Chapter 6 - The Confession on the 50th FloorThe 50th floor of Callahan Global Holdings was the inner sanctum of corporate power. The hallways were lined with priceless art, thick sound-dampening carpets, and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the Chicago skyline.
It was 9:00 PM. The corporate offices were dead silent, deserted by all the employees except for the senior executive staff burning the midnight oil before the quarterly audit.
Marcus Vance sat behind his massive mahogany desk in his private office, typing furiously on his laptop, a cup of cold black coffee sitting beside a stack of legal briefs.
The heavy oak door of his office swung open without a knock.
Marcus looked up, annoyance flashing across his slick face. “I told security I am not to be disturbed—Ethan?”
Ethan stepped into the office, his tall frame blocking the doorway. He wore a dark wool coat, his hands buried deep in his pockets, his face carved out of ice. Behind him stood Marco and two federal agents in dark suits with badges clearly displayed on their lapels.
Marcus’s face instantly drained of all color. The laptop keyboard clattered as his fingers froze.
“Ethan... what is this?” Marcus stammered, standing up so fast his executive chair rolled backward and crashed into the wall. “What are federal agents doing on this floor?”
“Sit down, Marcus,” Ethan ordered, his voice terrifyingly calm as he walked toward the desk.
“I demand an explanation! I report directly to Arthur Callahan! You can’t just barge into my office—!”
“You report to a sinking ship, Marcus,” Ethan interrupted, dropping a heavy manila folder onto the center of the desk.
Marcus stared at the folder. He didn't touch it, but his eyes darted toward the door as if calculating his chances of outrunning Marco.
“That folder contains the decrypted server logs, the offshore wire transfers signed with your digital IP address, and the audio recording of your conversation with Victor Kross regarding the elimination of Caleb Callahan five years ago,” Ethan stated, his voice dropping into a lethal whisper.
Marcus swallowed hard, his throat bobbing visibly. A desperate, manic laugh escaped his lips.
“You’re bluffing,” Marcus whispered hoarsely. “Caleb is dead. Everyone knows he’s dead. There’s no living witness who can tie me to—!”
“Who said anything about Caleb being dead?”
A sharp, electric shock seemed to pass through Marcus’s body. He gripped the edge of the desk, his knees buckling slightly. “What... what do you mean?”
The door behind Ethan opened wider, and I stepped into the office, holding a secure encrypted tablet displaying a live video feed connecting our secure server to an undisclosed medical facility three hours outside of Chicago.
On the screen, sitting propped up in a hospital bed with an oxygen cannula resting gently beneath his nose, looking thin and weathered but very much alive, was Caleb Callahan.
Marcus let out a strangled, terrified gasp, stumbling backward until his spine slammed hard against the filing cabinets.
“No...” Marcus breathed, his eyes wide with horror as he stared at the screen. “No, that’s impossible! Kross said he took care of him! He said the car went off the bridge into the river!”
The federal agent stepped forward, pulling a pair of steel handcuffs from his belt.
“Marcus Vance,” the agent announced loudly, his voice echoing off the walls. “You are under arrest for federal racketeering, conspiracy to commit murder, and financial fraud. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law.”
As the cold steel cuffs snapped around Marcus’s wrists, the slick, arrogant corporate operator finally collapsed into a sobbing wreck, his legs giving out as the federal agents hauled him out of the office in disgrace.
Ethan didn't watch him leave. He turned around, walking over to where I stood holding the tablet, and gently pulled me into his arms.
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On the screen, Caleb looked out through the camera lens, smiled weakly, and raised a hand in a silent wave.
“We got him, little brother,” Ethan whispered against my hair. “You’re coming home.”
