Page 114 of Rescuing Aria
I consider the question.AmI handling it? The protective instincts that flare whenever Aria’s out of sight. The way my heartbeat synchronizes with hers when she’s near. The constantawareness of threats, exits, angles of fire—not because it’s protocol but because I can’t bear the thought of failing her again.
“I’m functional.”
“That’s more self-awareness than I expected.” Jenny almost smiles.
“I’m evolving.”
“Clearly.” She stands, gathering her tablet.
After the debrief, I head to the evidence room. It hums with climate control systems keeping paper and digital archives at optimal preservation temperature. I sit surrounded by boxes labeled with Wolfe’s precise handwriting, each containing pieces of Marcus Holbrook’s carefully constructed façade.
Photos spread across the metal table. Marcus at private airstrips, shaking hands with men whose faces appear on international watch lists. Medical facilities in abandoned warehouses. Financial records show millions flowing through shell corporations. Witness statements from those who survived his enterprises, their testimonies damning even in clinical translation.
And Rebecca. Aria’s mother.
Her autopsy report lies open before me, the medical examiner’s findings precise and cold. Blunt force trauma to the head. Defensive wounds on forearms. Time of death estimated between 11 PM and 2 AM.
Police reports document a tragic accident. A fall down the stairs. A grieving husband, too distraught to be questioned extensively. Case closed.
Bank records show payments to the lead detective, the medical examiner, and two key witnesses. Marcus’s signature on each transaction, not even bothering to hide his tracks. The arrogance of a man who believed himself untouchable.
I trace the timeline meticulously. Rebecca had been planning to leave Marcus. She discovered something about his businessdealings—possibly the organ trafficking operation—and reached out to Wolfe, her former lover, for help.
Marcus found out. Eliminated the threat. Covered it up with money and influence. He then raised their daughter—or possibly Wolfe’s daughter—in a home built on that foundation.
“Heavy reading.”
I look up to find Jenny in the doorway, two coffee cups in hand. She crosses to the table, setting one beside me.
“Anything new?” she asks, leaning against the edge of the table.
“Nothing we didn’t already know.” I close the autopsy report, unable to look at it any longer. “Marcus was a monster wearing a three-piece suit.”
“And Wolfe was a monster trying to avenge a monster.” Jenny sips her coffee. “Leaving Aria caught between them.”
The simple summation captures the grotesque symmetry of the situation. Two damaged men destroying everything in their path, including the woman they both claimed to love.
“How much does she know?” Jenny asks, her gaze falling on Rebecca’s autopsy photos.
It’s a legitimate question.
Standard protocol involves information management for civilians, protecting them from details that might cause additional psychological trauma without tactical benefit.
But Aria isn’t any civilian.
“Everything.” I gather the documents into a folder, decisions crystallizing. “Wolfe exposed the truth.”
Jenny doesn’t argue further. Instead, she asks, “What will you tell her about Guardian HRS sealing the records?”
This gives me pause. Guardian HRS operates in shadows by necessity. Our methods, our reach, our influence—all carefully obscured from public view. The standard protocol would beto maintain that separation, limiting civilian awareness of our capabilities.
But again, Aria isn’t just any civilian.
“She deserves to make informed choices about what happens next.” I stand, tucking the folder under my arm. “Just because Marcus is dead doesn’t mean his operation shut down. If it becomes a media circus, all his contacts will go to ground. If we keep things quiet, it allows us to take them down ourselves.”
“My thoughts exactly.” Jenny nods, apparently satisfied with my answer. “Sam has authorized limited disclosure at your discretion. If Aria wants to make this public, it will limit our ability to erase the entire operation.”
“Agreed, but Aria will understand. She knows what’s at stake.” I check my watch—nearly seven. Aria will be waiting, questions burning behind those clear blue eyes. “I should go.”
