Chapter 4 - The Archive of Sins
The morning sun broke over Omaha in pale amber shafts, but inside the subterranean municipal archives, the air remained stale, fluorescent, and cold. Marcus Vance paced across the concrete floor, his polished shoes clicking sharply against the gray tiles. He had spent the last three hours frantically reviewing the microfiche records of the 1984 warehouse fire.
The file was thick—police reports, fire marshal inspections, coroner summaries, and municipal property transfers. But buried beneath the official state documents was something far more dangerous: a sealed family supplement containing adoption manifests, medical intake notes, and a baptismal certificate bearing the name Clara Carter and her infant son, Michael Carter.
Marcus’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out, answering on the first ring.
"Vance," he snapped.
"Did you find the manifest?" Jack’s voice barked over the encrypted line, low and menacing.
"I found it, Jack," Marcus said, swallowing hard as he stared at the yellowed paper in his hand. "Clara’s boy didn't die in the fire. He was smuggled out by a nurse named Beatrice Vance—no relation to me, thankfully. That boy grew up, had a family, and died five years ago. Which means the kid who handed you your necklace last night... he’s your great-nephew. Ethan Carter."
Silence stretched over the line for three agonizing seconds.
"Where is he?" Jack asked, his voice dropping into a register of terrifying calm.
"He’s finishing his senior year at Westbridge High," Marcus replied slowly, a cold, calculating scheme beginning to form in his mind. He couldn't let Jack hand the entire Vipers empire over to some seventeen-year-old kid. If Jack went soft, the syndicate would collapse, and Marcus would lose everything he had spent thirty years building. "He works nights at The Iron Horseshoe to support his mother, Sarah. She’s sick, Jack. Chronic bronchitis, mounting medical debt. They're barely scraping by."
"I'm going down there," Jack said firmly. "I'm bringing him home."
"Wait, Jack," Marcus interjected smoothly, injecting a false note of caution into his voice. "Let me handle the initial approach. If you roll up to a high school with twenty armed bikers, you'll terrify the boy. Let me offer them a financial endowment—quietly, through corporate channels. Give me twenty-four hours to lay the groundwork."
Jack hesitated, weighing the suggestion. "Fine. Twenty-four hours, Marcus. But if you try anything smart, I'll feed you to the Dobermans."
The line went dead.
May you like
Marcus lowered the phone, his lips curling into a vicious, serpentine smile. He pulled out a second burner phone and dialed his head enforcer, Bruno.
"Bruno," Marcus hissed. "Get three cars. We're going to Westbridge High School. We're going to give young Ethan Carter an offer he can't refuse—and if he refuses, we make sure he and his mother disappear before Jack ever reaches them."
