Page 23 of The Last Morgan

The long drive home was silent, arriving back at the mansion was meant to give Lucy the peace she craved but instead she was greeted by Corey who insisted she had a look at the security reports that he had dumped in her hands.

"We’re not safe," Lucy finally said aloud, breaking the silence after skimming through the reports.

Barnaby snapped his head up from his screens. "Nope," he said, popping the "p." "We’re really not. And I can prove it."

Everyone leaned in closer.

Barnaby held up a small, cracked piece of the brooch between his thumb and forefinger. The device beeped steadily, like a slow heartbeat.

"I’m tracing it," Barnaby grinned. "And guess what? Whoever left this trail — they didn’t go far."

Lucy’s stomach tightened. She pushed her chair back and stood.

"Pack up," she ordered. "We’re going hunting."

It was late in the evening when Lucy decided to go ahead and propose what she called "The hunt."

The house was heavy with tension. Barnaby was bouncing on the balls of his feet like a kid high on too much sugar and excitement, laptop under one arm and his device strapped tight to the other.

“It’s not too far out,” Barnaby piped up, his voice sharp and eager. “An hour’s drive tops, if we don’t get lost.”

Lucy stretched her arms over her head, her tactical outfit creaking slightly as the material moved with her.

"Erm, does anyone have any spare headgear and armor for me?" Barnaby said. "I have to come too. I'm not letting any of you monkeys handle my precious equipment."

Everyone laughed — even Byron cracked a rare grin. The thought of Barnaby in a bulletproof vest and helmet was hilarious, but Lucy, being Lucy, took him seriously.

"I suppose if there's anything you should protect," Corey teased, "it's definitely your head, genius boy."

Barnaby muttered something about ‘under-appreciated talents’ while pulling a vest over his hoodie.

Within minutes, they packed up the SUV, loaded into two cars, and followed the directions Barnaby barked from the back seat.

Lucy sat in the front passenger seat, one foot tapping anxiously against the floor, adrenaline thrumming in her blood.

They drove through dark, crumbling streets that looked forgotten by the city. Broken streetlights flickered overhead, and half-built homes stood hollow and abandoned like skeletons.

Lucy glanced sideways at the ghost town they were passing.

"Another lost place," she thought grimly.

"Make note of this area, Barnaby," Lucy said, staring out the window. "I'll get Davina to look into it. I might buy it and finish it. Looks like it holds promise... buried under all this darkness."

Barnaby gave a small salute from the backseat.

They pulled up outside the only half-decent property in the entire street — a sagging, tired-looking two-story house.

What stood out immediately was the wide-open front door, swinging slightly in the breeze.

Almost like an invitation.

Then came the voice, drifting out eerily: "Come in. I'm not trying to fight."

Lucy narrowed her eyes.

"Maybe you come out with your hands up instead?" Lucy called back, her voice cutting through the night air.

And surprisingly — he did.

A man shuffled into the doorway, arms raised stiffly. It was Max.

Pale, unshaven, trembling slightly under Byron’s iron grip the second he reached him.

Corey and Damien immediately flanked the door, weapons drawn, slipping inside the house to clear it room by room. Lucy waited, standing perfectly still. Byron held Max steady, his own body taut, ready to crush the man if he so much as twitched wrong.

"All clear!" Damien called from inside.

Barnaby adjusted his oversized vest awkwardly and darted in behind them, laptop ready, fingers flying as he grabbed any files, devices, or flash drives he could find.

A few minutes later, they bundled Max into the back of the SUV.

Lucy slid in across from him, arms folded tightly, watching him closely.

Max sat slumped, gripping his hair in both hands, rocking slightly.

"My Rebecca," he whispered. "He killed her... and I helped him."

Lucy exchanged a sharp glance with Byron, who tightened his jaw.

Max continued:

"But I promise you — if you keep my existence quiet — I’ll help you find him. I want my revenge too."

They pulled into the mansion’s underground garage, the tires screeching slightly on the polished floor.

Byron dragged Max out roughly but not cruelly, steering him toward the secure holding room they had set up after the death of Rebecca.

"Talk," she said flatly.

