Part 5: Pulling the Archived Files
Marcus didn't chase him down the hall. Instead, he turned back to Mia, who was taking her first hesitant, triumphant steps across the room, laughing through her tears as she hugged Mrs. Gable, who had rushed back inside at the sound of the commotion.
"Mr. Vale... what... how is this possible?" the nurse stammered, staring at the empty bed and then at the girl walking across the floor.
"Get Dr. Vance on the phone," Marcus said, his voice cold, calm, and carrying an absolute, terrifying authority. "Tell him to bring his entire diagnostic team to the penthouse within the hour. I want every scan, every blood test, every neurological metric recorded from scratch."
"Yes, Mr. Vale," Mrs. Gable said, hurrying out to make the call.
Marcus walked over to the desk, pulled out his encrypted satellite phone, and dialed a number he hadn't used in ten years. It was a private line connected directly to Julian Vance, his former head of legal affairs and the man who had orchestrated the cover-up of the Ashford Row collapse.
"Julian," Marcus said the moment the line picked up.
"Marcus? The launch party is still going on, why are you—"
"Listen to me very carefully," Marcus interrupted, his voice dropping an octave. "I want every single archived document, every unredacted inspection report, every financial ledger, and every settlement agreement regarding Ashford Row from twelve years ago placed on my desk by 8:00 AM tomorrow."
There was a long, heavy silence on the other end of the line. "Marcus, are you insane? Those files were sealed by federal court order and our own destruction protocols. If anyone opens that box—"
"Open it," Marcus snapped. "Or I will personally hand you, the board, and every fraudulent signature we generated to the U.S. Attorney's office before breakfast."
"What changed?" Julian's voice trembled with sudden panic. "What happened tonight?"
May you like
"The past came back to collect," Marcus said, and hung up the phone.
He turned back to look at Mia, who was now walking a steady circle around the center of the room, her laughter filling the silent penthouse for the first time in her life. But Marcus felt no joy—only a cold, consuming dread. He knew Kai had only healed the symptom. The disease—the systemic corruption, the blood on his hands, the ghosts of Ashford Row—was still waiting for him in the dark. And tomorrow, the bill would come due.
