Page 95 of Rescuing Aria

Then more disturbing images—makeshift medical facilities in what look like abandoned warehouses. People strapped to beds. Kids. Surgical equipment. Body parts labeled and packaged.

Organ harvesting. A criminal operation Marcus apparently ran in developing countries.

The folder contains meticulous financial records. Profits funneled through offshore accounts. Bribes to officials. Allwith Marcus’s signature or personal authorization codes. It’s sickening.

The last page is a newspaper clipping, dated April 12, 1997. Three months before Aria was born. A small article about a humanitarian investigation shut down due to “lack of evidence.” In the margin, a handwritten note in precise script: “He buried it all, but I kept copies.”

The pieces click together with sickening clarity. Marcus ran a horrific criminal enterprise. When investigators got close, he used his wealth and influence to bury the evidence and silence witnesses, but somehow, Wolfe obtained proof of everything.

And now he wants Aria to know the truth about her father.

Footsteps echo down the hall—approaching. I stuff the most damning documents into my waistband, replace the folder, and close the cabinet.

A landline phone sits on the desk. Direct line out. I pick up the receiver, dial Guardian HRS’s secure emergency number from memory, and press it to my ear. It rings once.

“Guardian HRS, code verification.” The operator’s voice is crisp and professional.

“Delta-Three, authorization echo-seven-niner-tango-four.” My voice barely above a whisper. “Requesting immediate assistance. Hostage situation. Marcus and Aria Holbrook held by Damien Wolfe. Nine hostiles, heavily armed.”

“Location?”

“Unknown estate, forested area. Tracking my implant?”

“Signal acquired. Delta team already mobilized. ETA thirty-eight minutes.”

Too long. “Tell them to hurry. Wolfe’s planning something tonight. Some kind of ‘family reunion.’ I’ve found evidence?—”

Footsteps in the hall, approaching fast.

“On the move. Will maintain radio silence.” I hang up before she can respond.

I move to the door. Voices grow louder—coming this way.

“Please, just tell me what this is about.” Aria’s voice, strained but steady.

“Patience, my dear. Marcus will be joining us shortly. Then all will be explained.”

Wolfe. They’re coming this way.

I slip out of the office, scanning for cover. A door across the hall stands partially open—a small library or sitting room. I duck inside just as Wolfe and Aria turn the corner.

Through the crack in the door, I see her—hair pulled back, wearing a pale blue dress that isn’t hers, face pale but composed. No visible injuries. The tight knot in my chest loosens fractionally.

They pass the library, continuing down the hall. Wolfe’s voice drifts back to me.

“Dinner is almost ready. I’ve instructed the staff to bring Marcus up shortly.”

“Why are you doing this?” Aria’s question carries the edge of someone maintaining control by sheer will.

“Because you deserve the truth, my dear. And tonight, you’ll finally have it.”

Their voices fade as they turn the corner. The dining room. That’s where this is happening.

The documents press against my skin, burning like a brand. Evidence of the monster who raised her. The truth Wolfe wants her to hear.

But not like this. Not as a weapon in whatever vendetta he’s pursuing.

I check the Glock—full magazine, round chambered. The knife at my waistband sits ready. With my implant, Guardian HRS will have my location. Delta team is already en route.