Max licked his dry lips. His skin was ghost-pale under the harsh fluorescent lights.

"I met Rebecca when I was seventeen," he began, voice low, almost mechanical. "We grew up hard. Foster homes. Streets. She pulled me out of hell."

He stared at the floor like the memories physically hurt to dig up.

"Years later, she found me again. Told me she had a way for us to never be poor and never be powerless."

Lucy’s eyes narrowed.

"She said she had a job. Just one," Max whispered. "Find a family."

Lucy felt her stomach twist but kept her face cold, unreadable.

"I was young. Stupid. I loved her. I would have burned down the world for her."

He coughed.

"Rebecca told me it was life changing, She said if we found what they were looking for we would be able to start a new life. Somehow, something changed, and they gave us the order to kill your family." He hesitated. “I never knew who hired us. Only... Jimmy. Jimmy knew everything."

Lucy's heart pounded harder at that name.

"And now?" Byron growled from his shadowy spot in the room.

Max flinched.

"Now? Jimmy's still out there. Watching you. He'll show himself when you find what he needs."

"What does he need?" Lucy demanded.

Max shook his head helplessly. "I don't know. Rebecca did. She had the real orders."

Lucy touched her throat instinctively, feeling the familiar weight of the chain.

"Jimmy's waiting for you to find what he needs," Max said. "He’s been waiting a long time."

The holding room was cold and bare, lit by a single strip of flickering light overhead.

Max sat slumped in the metal chair, chains clinking softly every time he moved.

"My family," Lucy said frustrated.

Max swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing visibly.

He started slow, almost mumbling:

"I didn’t kill your family."

Lucy’s eyes narrowed.

"I was there," Max continued, "but I didn’t pull the trigger. I was the lookout."

He shifted uncomfortably, the chains scraping against the floor.

"I was supposed to warn them if the cops came. That’s all. But... Jimmy told Rebecca he wanted no witnesses."

The room seemed to shrink, the weight of the past pressing in heavy around them.

Max ran a shaking hand over his face.

" But Jimmy—" Max stopped, frustration crackling in his voice. "Fuck Jimmy. He’s had a chance to fix this, but he’s been ignoring me. Hiding. Leaving me twisting in the wind."

Lucy’s face stayed perfectly still.

Max leaned forward, voice dropping to a whisper: "I heard his voice, you know."

Lucy blinked.

"The night of the murders," Max said bitterly. "They had devices. Bugs planted around the house. Jimmy wasn’t there in person. He was on a fucking speaker."

Byron shifted slightly, muscles coiling tighter.

"I heard him, clear as day," Max spat.

"Take them out. All of them. Don’t leave anyone alive."

Lucy’s stomach churned.

"I begged Rebecca," Max whispered. "Begged her to walk away. But she said it was too late. The money was too good. The orders were clear."

"And you still stayed?" Byron growled.

Max flinched but nodded.

"I was seventeen!" he snapped. "I was stupid, and I loved her. I thought we were unstoppable."

Silence fell.

Max looked up at Lucy, his eyes hollow.

"I’ve been running ever since. Jimmy tied up every loose end but me."

Lucy stepped closer, her boots thudding softly on the concrete floor.

"And now you want to help me?" she asked coldly.

Max nodded desperately.

"I can help you find the real reason why this all happened," he said. "I can help you find Jimmy. I just..." His voice cracked.

"I just want to bury my Rebecca when it’s done."

Lucy stared at him for a long, long moment.

Then she nodded once.

"You have a deal," she said quietly.

Relief flooded Max’s face. "But listen carefully," Lucy continued, her tone sharpening.

"You betray me, I will kill you."

Max, nodded.

"You’ll stay in the guest house," Lucy said. "With the Doves. You’ll be under twenty-four-hour surveillance."

"It’s not a prison," Corey added dryly, "but it isn't summer camp either."

"Treat it as protection," Lucy said firmly. Max swallowed and nodded quickly.

Lucy turned to Barnaby, who was already typing furiously.

"We’ll need a full trace on every known associate of Jimmy," Lucy said.

"And I want surveillance around the guest house — tight but not obvious."

