CHAPTER 4 — The Secret Warehouse
CHAPTER 4 — The Secret Warehouse
At 2:13 a.m., Marcus entered my office without knocking.
"We found the location."
He projected satellite images onto the wall.
An abandoned warehouse at the edge of the industrial district.
Officially condemned.
Unofficially receiving deliveries every Tuesday night.
"Thermal imaging shows movement inside," Marcus said.
"Adults?"
"And several smaller heat signatures."
Children.
I grabbed my jacket.
Marcus stepped in front of me.
"Sir, if Daniel is involved, this is no longer a family matter."
"It's organized."
"Potentially armed."
"Then we move faster."
Within fifteen minutes, six black SUVs rolled silently through the empty industrial streets.
No sirens.
No lights.
Rain began falling.
The warehouse stood alone beside abandoned train tracks.
Every window had been painted black.
Marcus handed me an earpiece.
"Our drones confirm at least eight adults."
"Three entrances."
"No visible security cameras."
I frowned.
"No cameras?"
"Why?"
Marcus answered quietly.
"Because whoever operates this place doesn't want digital evidence."
Professional.
Careful.
Experienced.
We approached through the loading docks.
One of the guards spotted us.
"Who's there?"
Marcus moved first.
The man was on the ground before he could finish reaching for his radio.
No gunfire.
No alarms.
We entered.
The smell hit us instantly.
Bleach.
Medicine.
Fear.
Rows of metal cages lined the enormous warehouse.
Not animal cages.
Children's sleeping areas.
Tiny blankets.
Stuffed animals.
Half-finished drawings taped to wire fencing.
Every cage had a number.
Not a name.
A number.
Emiliana, who had insisted on coming despite every warning, covered her mouth in horror.
"Oh God..."
A little girl looked up from the corner.
"Are you taking us somewhere else?"
She couldn't have been older than six.
Another child whispered,
"Will the injections hurt again?"
Something inside me snapped.
Marcus's radio crackled.
"All rooms secure."
"Eight suspects detained."
"No casualties."
Then another voice interrupted.
"Negative."
"One suspect escaping through the east tunnel!"
Marcus sprinted.
I followed.
At the far end of the warehouse, a steel door slammed shut.
We burst through into an underground service tunnel.
Footsteps echoed ahead.
The fleeing man reached a parked van.
He almost escaped.
Almost.
Marcus tackled him through the driver's window.
The impact shattered glass across the concrete.
As officers dragged the man out, his wallet fell open.
I picked it up.
Inside was an employee identification card.
Blackwood Recovery Clinic.
Occupation:
Chief Mortuary Technician.
The man responsible for preparing my children's bodies.
Except...
There had never been my children's bodies.
He looked up at me and smiled.
Actually smiled.
"You still don't understand," he said.
"You think this was about inheritance."
My blood ran cold.
"It wasn't."
He leaned closer despite the officers holding him down.
"Your brother wasn't the one giving orders."
Behind us...
Every light inside the warehouse suddenly went out.
Darkness swallowed the building.
Then a slow clap echoed from somewhere deep inside the tunnel.
One.
Two.
Three deliberate claps.
A distorted voice drifted through hidden speakers.
"Congratulations, Mr. Ashford."
"You found the children."
A pause.
"But you've only uncovered..."
"...the smallest part of my business."
The speakers went dead.
May you like
And every phone in our pockets received the exact same anonymous message.
LOOK BEHIND YOU.
