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PART 19

Garrett and I hadn't spoken for weeks. I struggled to forgive him for what he had done; it was unfathomable that he could withhold such a crucial truth from me—my truth.

Meanwhile, Anastasia was working at Robert's company, and everything seemed to be going smoothly. No one suspected anything unusual, and we were steadily getting closer to uncovering the whereabouts of the recordings from that night.

We were sitting at the kitchen table, enjoying some delicious Chinese food, while Anastasia recounted her day. "I never realized a man could wield such influence over so many people," she remarked, using her chopsticks to pick food from a small takeout box.

"You really should talk to Garrett," she urged, noticing my distracted demeanor. "Marcus, for heaven's sake, you said you wanted to make this work, but we need him." Her tone was insistent, and I looked up, my chin lifting defiantly. "I don't want him around; he can't be trusted."

But the look in Anastasia's eyes suggested she had a plan. Just then, I heard a voice approaching—"Marcus." The footsteps grew closer, and I turned to see Garrett standing there, flanked by another man. I stared at him in disbelief.

"Hi, son," he said.

And then everything went dark.

"Robert, please—he's just a kid," my mother pleaded, tears streaming down her face. I lay in bed, supposed to be asleep, but I could hear them arguing again, night after night, over the same issue: my existence.

"I don't want him here! Put him in some orphanage!" Robert shouted before slamming the front door behind him.

Every single night.

I could picture my mother sitting on the edge of my bed, gently stroking my hair. She was an angel, taken from this world far too soon. I was too young to understand what had truly happened to her. Some said cancer; others claimed it was a heart attack. But I remember coming home one day to find Robert by the fireplace, burning papers with his pipe clenched between his teeth. He turned to me and simply said, "Your mother died." That was it. I was only fourteen, and my whole world shattered, but Robert didn't care. Now, I understood why—my pain was not his concern.

Years later, I found myself desperate for answers—answers that could only come from facing the man who knew everything: Robert himself. I was determined to see this plan through, not just for myself, but for Olivia, and most importantly, for my mother.

I stood up and walked toward Flávio , locking eyes with him. His gaze was the same deep blue as mine, reminiscent of the ocean. "Too bad I don't have a father," I spat, "I'm a bastard." I let a glob of saliva land on his cheek, watching as it slowly rolled down.

He didn't flinch. Instead, he stared back at me, unfazed. "I didn't expect you to be happy about this," he replied coolly, "but I'm here to help you."

I had been hiding from the police for months now; I felt like I no longer had a life.

"Help me?" I scoffed, laughing as I shook my head. "You're here to help?"

Flavio's expression remained serious. "I'm here to help you because I feel responsible for what happened. You're the only family I have left," he said earnestly.

"Flavio, or whatever your name is, if you really wanted to help, you shouldn't have left me in the first place. You have no idea what it cost me," I shot back, my voice rising. "What it cost my mother."

In a fit of anger, I lunged at him, attempting to throw a punch, but Garrett caught my arm, holding me back just in time. Flavio reached into his wallet and pulled out a photo of me as a child, wearing a baseball cap. "I've always had good intentions," he said, his voice calm. "One day, you'll understand. I don't expect you to now."

I turned away, feeling Anastasia's hand on my shoulder, trying to soothe me. Our eyes locked, and I felt myself begin to calm under her gaze.

Flavio then spoke up again. "I know how to access the recording room. We'll do that tomorrow night." He walked over to a blueprint spread out on the table, flipping it upside down. "Here," he said, pointing to a specific spot.

As Garrett finally let go of me, I stepped closer to the table, looking down at the blueprint. "There's nothing there," I said, puzzled.

Flavio pulled out a flashlight and illuminated the area he was indicating. "Because you didn't look closely enough," he replied. Suddenly, a door that had been hidden from view appeared beneath the building—a secret access point that Robert must have used.

"How did I not know about this?" I asked, incredulous.

"You couldn't—that's the point. He doesn't know that we know, and this is what we're going to do." Flavio's words hung in the air, heavy with the weight of our plan.

Flávio took a pen and began sketching on a piece of paper, outlining our plan. "Anastasia, you'll go in just like every other day. Your cover can't be compromised. You need to maintain it while also distracting the guards here and here," he said, marking two crosses on the diagram.

"Garrett, you'll drive us to the location, drop us off, and stay nearby so you can pick us up as soon as we have the recording," Flávio continued, his tone authoritative.

I interrupted, my frustration bubbling over. "And what about me?"

Flávio turned to me. "You and I will be the ones crossing that door. It only opens with blood, and since I share the same blood as Robert, that gives us access. Once inside, we'll use the secret elevator to go straight up to his office. It'll be tricky not to be seen, so we'll have to move quickly. Garrett, you'll need to take out the entire lighting system in the building."

I stood there, absorbing the gravity of his words. This man, claiming to be my father, had devised an intricate plan for breaking in. Trusting him was a challenge, but I was willing to do anything for Olivia. Once we handed over the recording to the police, this nightmare would finally end. I wouldn't be a fugitive anymore, and I could finally check on Olivia myself. The stakes were high, but I felt a flicker of hope for the first time in a long while.

"I'm in," Anastasia declared, her voice steady and resolute.

"Same here," Garrett added, his determination evident.

Flávio turned to face me, his expression a mixture of expectation and urgency. It took me a moment to gather my thoughts, but finally, I said, "Let's trap that motherfucker."

Our gazes locked, and in that moment, an unspoken understanding passed between us. We spent the rest of the night meticulously planning every detail, ensuring that nothing was overlooked. Tomorrow night, we would set our plan into motion.

If God didn't hear my prayers, I was certain the devil did. This time, I was ready to storm the gates of hell and make it tremble. I could almost hear the echoes of my resolve: I would kick Satan back into holy water and watch as everything I had lost came crashing down upon him. The stakes were high, but so was my determination. This was not just about revenge; it was about reclaiming my life and protecting those I loved.