Chapter 3: The Man Who Should Have Been Dead
The diner erupted into chaos.
The moment Mason saw his own death certificate, every piece of his past came crashing down.
His name.
His signature.
Even his military service number.
Everything was authentic.
Everything...
Except one impossible detail.
Date of Death: October 17... twelve years ago.
Emma grabbed his hand.
"I told you they'd come."
The two men in black suits exchanged nervous glances.
One reached inside his jacket.
Mason moved first.
Years of military training took over before his mind could catch up.
He slammed the man's wrist against the counter.
A handgun clattered across the floor.
Customers screamed.
Plates shattered.
The second man lunged toward Emma.
Before he could touch her, the diner waitress smashed a hot pot of coffee across his face.
He cried out in pain.
"RUN!" she shouted.
Mason scooped Emma into his arms.
They burst through the back door into the alley behind the diner.
Rain had just begun to fall.
They sprinted toward Mason's old Harley.
As he reached for the handlebars...
Emma suddenly screamed.
"Don't!"
Mason froze.
"What?"
"The bike..."
"My mom said they'd know you'd choose the motorcycle."
He stepped back instinctively.
Three seconds later—
BOOM!
The Harley exploded into a massive fireball.
Glass rained from the diner windows.
The blast knocked Mason and Emma to the wet pavement.
His ears rang.
His heart pounded.
That bomb hadn't been meant to destroy a motorcycle.
It had been meant to erase the last living witness.
Twenty minutes later...
Mason parked inside an abandoned repair garage that had once belonged to his closest friend.
No one knew the place still existed.
Emma sat quietly, hugging her backpack.
She finally unzipped it.
"I wasn't supposed to open this until today."
Inside were dozens of envelopes.
Every one addressed to Mason.
Every one returned unopened.
Some carried postal stamps from twelve years earlier.
Others from ten.
Eight.
Five.
The final letter had been mailed only six weeks before Claire died.
Mason's hands trembled as he opened the oldest one.
My dearest Mason...
Your father came again today. He said you've started a new life and that you never wanted to see me or our baby. I don't believe him. I never will. So I'll keep writing until one day you find these letters.
Tears blurred Mason's vision.
There weren't just one or two letters.
There were seventy-three.
Seventy-three desperate attempts to reach the man she loved.
Not a single one had ever reached him.
Someone had intercepted every message.
Someone with power.
Someone with money.
Someone who wanted Claire erased forever.
Emma quietly looked up.
"Mom never stopped waiting."
"Every Thursday she took me to that diner."
"She said someday a man with sad eyes would walk through the door."
"And when he did..."
"He'd finally tell us why he abandoned us."
Mason collapsed into a chair.
"I never left."
"I swear to you..."
"I never stopped looking."
Emma studied his face for a long moment.
Then she asked the question he'd feared more than anything.
"If that's true..."
"...who lied to both of us?"
Before Mason could answer...
A dusty metal toolbox suddenly slid off a shelf by itself.
Hidden underneath was an old safe.
Confused, Mason forced it open with a crowbar.
Inside lay a thick manila folder.
Across the front, in bold red letters, were three chilling words:
PROJECT GHOST FILE
Underneath was a list of names.
Military officers.
Judges.
Police chiefs.
Politicians.
And at the very top...
JUDGE HENRY CARTER.
His father.
But what made Mason's blood run cold wasn't the first name.
It was the last.
The final entry had been added only three days ago.
It read:
NEXT TARGET: EMMA BENNETT.
Mason slowly closed the folder.
Then he looked at Emma with tears in his eyes.
"They didn't just steal our family..."
"They're planning to finish what they started."
Outside the garage...
A black SUV quietly pulled into the shadows.
Someone inside raised a camera.
A flash lit up the rain-soaked window.
May you like
They had been found.
To Be Continued...
