Chapter 26 A Hunter’s Dream #2
“Justice,” I say finally. “I want to hunt down every last member of this network and watch them burn. I want to make sure no other children suffer what we suffered. And I want to do it with you.”
Max’s smile is fierce, predatory. “Then let’s get to work.”
***
An hour later, we’re sitting at the cabin’s rough wooden table, surrounded by the case files and documents we brought from my hidden stash.
The coffee Max managed to brew over the fireplace tastes like motor oil, but the caffeine helps sharpen my focus as we spread out the evidence of my family’s crimes.
“Okay,” Max says, pulling out a legal pad. “Let’s start with what we know for certain. The Queens and your parents were middle management, not the architects of this network.”
I nod, sipping the awful coffee and studying a financial document that shows money flowing from shell companies to offshore accounts. “The real power is hidden deeper. People who maintained plausible deniability while my parents and the Queens took the risks.”
“So we need to follow the money trail, identify the protected players.” Max draws a circle at the center of his pad, writing “THE ARCHITECT” inside it. “Who had the power to order Janet Wilson’s murder? Who could command loyalty from your father?”
The question makes my skin crawl because I know the answer involves people I’ve met, people who smiled at me during those childhood gatherings while planning unspeakable things. “Start with the guest lists from the parties. Cross-reference them with the financial records.”
We work in focused silence, rebuilding the architecture of corruption piece by piece. My drug-damaged memories cooperate better than expected—faces emerging from chemical fog, conversations half-remembered, glimpses of power structures I was too young to fully understand.
“Look at this,” I say, pointing to a recurring name in the financial documents. “George Murphy. He’s mentioned in connection with fourteen different transactions over five years, but he was never charged.”
Max adds the name to our growing web of connections. “What do you remember about him?”
I close my eyes, letting the memories surface. “Gray hair, expensive suits. He always smelled like cigars and something else… medicinal. He was one of the men who attended my early gatherings, before I convinced Father to make me a spy instead of…” I can’t finish the sentence, but Max understands.
“He’s still out there,” Max says grimly. “Probably watching the trials, making sure all the loose ends get tied up.”
“Including us.” I pull out another document, this one showing payments to something called “Cerberus Solutions”—the private security firm mentioned in yesterday’s files. “They’ve been planning this cleanup for months.”
As we continue mapping the network’s structure, a horrifying picture emerges.
My parents weren’t aberrations—they were part of a systematic exploitation ring that reached into every level of government, finance, and entertainment.
Judges, senators, CEOs, media moguls. All of them protected by layers of shell companies and legal barriers, while children like Luna and me paid the price for their silence.
“There,” Max says, pointing to a cluster of names connected by financial ties. “These are the ones still operating. The survivors.”
I study the list, recognizing several faces from my childhood nightmares. “They’re the ones who want me dead. Not for revenge, but because I represent proof that their system can be exposed.”
“Which means Luna’s in danger too.”
The thought makes my blood run cold. Luna, who’s finally healing, finally building a life with Erik. She doesn’t deserve to have her peace shattered by the sins of people she’s never even met.
“We have to warn her,” I say, reaching for my phone before remembering it’s been compromised. “But how? If they’re monitoring communications—”
“Erik’s smart. He’ll have contingency plans.” Max’s jaw tightens with determination. “Right now, our priority is gathering enough evidence to expose these bastards before they can complete their cleanup operation.”
I return to the documents, my hands shaking slightly as I realize how close we came to walking into their trap. If we hadn’t left campus when we did, if we’d trusted the wrong person…
That’s when I see it.
“Max.” My voice comes out as barely a whisper. “Look at this.”
The document is old, predating my parents’ arrest by two years. It’s a personnel file for someone code-named “The Guardian”—a law enforcement asset who provided early warning about investigations and helped coordinate evidence suppression.
The real name listed at the bottom makes my vision blur: James Harper.
“No,” I breathe, the paper trembling in my hands. “No, this can’t be right.”
But the evidence is undeniable. Payment records, communication logs, operational reports. Detective Harper—the man who’s been investigating the network, who warned me about The Architect, who claimed to be protecting me—has been part of the conspiracy all along.
“Jesus Christ,” Max whispers, reading over my shoulder. “Belle, if Harper’s compromised—”
“Then he knows everything.” The implications crash over me like ice water. “Every piece of evidence I shared with him, every plan we made, every safe house location—he’s been feeding it all back to them.”
My hands shake as I pull out more documents, finding Harper’s code name scattered throughout my father’s records. Not as an investigator building a case, but as an asset managing threats from the inside.
“He’s been playing both sides,” I realize, pieces clicking into place with sickening clarity.
“Pretending to investigate while in actuality protecting the network’s core members.
