Chapter 9 - The Ghost of a Father
Adrian tracked his father to a mountain retreat, a fortress built of cold stone and isolation. He went alone. This was a reckoning that couldn't be shared with the resistance or the mob.
When he entered the library, his father was sitting in a leather chair, reading a book. He looked older, his hair a shock of white, but his eyes were the same—cold, calculating, and utterly devoid of remorse.
"You took your time, Adrian," his father said, not looking up. "I expected you to finish this weeks ago."
"Why?" Adrian asked, his voice shaking. "Why sell your own son?"
"Because survival requires sacrifice, and you were the ultimate investment," his father said, finally closing the book. "I built an empire on the blood of the weak. I didn't think you’d be foolish enough to go looking for sentimentality."
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Adrian raised his gun. "I’m not here for sentiment. I’m here for the truth."
"The truth is, you’re just like me," his father whispered, standing up. "You’ve killed for a cause you didn't understand. Now, you’re killing for a cause you do. The end result is the same."
