Chapter 51 Project Angel
The rain in Chicago fell heavily like it was trying to wash Elena off the face of the earth.
She walked away from the large Vance estate alone, her feet soaking wet and her body shivering so hard her teeth rattled.
At some point, the rain started after she left her family house and she was stuck under it.
She didn't have a car, she didn't have a phone, she didn't even have an umbrella. She had to walk three blocks before she could flag down a cab that didn't speed past her because she looked like a vagrant.
A few minutes later, when the taxi pulled up to the gates of Julian’s home, Elena felt a different kind of dread.
Was he home? Did he take his private jet and get to Chicago first? She wasn't so sure but she hoped he hadn't.
The gates opened automatically when she got close, the sensors recognizing her face even through the dirt on her cheeks.
She walked through the front door, completely soaked from the downpour and in need of some kind of warmth.
Clinton was standing in the hall, his hands folded neatly in front of him. He looked up, and for the first time, recognized her.
His eyes went wide as he took in her ruined clothes, her puffy face, and the dirt streaked across her forehead.
"Mrs. Thorne?" Clinton asked, stepping forward. "What on earth happened? Where is Mr. Thorne? He has been calling endlessly."
"Is he back yet?" Elena asked, ignoring his questions. She gripped the banister, her knuckles white.
"No, ma'am. He called from the private hangar twenty minutes ago. He is on his way. He expected you to be with him."
"Good," Elena breathed. "I have time."
"Ma'am, your clothes... you’re covered in sweat and dirt. Let me call the doctor or the house staff to—"
"Stay out of my way, Clinton," Elena snapped. "I don't want a bath and I don't want a doctor. I just want you to move."
She didn't wait for his response. She turned and hurried up the grand staircase.
She reached the master suite and threw the doors open and went straight for the walk-in closet.
She grabbed a large suitcase from the top shelf and threw it onto the floor. She began grabbing everything in sight.
The designer shoes, the expensive silk dresses, the wigs, everything!
She packed desperately. She didn't even have time to fold the clothes; she just shoved them in, her breath coming in short gasps. She had to get out. If Julian was a ghost, she wasn't going to spend another night in his haunt.
When the suitcase was full, she zipped it shut with a violent tug. She dragged it toward the door. But as she reached the top of the stairs, she stopped. Her eyes drifted toward the end of the hallway, toward the heavy door of Julian’s private study.
The bunker.
She knew she didn't need more evidence. She had seen the records in Savannah.
She knew he was Samson Miller. She knew her father had forged her name on the merger. She had enough to hate him for a lifetime.
But something deeper called her to check for the bunker one last time. Maybe this time she'd find it.
She left the suitcase by the stairs and ran toward the study.
She pressed her thumb against the scanner and there was a loud click as the lock disengaged. Even after everything, his system still recognized her.
She stepped inside.
Elena went directly to the massive bookshelves that lined the back wall. She began pulling books off the shelves, throwing them to the floor in her haste.
She was looking for the button to the hidden compartment.
She banged her fist against the wood of the center shelf. "Open up!" she hissed. "I know you’re hiding!"
Nothing happened. She grabbed a heavy, leather-bound volume from the top shelf and threw it down in frustration.
As it hit the floor, a seam appeared in the wood and a hidden drawer slid out from the base of the shelf.
Elena dropped to her knees. Her hands were shaking as she reached into the compartment.
She pulled out a thick, black folder. It wasn't like the legal documents she saw Julian carry. This one was heavy and bore some sort of seal she didn't recognize.
Intrigued, she opened the folder.
The first page was a military record.
She saw the name, Samson Miller.
“I was right all along," she cried out, gasping as she clutched the book closer. This was all she needed for the divorce.
But as she flipped the page, she saw a series of transition documents. There were surgical logs detailing the change of his eye color from brown to blue. There were dental records, facial reconstruction notes, and voice coaching transcripts.
It was almost like the manual for building a human being.
She saw the new identity papers. Julian Thorne. Date of birth: altered. Education: backdated. Profession: Attorney at Law. It was all there.
Julian had been practically manufactured and dropped into a new life.
Elena felt sick. She turned the pages faster, her eyes scanning the technical jargon.
Elena wasn't the best at science and medicine, but the words she saw on paper made it clear that Julain had been medically tampered with. Her husband was some sort of robotically enhanced man.
She saw notes on his "enhancements", neural interfaces for "reflex optimization." He wasn't just a man anymore, he was a weapon in disguise.
But it was the final document that made her blood run cold.
It was a single sheet of paper, protected by a plastic sleeve. At the top, in bold, red letters, were the words: PROJECT ANGEL.
Elena’s eyes moved down the page, past the dates and the signatures, skipped the technical descriptions and went straight to the bottom, to the section labeled Primary Objective.
There was only one sentence. It was typed in a simple, bold font that stood out on the page.
Goal of Project Angel: To protect Elena Vance at all cost.
The folder slipped from Elena’s fingers, the papers scattering across the floor.
She sat there on the cold wood, her mind swirling in confusion.
Every kiss, every romantic dinner in Savannah, every "honeymoon" moment, was it all part of the protection?
Was he "cute" and "sweet" because that’s what the mission required? Was the man she was falling for a machine?
"At all cost," she whispered.
She thought about Julian’s face in the park when he denied knowing Chloe. He hadn't just been lying to her; he had been protecting the mission.
If he admitted he was Samson, the Project was compromised. He had sacrificed his own soul, his own past, and the woman who loved him, just to stay by Elena’s side.
She looked at the papers on the floor, the records of a dead man who was forced to be her husband. She felt a wave of horror so intense she thought she might faint.
A sudden sound from downstairs made her jump as she heard the front door.
Julian was home.