Chapter 8 - THE SPECTER OF THE PASTThree months passed. They were living in a small, remote villa in Greece. Jean-Pierre was learning how to chop wood, how to bake bread, and how to be a father.
But the shadows were long.
One evening, while walking through the local market, Jean-Pierre saw a man watching him from a cafe. A man with a familiar gait.
Marcus.
He hadn't died in the struggle.
Jean-Pierre didn't panic. He walked straight to the cafe, pulled a chair out, and sat down across from his former right-hand man.
"You're a long way from London, Marcus," Jean-Pierre said.
Marcus smiled, his eyes cold and hollow. "You didn't think I'd let you go that easily, did you? I’ve spent twenty years building that empire. You think a little news broadcast is going to stop me?"
"It already has," Jean-Pierre said. "You're finished."
"Am I?" Marcus reached into his jacket.
Suddenly, a shot rang out. Not from the street. From the window above.
Amelia.
She hadn't missed.
May you like
Marcus slumped over, his secrets dying with him.
Jean-Pierre stood, feeling a strange, hollow sense of relief. It was over. The empire, the greed, the lies—all buried in the sand of a Greek island.
