Chapter 9 - The Mojave FacilityForty-eight hours later, I stood on the catwalk of a subterranean black-site installation buried deep beneath the sun-baked sands of the Mojave Desert.
The air down here smelled of ozone, sterile concrete, and old fear.
Walking beside me with my arm in a specialized support brace, my father led the way down a sterile, fluorescent-lit corridor lined with thick steel doors. At the end of the hall stood an observation window looking into a reinforced interrogation cell.
Inside sat Marcus.
Gone was the arrogant, well-dressed corporate executive who had broken my arm in our luxury apartment. Now, he wore a standard orange jumpsuit, his wrists shackled to a bolted-down steel table. His face was a map of purple bruises, and his eyes were hollow, wide with a madness born of endless, sleepless terror.
"Look at him, Lena," my father said quietly, resting a heavy hand on my shoulder. "The man who told you nobody would ever come for you. The man who thought he could hide behind civilian laws while selling out the very country that protects him."
I stared through the reinforced glass at the man who had tormented my life for five years.
Suddenly, all the terror I had ever felt toward him evaporated, replaced by a profound, liberating emptiness. He wasn't a monster. He was just a pathetic, small-minded coward who had picked the wrong family to cross.
"What happens to him now?" I asked, my voice steady and clear for the first time in years.
My father turned to me, a fierce, proud smile touching his lips.
"Nothing, sweetheart. Because as of five minutes ago, according to official government records, Marcus Sterling died in a tragic private plane crash over the Atlantic Ocean."
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My eyes widened. "Dad..."
"Men like him don't exist anymore," my father said smoothly, turning back toward the exit elevator. "And you don't exist as Lena Sterling anymore either. Welcome back to the family, Captain Vance. Time to start over."
