Chapter 3: The Shadow of the Past
I slowly turned around, raising my hands into the air. The beam of my flashlight illuminated the face of the man holding the gun.
It was Thomas Sterling.
Thomas was my father’s former business partner, the man who had comforted me at my father’s funeral, the man who had loaned me money to finish college, and the current CEO of Sterling Logistics—one of the largest maritime transport companies on the East Coast.
"Uncle Thomas?" I whispered, my brain scrambling to connect the dots. "What are you doing here?"
"Ensuring that the dead stay dead, Ethan," Thomas said, his face completely devoid of the warmth he had shown me for the last fifteen years. He stepped into the vault room, gesturing with the gun for me to back away from the safe. "Your father was supposed to stay in hiding. He made a deal. But seeing you marry, seeing his grandson... it made him weak. He started snooping around again."
"A deal?" I demanded, my anger rising, pushing past the fear. "What kind of deal?"
Thomas chuckled, a dry, humorless sound. "Vance Shipping didn't go bankrupt because of bad investments, Ethan. We were smuggling. High-value cargo, illicit assets, weapons. Your father found out what I was doing using his ships. He wanted to go to the FBI. So, I gave him a choice: fake his own death and disappear forever, or watch his ten-year-old son—you, Ethan—suffer a very tragic 'accident.'"
The room felt like it was spinning. My father hadn't killed himself because he was a failure. He had destroyed his entire life, his name, and his legacy to keep me alive.
"He protected me," I whispered, tears burning my eyes.
"Yes, he did," a new voice boomed from the stairs.
Before Thomas could react, a heavy iron pipe swung out of the darkness, striking Thomas squarely across the wrist. The gun fired wildly into the concrete ceiling before clattering across the floor. Thomas screamed in pain, clutching his broken arm as he fell to his knees.
Standing over him, holding the pipe, was the white-haired man from the subway. My father.
"Run, Ethan! Take the drive!" Arthur Vance shouted, his voice gravelly but filled with an ancient, protective fury.
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But Thomas wasn't alone. From the top of the stairs, the heavy footsteps of his private security guards echoed down. We were trapped.
Arthur looked at me, his blue eyes locking onto mine just as they had fifteen years ago. "I won't lose you again, son. Move!"
