Chapter 4 - Shadows in the Garage
The words hung in the stale air of the bedroom like a shroud. Leo didn't understand the names, didn't understand the passports or the money, but he understood the sheer terror radiating from both adults. He watched as the color drained completely from Mark’s face, leaving him looking older, smaller, and infinitely more dangerous. The firearm in his hand lowered another inch, but his knuckles remained stark white.
"Parking garage?" Mark repeated, the words tasting like ash in his mouth. "Are you telling me you’ve been keeping him hidden in our building? In the secure residential stalls beneath our feet?"
"Not hidden," Sarah said, her voice regaining a strange, defiant steadiness as she stepped away from the shelf and positioned herself protectively between Mark and Leo. "Protected. From you, Mark. From the moment you figured out who I really was and what I took from your company before I walked away."
Mark let out a harsh, dry laugh that held no humor whatsoever. "You think this is about corporate espionage? You think I give a damn about the files you downloaded from the firm six years ago? Sarah, look at the boy. Look at his eyes."
Mark pointed the barrel of the gun directly at Leo. The boy whimpered, squeezing his eyes shut as tears leaked freely down his cheeks.
"He doesn't have David’s green eyes," Mark whispered fiercely, stepping forward until the muzzle was mere feet from Sarah’s chest. "He has my eyes. My mother’s eyes. DNA doesn't lie in a laboratory, Sarah. I paid for three separate paternity tests the week he was born just to make sure I wasn't losing my mind to your paranoia."
Sarah’s defiant expression faltered for a fraction of a second, her gaze dropping to the floor. "Science can be bought, Mark. When you have enough money and enough power, you can write whatever story you want on a piece of hospital stationary."
"Is that why you kept the briefcase locked?" Mark challenged, his voice rising, cracking with the agony of a man whose entire existence had just been declared a fraud. "Is that why you kept a dead man’s passport in the nursery where my son sleeps? To remind yourself of the life you were supposed to be living while you played house with the enemy?"
Down the hallway, a low, muffled metallic thud echoed from the front door—the sound of heavy boots stepping across the threshold, followed by the distinct, unmistakable click of a safety disengaging on a second firearm.
Mark spun around instantly, aiming his weapon toward the dark corridor. Sarah screamed, throwing her hands over her head as a deep, gravelly voice echoed from the shadows of the living room.
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"Drop the weapon, Mark," a strange man called out from the darkness. "The game is over."
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