Chapter 11 - THE MEMORY THEY STOLEThe boss sat against the wall.
His hands trembled.
Ethan watched silently.
“You remembered.”
“Yes.”
“What?”
“The warehouse.”
The girl sat beside him.
He looked at her.
“I knew you.”
She nodded.
“You saved me.”
His eyes filled with disbelief.
“Why don't I remember?”
“Because they made you forget.”
Ethan opened another box.
Inside were medical records.
Sedation reports.
Memory-disruption procedures.
Psychological evaluations.
The boss read the pages.
His own name appeared repeatedly.
He looked up.
“They drugged me.”
Ethan nodded.
“After the operation.”
“Who ordered it?”
Ethan didn't answer.
The boss already knew.
“My father.”
“Yes.”
The silence became unbearable.
Then the girl spoke.
“Mommy said you were kind.”
The boss looked at her.
“She remembered.”
He nodded.
“Then why didn't she come to me?”
“Because she was killed.”
The girl's face fell.
The boss immediately regretted saying it so bluntly.
But she didn't cry.
Instead, she looked down at the bunny.
“She knew.”
The boss frowned.
“Knew what?”
“That they would kill her.”
Ethan looked away.
The boss stared at him.
“You knew?”
“I was there.”
“Why didn't you stop them?”
Ethan's expression hardened.
“I tried.”
“Not hard enough.”
Ethan accepted the accusation.
“No.”
The boss stood.
“Then help me finish it.”
Ethan looked at him.
“Finish what?”
“The network.”
For the first time, Ethan smiled.
“Now you're thinking like the man I remember.”
The timer on the wall suddenly disappeared.
The hidden speaker crackled.
“You have chosen badly.”
The boss looked upward.
“I'm coming for you.”
A man's laugh echoed.
“You still don't know who you're talking to.”
The boss looked at Ethan.
Ethan whispered:
“He wants you angry.”
“Why?”
“Because anger makes you predictable.”
The boss looked at the girl.
Then at the evidence.
Then at the tunnel.
“We don't give him that.”
He picked up the memory card.
“We expose everything.”
Ethan nodded.
“To whom?”
The boss thought.
“The press.”
Ethan shook his head.
“Compromised.”
“Federal investigators.”
“Compromised.”
“Congress.”
“Some are compromised.”
The boss paused.
“Then we need someone outside the system.”
Ethan smiled.
“There is one.”
“Who?”
Ethan handed him a photograph.
A journalist.
A woman in her thirties.
The name was written underneath.
MAYA REED.
The boss recognized her.
She had been investigating corruption in Washington for years.
And six months earlier, she had disappeared.
The boss looked at Ethan.
“Where is she?”
May you like
Ethan pointed toward the tunnel.
“That's where we're going.”
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