Barnaby flashed a thumbs-up without looking up from his screen.

Lucy took a slow breath and faced Max again.

"You get one chance," she said quietly.

"Don't make me regret it."

Max nodded, tears shining in his eyes.

The next morning, Lucy tapped the screen of her phone, her thumb hovering for a second before dialing Davina’s number. It only rang once before the girl’s bright voice answered.

“Davina, handle business as normal today. I want updates only if something detrimental happens,” Lucy instructed firmly. “Be my eyes and ears while I’m out. If anything, big drops, text me or get Deza to step in. I’m letting her know she’ll be first point of contact if I’m seriously unavailable.”

“Got it, Miss Morgan,” Davina said crisply. “I’ll keep everything steady.”

Lucy hung up, sliding her phone into her pocket. She adjusted the tight black jacket she wore and turned toward the breakfast room. Time to face her two families.

The smell of fresh coffee, buttered croissants, and eggs filled the massive open-plan kitchen and dining area. It should have felt warm, welcoming even, but the tension curled around her like smoke.

Her uncle sat stiffly at the far end of the table, eyes narrowing the moment he saw her. His mouth twisted downward in permanent disapproval. His wife sat beside him, tight-lipped and silent, while their daughter, Sarah, poked absentmindedly at a piece of toast.

The other family — her real family, the ones who had bled and fought for her — were scattered comfortably around the table. Corey, Byron, Damien, even Barnaby with his laptop balanced precariously on one knee.

Lucy took her seat without a word, feeling her uncle’s scowl digging into her back.

It was Sarah who broke the awkward silence.

Her sharp eyes flicked over to Barnaby, she slid smoothly to sit closer to him, pretending casual interest.

Barnaby didn’t notice until she leaned in, eyes gleaming. “What are you working on?”

“Code,” he muttered without looking up, fingers dancing across the keyboard. “You wouldn’t get it.”

Sarah tilted her head, her blonde curls catching the morning light. “Oh, so you're writing a recursive blockchain decryption algorithm to trace remote access nodes?” she said airily, as if commenting on the weather.

Barnaby froze.

His hands hovered awkwardly above his keyboard as he stared at her, mouth slightly agape. Sarah smirked, tossed her hair, and skipped back to her original seat, leaving Barnaby blinking after her like a stunned rabbit.

Holy crap, he thought. She’s smart.

He shoveled a massive spoonful of cereal into his mouth and immediately ducked behind his laptop again, face burning red.

Lucy caught the entire thing from the corner of her eye, smirking into her coffee.

The brittle silence shattered when her uncle spoke up, voice dripping with thinly veiled disdain.

“What’s happening, Lucy?” he demanded. “How long is this circus going to last?”

Lucy sipped her coffee slowly, letting the heat settle her rising annoyance.

“Why?” she said coolly. “I already told you it won't always be like this.”

He slammed his fork down, rattling the dishes. “Yeah, well, I don’t feel comfortable with my wife and daughter walking around with all these men in the house.”

Lucy set her cup down with a click. The entire table watched her, holding their breath.

“Ahh, I see,” she said slowly. “Would it be better if you moved into a hotel for a while?”

Her uncle’s face turned a deep shade of red.

“I'll decide what's best for my family!” he barked, standing up so fast his chair toppled over. His wife scrambled to her feet too, glancing nervously between him and Lucy. They stormed out, leaving only Sarah, who lingered like a cat sizing up prey.

Lucy rolled her eyes internally.

“What's the plan for today?” she asked, lowering her voice so Sarah couldn’t easily overhear.

Corey leaned in. “Max gave us a few locations to check for Jimmy. We’ll be driving out there most of the day, following up the leads he gave. I think it’s best if you and Barnaby stay focused on the necklace and anything else tech-related.”

Lucy nodded thoughtfully. “Agreed. We’ll divide and conquer.”

Corey smirked. “I’ll take Damien. You can have your Byron,” he teased, raising an eyebrow.

Lucy chuckled. Byron wasn’t just ‘hers’ … was he?

“Solid plan,” she said briskly, brushing the thought away before it could settle.

