Chapter 6 - THE GHOST’S MENTOR
Malcolm Reed disappeared from his penthouse twenty minutes before we reached the storage unit.
No forced entry.
No struggle.
His driver was gone too.
Trevor had worked at one of Malcolm’s consulting firms for eighteen months.
That was the connection.
Suddenly Trevor wasn’t just my pathetic ex with an ego.
He was a loose thread in something much older.
Roman stood over the storage desk.
“I should have seen it.”
Marcus shook his head.
“Malcolm raised you.”
“That’s why.”
I looked at Roman.
“You trusted him.”
“Yes.”
“Like my father did.”
Roman’s face hardened.
“Yes.”
The similarity cut deeper than either of us wanted to admit.
Marcus searched the boxes.
Bank records.
Old photographs.
Copies of corporate reports.
Then he found a sealed envelope.
My name was written across it.
SADI MONROE.
My hands shook as I opened it.
Inside was a photograph.
My father.
My mother.
And Victor Vale.
All three standing outside a restaurant.
Dated six months before my father disappeared.
On the back, my father had written:
Victor knows. Malcolm knows more. Trust the son, not the father.
I looked at Roman.
“He meant you.”
“I was seventeen.”
“Maybe he knew what you’d become.”
Roman’s expression tightened.
Before he could answer, a sound came from outside.
Metal scraping concrete.
Marcus killed the lights.
“Down.”
Roman pulled me behind the desk.
The storage door slammed shut.
Darkness.
Then smoke began sliding underneath it.
“They’re burning us out,” Marcus said.
Roman kicked the rear wall.
Concrete.
No exit.
Smoke thickened fast.
I coughed.
Marcus fired twice at the lock mechanism.
Nothing.
Roman grabbed a steel chair and smashed it into the door.
Again.
Again.
Again.
The heat grew.
My lungs burned.
“Roman!”
“I’ve got you.”
He hit the door again.
Marcus found an emergency release box.
Locked.
He shot it.
The mechanism sparked.
The door lifted six inches.
Fresh air rushed in.
Roman dropped to the floor and shoved upward with both hands.
Marcus joined him.
“Go!”
I crawled under.
Then Marcus.
Roman was halfway out when the support cable snapped.
The steel door crashed down.
“ROMAN!”
I screamed.
Silence.
Then the door rose again from inside.
Roman forced himself underneath, blood running from his shoulder.
We stumbled into the parking lot.
A black SUV peeled away.
Marcus raised his gun.
Roman stopped him.
“No.”
“Why?”
Roman stared at the license plate.
“Because I know that car.”
I followed his gaze.
Roman’s face had gone completely cold.
“That’s Malcolm’s car.”
My phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
A photograph loaded.
Trevor.
Smiling.
Beside him sat Malcolm Reed.
May you like
The message underneath read:
ASK ROMAN WHAT HIS FATHER DID THE NIGHT ELIAS DIED.
