The Hunt

The Hunt

Vincent's POV

Vincent's gun pressed harder against Emma's head as her words echoed through the tube. She thought she was so clever, accused him of killing Judge Morrison. But she had no idea how right she was.
"You want to know the truth, Emma?" Vincent whispered in her ear. "Fine. I'll tell you exactly why I killed Morrison."
Everyone in the tunnel went silent. Rebecca dropped her weapon slightly, FBI Director Williams stopped moving, and Marcus stared at Vincent in shock.
"Morrison wasn't my partner," Vincent added. "He was my competition."
Emma's voice was barely a whisper. "What do you mean?"
"Morrison was running his own drug ring. Children, women, drugs - he was cutting into my business. So yes, I helped your sweet Marcus kill him that night."
Vincent's memories flooded back to five years ago. He'd followed Morrison to the Brooklyn Bridge, aiming to eliminate his rival. But when he got there, Morrison was already fighting with some broken man who wanted to jump.
That broken man was Marcus.
"I watched you save Marcus from suicide, Emma," Vincent said. "I watched you give him hope and meaning. And I realized something beautiful."
"What?" Emma asked, though Vincent could tell she didn't want to hear the answer.
"I realized I could use Marcus to kill Morrison for me. All I had to do was wait for the right moment."
Vincent smiled at the memory. After Emma left the bridge, Vincent had approached Marcus. The suicide man was angry at the world, angry at corrupt people like Morrison. It had been so easy to point Marcus in the right way.
"I told Marcus about Morrison's crimes," Vincent stated. "I showed him pictures of the children Morrison was selling. I gave Marcus the gun and the address."
Marcus's face went white. "You manipulated me into killing Morrison."
"I saved you the trouble of planning it yourself," Vincent amended. "You wanted to kill crooked people. I just showed you which one to start with."
Rebecca was staring at Vincent in fear. "So you've been planning this revenge for five years?"
"Not revenge," Vincent said. "Business. You see, killing Morrison was just the beginning. I needed someone to take over his crime routes. Someone the FBI would never suspect."
FBI Director Williams looked confused. "What are you talking about?"
Vincent laughed. "Oh, Director Williams. You really don't know, do you? Your precious Agent Marcus Webb has been working for me all along."
"That's impossible," Williams said. "Webb is one of our best undercover agents."
"Webb thinks he's been infiltrating my organization," Vincent said. "But really, I've been using him to infiltrate the FBI."
The truth was so much more beautiful than any of them realized. Vincent had spent years making Marcus into the perfect double agent. Every piece of information Marcus gave the FBI, Vincent had planned. Every thief Vincent allowed Marcus to arrest was someone Vincent wanted eliminated anyway.
"Marcus," Vincent called out. "Tell them about the warehouse raid last month. The one where you 'rescued' twenty stolen women."
Marcus looked sick. "We saved those women."
"You moved them from my old warehouse to my new one," Vincent corrected. "Those women are still working for me. They just don't know it."
Emma made a small, hurt sound. "All those people Marcus thought he was saving..."
"Are still trapped," Vincent stated. "Marcus has been helping me expand my business while thinking he was shutting it down."
Agent Thompson finally spoke up. "If this is true, then everything we've been working on—"
"Is exactly what I wanted you to work on," Vincent finished. "Every lead you followed, every arrest you made, every piece of evidence you gathered - I planned all of it."
Vincent could see the hopelessness in their eyes. They were finally getting how completely he'd played them.
"But Emma," Vincent added, "you're the crown jewel of my plan."
"What do you mean?"
"You think I've been hunting you for five years because you watched Morrison's murder. But that's not why I need you."
Vincent pulled a small object from his pocket. It looked like a USB drive, but Emma gasped when she saw it.
"You recognize this?" Vincent asked.
Emma nodded slowly. "It's the memory card from my camera. From that night on the bridge."
"The memory card you lost when you tried to take a picture of the city lights," Vincent said. "The memory card that recorded everything that happened that night."
Vincent had found the camera the next morning, thrown in a trash can near the bridge. Emma had probably dropped it when she ran to stop Marcus from jumping.
"What's on the recording?" Rebecca demanded.
"Everything," Vincent said. "Emma saving Marcus. Me talking to Marcus after she left. Marcus agreeing to kill Morrison. The whole talk where Marcus promised to work for me."
Emma's face went pale. "Marcus agreed to work for you that night?"
"Oh yes," Vincent said. "Your saint Marcus made a deal with the devil. He would kill Morrison and work for my organization, and in return, I would help him find the woman who saved him."
Vincent saw Emma's heart breaking as the truth sank in.
"Marcus has been looking for you for five years, Emma. But not to thank you for saving him. To give you to me."
Marcus was shaking his head furiously. "That's not true! I never agreed to work for you!"
"The recording will prove otherwise," Vincent said. "And once the FBI hears it, Marcus Webb will be revealed as a double agent who's been feeding information to a criminal organization for years."
Vincent looked around at all the shocked faces. "That recording is my insurance policy. If anything happens to me, it gets released to every news group in the country. The FBI will be crushed by the scandal."
Rebecca raised her gun again. "So destroy it."
"I can't," Vincent smiled. "Because I don't have it."
Everyone stared at him in confusion.
"I hid the memory card years ago," Vincent revealed. "Somewhere safe. Somewhere only one person in the world can find it."
Vincent looked directly at Emma. "I hid it in your childhood home, Emma. In the place where you used to write stories as a little girl."
Emma's eyes widened. "The treehouse. You hid it in my treehouse."
"And that treehouse is on property that belongs to someone you trust completely," Vincent said. "Someone who's been taking care of it all these years, waiting for you to come home."
Vincent pulled out his phone and showed Emma a picture that made her scream.
It was a picture of an elderly woman tied to a chair. Emma's grandmother, the woman who'd raised her after her parents died.
"Grandma Rose!" Emma cried.
"She's been my guest for the past week," Vincent said quietly. "Very comfy, very safe. As long as you agree."
Emma was crying now. "What do you want?"
"I want you to go home, Emma. Go back to your grandmother's house. Find the memory card in your old treehouse. Bring it back to me."
"And if I don't?"
Vincent showed her another picture. This one showed Grandma Rose with a bomb strapped to her chest.
"If you don't bring me that recording by tomorrow night, your grandmother dies. And then I release copies of the recording to every news outlet in America."
Vincent could see Emma's world crashing down around her. Her boyfriend was a criminal, her cousin had faked her death, and now her grandma was going to die unless Emma betrayed everyone she cared about.
"Oh, and Emma?" Vincent added. "You'll be going alone. If anyone follows you, if anyone tries to help you, if you even think about calling the cops - boom. Grandma Rose becomes a memory."
Vincent signaled to his men, and they started backing toward the tunnel exits.
"You have until tomorrow at midnight," Vincent called out. "Don't disappoint me."
As Vincent's men disappeared into the darkness, Emma fell to her knees, sobbing.
But Vincent wasn't finished with his shocks.
He pulled out one more phone and called a number.
"Hello, Rose," he said loud enough for everyone to hear. "Your granddaughter would like to say goodbye."
An old woman's scared voice came through the speaker: "Emma? Emma, is that you?"
"Grandma!" Emma screamed. "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine, sweetheart. But Emma, there's something I need to tell you. Something about your parents' death that I never—"
The line went dead.
Vincent smiled as he walked away, leaving Emma looking at the silent phone.
The recording wasn't the only secret hidden in Emma's childhood house.
There were some family secrets that were about to change everything.