Barnaby fussed around the equipment, securing a hard-case against the back seat. Byron leaned against the car casually, chewing on a toothpick, eyes tracking every move around them with the laziness of a lion about to pounce.

Lucy stepped toward him.

“You ready?” she asked.

Byron gave a slow smile that made her heart do weird, dangerous things.

“Always.”

Barnaby shut the trunk and looked over. “Seriously, Luc? You’re letting him drive?”

Lucy laughed. “I like living on the edge.”

Barnaby groaned dramatically and climbed into the backseat.

This, Lucy thought, this was her life now.

Hunting ghosts. Chasing family secrets. Fighting side by side with the only people who had ever truly had her back.

She buckled her seatbelt and gave a single command:

“Let’s go find some clues”

Byron revved the engine and shot them out of the driveway, tires screaming against the pavement as they sped off.

“First stop: Morgan’s Haven Bakery. Your mom use to run it before she passed away,” Barnaby said, practically singing the words. “If I’m right — and let’s be honest, I always am — there should be something there tied to the chain’s secret."

Lucy turned to look out the window, her fingers unconsciously brushing the necklace hidden under her shirt. Mom, Dad... what did you leave for me?

The drive was short — maybe twenty minutes — but it felt like an hour. Byron sat silently beside her, his hand occasionally brushing hers on the seat between them. It was infuriating how much comfort that tiny touch gave her.

When they arrived at the old bakery, it looked like time had frozen. The outside was dusty, the "For Sale" sign hanging slightly crooked. Lucy’s heart clenched. I remember standing here, holding a chocolate chip muffin almost as big as my head, she thought.

"Ready?" Byron asked, his voice low.

She nodded. "Let’s find what they left behind."

The bakery door creaked open, the smell of cinnamon and old sugar greeting them like a memory long forgotten. Lucy paused at the threshold, closing her eyes briefly. She could almost hear her mother’s laughter behind the counter, feel her father’s strong hand resting lightly on her shoulder.

Barnaby, oblivious to the heavy emotions flooding the space, was already scanning with his custom device, the little machine beeping erratically as he pointed it around the bakery.

Lucy drifted through the dusty interior, brushing her fingers along the worn counter where she used to sit and sneak pastries when no one was looking.

Barnaby’s device beeped loudly.

"Got something!" he chirped, excitement in his voice.

Lucy and Byron came over. Barnaby was pointing toward a framed photo on the wall. It was old, slightly faded — a picture of her parents, arms around each other, beaming with pride on the bakery’s opening day.

Carefully, Lucy lifted the frame. Behind it, taped haphazardly to the cracked wallpaper, was a tiny plastic envelope containing a gleaming gold coin.

Her hands trembled slightly as she pulled it free.

Barnaby was already pulling on gloves. "Give it here — gently!" he said, handling the coin like a piece of glass.

He pulled out a portable scanner and began running tests on it immediately. Lucy watched, bemused, as Byron took her arm and led her to sit by the wide, broken storefront window.

"You need a minute," Byron said quietly.

She nodded.

They sank down onto the dusty wooden bench by the window, half-shielded from the street. Byron stretched out lazily, his arm brushing hers.

Lucy glanced sideways at him, her lips quirking into a small smile. "You're really bad at subtlety," she teased.

Byron shrugged, smirking. "Not trying to be subtle."

He leaned closer, voice dropping low. "You’re too tense. You know how I could help with that?"

Lucy laughed softly. "Not here, Romeo. Save it for somewhere less... dusty."

Their eyes locked, the moment charged — playful, teasing, but the tension between them simmered just under the surface.

Before either could make another move, Barnaby’s voice interrupted.

"Guys! It's not just a coin. It's... part of the key."

They jumped up and hurried back.

Barnaby was holding the coin under a UV light. Etched so finely into the gold, it was invisible to the naked eye, were faint grooves.

"It’s part of a three-piece set," Barnaby explained. "Think of it like a segmented key — you need all three pieces to unlock whatever it’s guarding."

Lucy tucked the coin away safely in her jacket.

