Chapter 7 - The Scars of the Past
The heavy detonator clattered across the stone floor, sliding harmlessly beneath a candlelit pew as Agent Miller pinned the mercenary.
“Got you, you son of a bitch!”
Agent Miller grunted, clicking the second pair of steel cuffs around the struggling man's thick wrists with brutal efficiency.
Richard rushed over, kicking the discarded detonator far away into a decorative flower arrangement before helping the federal agent subdue the captive. The stranger didn't fight back aggressively; instead, he lay flat on his back, staring up at the vaulted ceiling with a blank, defeated expression.
“It’s over, Marcus. You can’t protect Arthur anymore. He abandoned you the second his corporate empire started bleeding out.”
Richard stated sternly, pressing his boot lightly against the mercenary's chest to keep him grounded.
Marcus let out a harsh, dry laugh, spitting a tiny streak of blood onto the pristine white marble floor near his shoulder.
“Protect Arthur? You fools think I work for Arthur Vance? That old bastard was just a puppet I used to fund my own war against the cartel that actually killed your wife, Richard.”
Marcus confessed, his voice echoing eerily through the empty, candlelit cathedral.
Clara froze, her breath catching in her throat as she slowly stepped closer to the handcuffed mercenary on the floor.
“What are you talking about? My mother died in a suspicious car accident on Route 9. The police reports proved it was brake failure.”
Clara demanded, her voice cracking slightly as she knelt down on the dusty floor, ignoring the sharp pain in her ribs.
“Brake failure? Little girl, your mother intercepted a multi-billion-dollar weapons shipment ledger meant for the Sinaloa cartel, routed directly through Arthur’s shipping docks.”
Marcus explained, his eyes locking onto Clara's swollen face with startling sincerity.
“She didn't die in a car crash. They dragged her out of that car, tortured her for three days in an underground warehouse, and staged the wreck to cover their tracks.”
Marcus continued, the chilling words hanging heavily in the freezing air of the sanctuary.
Richard swayed backward, catching himself against the edge of a mahogany pew as the devastating truth slammed into his chest like a physical blow.
“No… no, that’s impossible. I identified her body at the county morgue myself.”
Richard whispered in absolute horror, his face turning ghostly pale.
“You identified a corpse that had been severely altered by acid, Richard. Arthur made sure you buried an empty casket so you’d never look deeper.”
Marcus whispered, dropping his chin against the cold marble floor.
Clara stared down at the mercenary, her bruised hands trembling violently as a terrifying, life-altering realization dawned on her bruised mind.
“If my mother didn't die that night… then where is she?”
Clara demanded, grabbing the collar of Marcus’s damp trench coat and shaking him with sudden, desperate fury.
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Before Marcus could answer, a piercing, high-pitched alarm began blaring from the cathedral's master control panel, plunging the entire sanctuary into sudden, flickering red emergency lights.
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