Chapter 5: Blood and Betrayal
I couldn't sleep that night. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Vincent's face—not the uncle who'd bought me ice cream and taught me to drive, but the monster who'd killed my mother and twenty-two other women. The man whose blood ran through my veins.
At three AM, I gave up and went to the kitchen. Sarah found me there an hour later, sitting at the table with a bottle of bourbon and Dad's letter spread before me.
"Can't sleep either?" she asked, pouring herself coffee.
"Hard to sleep when you discover your entire life is a lie."
She sat beside me, her hand covering mine. "Your adoptive father loved you. That wasn't a lie."
"No, but everything else was. My name, my family, my history—all fabricated to hide the fact that I'm the son of a serial killer."
"You're not responsible for what Vincent did."
"Aren't I? What if it's genetic? What if there's something inside me that—"
"Stop." Her voice was firm. "I've seen real monsters, Marcus. You're not one of them."
Before I could argue, my phone rang. Mrs. Rodriguez's name appeared on the screen.
"Mrs. Rodriguez? It's four in the morning."
"Mr. Marcus, thank God. You need to leave town. Tonight."
My blood went cold. "What's happened?"
"Judge Carter called me an hour ago. Said she was concerned about your safety. Claims she received information that someone's planning to hurt you."
"What kind of information?"
"She wouldn't say over the phone. But Mr. Marcus, she sounded terrified."
I looked at Sarah, who was already reaching for her weapon. "Where does she want to meet?"
"The courthouse. She said she'll be there all night, reviewing cases."
After I hung up, Sarah shook her head. "It's a trap."
"Maybe. But what if it's not?"
"Marcus, think about it. Your office gets broken into, we find evidence that Vincent's been killing people for decades, and suddenly a judge wants to meet in the middle of the night?"
"She might have information we need."
"Or she might be part of the conspiracy."
I studied Dad's letter again, focusing on one particular line: "Be careful who you trust. The corruption goes deeper than you know."
"You're right," I said finally. "But we still need to know what she knows."
"Then we go together. And we go prepared."
The courthouse at four-thirty AM was a monument to shadows and secrets. Judge Carter's office light was the only one burning in the entire building.
Sarah and I approached carefully, her FBI training evident in the way she moved—alert, weapon ready but concealed, eyes scanning for threats.
"Judge Carter?" I called out as we entered her chambers.
"Marcus, thank God you came."
Helen Carter looked older than her sixty years, her usually perfect gray hair disheveled, her hands shaking as she poured whiskey from a bottle on her desk.
"You said someone was planning to hurt me."
"Sit down. Both of you." She gestured to the chairs across from her desk. "What I'm about to tell you could get us all killed."
Sarah remained standing. "What do you know about the missing women?"
Judge Carter's face crumpled. "More than I ever wanted to know."
She opened her desk drawer and pulled out a thick file. "Vincent Kane has been running a trafficking operation through this town for thirty years. The mill was just one location. He's got routes through three states, buyers in six major cities."
"How do you know this?" I asked.
"Because I've been helping him cover it up."
The words hit me like physical blows. "What?"
"Not voluntarily, at first. He has photographs of me with someone I shouldn't have been with. Threatened to destroy my career, my marriage, my life."
"So you helped him murder innocent women?"
Tears ran down her face. "I provided legal cover. Made evidence disappear. Signed warrants that sent investigations in wrong directions. But I never knew how many women... I thought it was just a few cases over the years."
"Until when?"
"Until Emma Caldwell started asking questions. Vincent wanted her eliminated, but quietly. Make it look like her boyfriend did it."
My stomach turned. "Danny's innocent."
"Completely. Vincent's people killed Emma and planted evidence to frame the boy. Same with Jake Thompson—they needed the mill burned down to destroy evidence, so they framed him for arson."
Sarah leaned forward. "Why are you telling us this now?"
"Because Vincent's lost control. He's killing people who were never supposed to die. Your father, Marcus. Emma Caldwell. He's planning to eliminate anyone who knows the truth."
"Including you?"
"Including me. And both of you."
Before I could respond, the lights in the courthouse went out. Emergency lighting kicked in, casting eerie red shadows across the room.
"He's here," Judge Carter whispered.
Sarah drew her weapon. "Back exit?"
"Blocked," came Vincent's voice from the hallway. "Hello, Marcus. Time we had a family reunion."
He appeared in the doorway, flanked by two men I didn't recognize. All three were armed.
"Uncle Vincent." The word tasted bitter.
"Actually, it's Dad. Though I suppose you've figured that out by now."
"Why? Why kill all those women?"
Vincent's smile was cold. "Business, son. Supply and demand. Rich men in big cities pay very well for young, fresh merchandise."
"You're sick."
"I'm practical. This operation has made me millions over the years. Enough to buy judges, police chiefs, district attorneys. Enough to control this entire town."
"What about my mother?"
Vincent's expression softened slightly. "Lisa was beautiful. Smart. I genuinely cared about her. But she threatened to expose everything when she found out she was pregnant. Said she'd rather die than let me touch her baby."
"So you killed her."
"I did what I had to do. Just like I'm going to do now."
He raised his weapon, but Sarah moved faster. Her shot caught one of Vincent's men in the shoulder, spinning him around. The second man dove for cover behind a filing cabinet.
"Move!" Sarah shouted.
We ran for Judge Carter's private bathroom—the only room with a lock. Behind us, gunshots echoed through the courthouse.
"There's a service tunnel," Judge Carter gasped. "Behind the water heater. Connects to the basement."
The bathroom door splintered under Vincent's assault. Sarah returned fire through the broken wood while I pulled the water heater aside, revealing a narrow tunnel.
"Go!" Sarah pushed me toward the opening.
"Not without you."
"I'm right behind you."
Judge Carter went first, then me. As Sarah started to follow, Vincent's voice boomed from the other side of the door.
"Sarah Mitchell! Federal agent from Atlanta, age thirty-one. Your sister Amy disappeared from a truck stop outside Macon fifteen years ago. I know because I took her."
Sarah froze. "You're lying."
"Pretty girl. Blonde hair, green eyes. Had your same stubborn streak right up until the end."
Sarah's scream of rage and grief echoed through the tunnel as she emptied her clip at the bathroom door. Then she was falling into the tunnel behind me, tears streaming down her face.
"He killed Amy," she whispered. "The bastard killed my sister."
We crawled through the narrow passage, Judge Carter leading us toward what she claimed was an exit. But as we reached the basement, I realized we weren't escaping.
We were walking into another trap.
The basement was filled with Vincent's men, all armed, all waiting.
"Welcome home, son," Vincent said, stepping out of the shadows. "Time to finish what I started thirty years ago."