“One down,” she said, breathless. "Let’s go find the other two"

The next stop was the private hospital her family owned, it was stark against the sky, its grey bricks making it look like a tombstone among the bustling city streets.

Lucy’s stomach twisted.

"You don't have to go in," Byron said quietly, walking at her side.

"I do," she whispered.

Inside, the fluorescent lights buzzed. The smell of antiseptic burned her nose. Memories crowded her mind — afternoons spent waiting for her mother in the volunteer lounge and sneaking chocolate bars from the vending machines.

Barnaby’s device beeped slowly as they climbed the stairs to the second floor.

Lucy’s fingers brushed the walls as they walked, her mind somewhere between past and present.

In the abandoned records room, papers were scattered across the floor like leaves in Autumn. Barnaby’s scanner pinged again, pointing to a collapsed shelving unit.

Lucy knelt and carefully pulled back the debris. There, taped to the inside of an old filing cabinet drawer, was another envelope.

A second coin.

This one was etched with a delicate rose.

Lucy’s breath caught in her throat.

“My mum’s favorite flower," she said, her voice trembling slightly. "She used to keep a rose garden in our backyard."

Byron said nothing — just stepped closer, his hand brushing lightly against the small of her back, offering silent support.

Barnaby scanned the coin quickly. "Same structure," he said. "Definitely another piece of the key."

Lucy tucked it away with the first coin, her heart pounding harder with every step they took toward the truth.

Their final destination loomed ahead: the abandoned luxury hotel her father had sunk everything into before he died.

The building looked as if it was grieving itself, its grand facade cracked and crumbling, its windows like dark, hollow eyes.

Lucy stood staring at the building for a long moment watching Barnaby practically dance up the front steps, his scanner held high.

Inside, the hotel was a ruin. Dust coated the grand staircase, and broken furniture lay strewn across the marble floors.

"This way," Barnaby said, following the beeps.

Behind the old reception desk, tucked into a ventilation hole, Lucy found the third envelope.

Inside was the final coin.

This one was different — not a flower or an emblem, but a small, simple engraving of a key and a string of numbers.

Barnaby scanned it eagerly. "Coordinates," he said, eyes gleaming.

Lucy traced the engraving with her thumb.

"Coordinates to the next piece," Barnaby murmured.

Byron reached out and gently tucked a stray piece of hair behind her ear.

"You’re doing good, princess," he said.

Lucy laughed softly. "You’re going to make me cry, and I don’t cry, remember?"

He smirked. "I’ve seen you cry. In your sleep."

She smacked his arm lightly, and he caught her hand, pressing a quick, heated kiss to her knuckles before letting go.

Barnaby was oblivious to their exchange, too busy uploading the coordinates into his laptop.

"Let’s get back," he said, snapping the moment.

As they headed back, Barnaby chattered excitedly in the back seat, while Byron kept glancing at Lucy as if he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words.

Lucy leaned her head back against the seat, smiling softly to herself.

The first pieces of the puzzle had fallen into place.

Her parents had left her a legacy hidden in plain sight.

And with Byron at her side and Barnaby’s brilliant mind leading the way — maybe, just maybe, she could finally bring the truth into the light.

They stumbled into the house, the adrenaline still fizzing in their blood after the day’s wild scavenger hunt.

Barnaby kicked off his sneakers dramatically, sprawling out across the entry bench. "Right! First rule after a hunt? Food and rest. I am not touching these coordinates until I’ve had something greasy and at least two bubble teas."

Lucy laughed, shaking her head. "You’re impossible."

Barnaby wagged a finger. "No. I’m brilliant and hungry. That’s called balance."

As he disappeared toward the kitchen, Byron leaned close to Lucy, his breath hot against her ear.

"I know exactly what I could eat right now," he whispered, voice thick with suggestion.

Lucy jumped, her stomach doing a ridiculous little flip. She turned to him sharply, cheeks burning. In a mock panic, she called over her shoulder to the house staff. "Food to my room! One hour! Don’t be late!

Byron chuckled low in his throat, a sinful sound that only made her legs weaker. Without another word, he grabbed her hand, and they practically ran up the stairs, laughing like teenagers about to get away with something.