping his voice steady despite the adrenaline pounding in his veins. "I need you to come to Charlotte. Today. Unofficial capacity."
"Logan, I'm buried in case files. I can't just fly down—"
"Mira is alive."
The silence on the other end of the line was absolute. For a terrifying second, Logan thought the call had dropped.
"Logan," Marcus said slowly, his voice laced with pity. "We buried her, buddy. I was there. I know the grief comes in waves, but—"
"She’s sitting in my kitchen, Marcus," Logan interrupted, his voice hardening. "She faked her death because Vance Corporation ran her off the road. She has a flash drive proving they launder cartel money. And they are hunting her."
Logan heard the sound of a chair scraping against the floor in D.C.
"Don't talk to local PD," Marcus ordered, his tone shifting instantly from sympathetic friend to federal agent. "Don't use your credit cards. Don't leave the house. I'm getting on the next flight out of Reagan National. I will be at your door by midnight."
"Thank you," Logan breathed.
He hung up and turned to find Mira standing in the doorway, wrapped in a thick blanket, holding a mug of tea.
"Is he coming?" she asked, hope breaking through the fear in her eyes for the first time.
"He's coming," Logan confirmed.
But as the afternoon turned into evening, the sky outside began to darken, heavy gray clouds rolling in from the east. A thunderstorm was brewing.
Around 8:00 PM, Eli was watching a movie on the couch, nestled happily against his mother's side. Logan was in the kitchen, packing a go-bag just in case they needed to run.
Suddenly, the motion sensor light in the backyard flipped on.
Logan froze.
He crept toward the back window, parting the blinds just a fraction of an inch.
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Standing in the pouring rain, staring directly at the house, was a man in a dark raincoat.
They had been found.