The arrests, the trials—they were controlled demolitions, sacrificing the visible players to protect the real power structure. ”
Max grabs my shoulders, forcing me to meet his eyes. “Belle, listen to me. If Harper’s been working for them this whole time, then yesterday’s warning—”
“Was a setup.” The words taste like poison. “He wanted us to run, to isolate ourselves. Make it easier to tie up loose ends.”
As if summoned by our conversation, the satellite phone on the table begins to ring. The number displayed makes my blood freeze: Detective Harper.
“Don’t answer,” Max says urgently.
But I need to know. Need to understand how deep this betrayal goes. I pick up the phone, putting it on speaker before accepting the call.
“Belle? Thank God you’re safe. I’ve been trying to reach you for hours.”
His voice sounds exactly the same—concerned, paternal, trustworthy. The perfect performance from a man who’s been lying to me since the moment we met.
“Have you?” I keep my voice carefully neutral. “What’s so urgent, Detective?”
“We’ve had a breakthrough in the case. Evidence that could expose The Architect’s identity. But Belle, you need to come in immediately. There’s been a leak in the investigation—someone’s been feeding information to the remaining network members.”
The irony is so thick I nearly laugh. “A leak? How terrible. Who do you suspect?”
“I can’t discuss details over an unsecured line. But Belle, you and Max are in immediate danger. Give me your location, and I’ll send a secure extraction team.”
An extraction team. Sent by the man who’s been protecting the very people who want us dead.
“That’s very kind of you,” I say, watching Max pull out a burner phone to text someone—Erik, hopefully. “But I think we’re safer where we are.”
“Belle, you don’t understand. The Architect has resources you can’t imagine. Military contractors, black ops specialists. You can’t run from this forever.”
“You’re right,” I agree. “Running isn’t the solution. But Detective, I have to ask—in all your investigation of this network, did you ever come across the code name ‘The Guardian’?”
The silence on the other end of the line speaks volumes. When Harper finally responds, his voice has lost its paternal warmth.
“Where did you hear that name?”
“From my father’s files. The ones I kept instead of destroying, remember? Very detailed records about network assets, including law enforcement contacts.” I pause, letting the implications sink in. “Tell me, Detective Harper—or should I call you Guardian?—how long have you been working for them?”
Another silence, longer this time. When he speaks again, the mask has completely dropped.
“Longer than you’ve been alive, Belle. Your parents were minor players in a game that spans generations. Did you really think testifying against them would end this?”
The casual admission hits like a physical blow. “You bastard. I trusted you.”
“And that trust served its purpose. You led us to Luna Queen, helped us identify every ally, every resource, every federal safe house. The investigation was never about justice, Belle. It was about inventory management.”
Max grabs the phone, his voice deadly calm. “What do you want?”
“Simple. Belle surrenders herself for processing, and everyone else gets to live more or less. Luna, Erik, David Stone—they’ll be left alone as long as Belle fulfills her obligations.”
“What obligations?” I snap.
“The ritual was interrupted. The punishment awaits. The debt remains. Your parents tried to protect you by offering substitutes, but their sacrifice only delayed the inevitable.” Harper’s voice takes on an almost ceremonial quality.
“The circle must be closed, Belle. The Architect’s will must be done. ”
“Go to hell,” I breathe.
“Twenty-four hours,” Harper continues as if I hadn’t spoken. “After that, we start with your friends. Luna first—I believe you’ve grown quite fond of her despite your history.”
The line goes dead, leaving us in silence that feels heavier than the grave.
“Jesus,” Max whispers. “Belle, I’m so sorry. I had no idea Harper was—”
“How could you?” I set the phone down with hands that won’t stop shaking. “He’s been perfecting this performance for years. Probably decades.”
But even as I speak, my mind is already moving beyond shock and betrayal to something colder, more calculating. The training my father gave me as a spy—the ability to compartmentalize emotion and focus on strategy—serves me well now.
“Max,” I say, my voice growing steadier. “Text Erik. Tell him Harper’s compromised, that they need to disappear immediately. Use the code phrase we agreed on.”
Max nods. “Already done. What about us?”
“We disappear too. But not to hide.” I stand, gathering the most damning documents from our spread. “If they want me to surrender, they’ll have to catch me first. And in the meantime, we’re going to expose every single name in these files.”
“Belle, if Harper’s right about The Architect’s resources—”
“Then we’d better move fast.” I meet his eyes, seeing my own determination reflected there. “Max, they made one crucial mistake. They assumed I’d react with fear instead of fury.”
His smile is sharp, predatory. “What do you need me to do?”
“Help me hunt,” I say simply. “It’s time to show them what happens when their victims fight back.”
It’s best to stay on the move to keep them guessing about our whereabouts, and as we prepare to abandon yet another one of our temporary sanctuaries, I feel something shift inside me—the final transformation from victim to predator.
Harper and his mysterious Architect think they’re closing a circle that began with Janet Wilson’s murder.
They’re wrong.
They’re about to discover that some circles become nooses.
And Belle Gallagher knows exactly how to tie the knots.