Agrippa looked at his son. “I thought I was fighting for my future. I didn’t understand how many people had already placed bets on what my future was supposed to be.”
Larry’s jaw tightened. “And now they’re trying to scare us because you won?”
“Because they’re afraid of what I might prove.”
For a long moment, the only sound was the rain.
“Are you going to fight them?” Larry asked.
“Not the way they want me to.”
“That’s not an answer.”
Agrippa almost smiled. “It’s the only honest one I have.”
He took Larry to stay with Victor Hale, the old trainer who had helped raise him after his own father died. Victor’s apartment sat above a closed boxing supply shop, with thick locks on the doors and a view of the street from every window. Natalie arranged for a trusted former colleague to help secure the archive, while Agrippa made two encrypted copies and sent one to a lawyer whose name Victor had kept for years.
Before leaving, Larry stopped at the front door.
“Dad?”
Agrippa turned.
“If all of this is about you winning that fight, I’m glad you won.”
The words struck deeper than any punch. Agrippa pulled him into a hug, holding on for one extra second.
“I’m glad too,” he said.
When Larry was safely upstairs with Victor, Agrippa returned to the street. Trent waited beside the car, rain gathering on his shoulders.
“Why are you still here?” Agrippa asked.
“Because Malcolm knows my face. If I disappear, he’ll know I’m helping you. If I stay, I might be able to get close enough to find out where he’s keeping Keene.”
“You’re not owed forgiveness because you’ve decided to do one decent thing.”
“I know.”
“You could be arrested. You could be hurt. You could lie again.”
“I know that too.” Trent met his gaze. “I’m not asking you to trust me. I’m asking you to let me earn the chance.”
Agrippa studied him. The young man’s bravado had cracked, leaving fear and something less comfortable: responsibility.
“You get one rule,” Agrippa said. “No more secrets from me. If Malcolm contacts you, I hear about it immediately. If you see anything that could put Larry at risk, you walk away and call me.”
Trent nodded. “Agreed.”
Agrippa opened the car door, then paused. “And if you betray us again, I won’t need to touch you. The evidence will do the work.”
For the first time, Trent seemed to understand that the most dangerous thing about Agrippa Fisher was not his strength. It was his refusal to become the monster other people expected him to be.
They drove toward the edge of the city, where Natalie had traced the hotel photograph to a private medical facility listed under a shell company. The building had no sign, only a keypad and a camera above the entrance.
Inside, someone had kept Dr. Keene alive—and hidden.
Agrippa watched the dark windows as the car rolled past. He had made a promise to his son. Now he would have to keep it without allowing revenge to choose his next move.
The facility stood behind a row of warehouses near the river. From the road it looked abandoned, but Natalie’s records showed monthly payments to a security contractor and a medical supplier. The money came through three companies, each registered to a different address, all ultimately tied to Malcolm Rourke.
“No sign, no public entrance, no listed patients,” Natalie said. “It’s either a very secret clinic or a very expensive place to hide someone.”
“Can we get inside?” Trent asked.
“Not legally without a warrant,” Agrippa replied. “And we’re not breaking in blind.”
He had contacted the lawyer Victor recommended. The lawyer was preparing an emergency evidence-preservation request, but the process would take time. Malcolm’s people might move Keene before any official arrived. Agrippa needed proof of the doctor’s presence and proof that he was being held there.
Natalie had found a maintenance contractor who believed the building was used for private rehabilitation. He had agreed to meet them at a diner across the river, but when they arrived, the booth was empty. A waitress delivered a folded napkin instead.
DON’T COME BACK. THEY KNOW YOUR FACES.
Trent went pale. “I didn’t tell anyone.”
Agrippa believed he might be telling the truth. That did not make them safe.
They left separately, met again at a public parking garage, and watched the facility from a rooftop across the street. At 2:17 a.m., a white medical van entered through the side gate. A guard checked the driver’s credentials, then waved it through. Ten minutes later, a man in a gray coat stepped outside to smoke.
Natalie raised her camera. The man turned, and the light caught his face.
“Keene,” she whispered.
The doctor looked older than in the photograph, his shoulders bent and his movements stiff. He wasn’t wearing a patient’s gown, but he held himself like someone who had learned to expect orders. A guard stood close enough to guide him back inside with a hand on his elbow.