Chapter 24: The Trap Inside the Safe House
The interior of the safe house was dimly lit, smelling of old paper, pipe tobacco, and damp stone. Bookshelves lined the walls, and a single brass lamp cast a warm, flickering glow over a mahogany table in the center of the room.
Standing by the window, looking out into the rain, was a tall, elderly man with neatly trimmed white hair and a dark woolen overcoat.
He didn't turn around immediately as Camila entered, flanked by Vance and two tactical operators who fanned out to secure the perimeter.
"You've been very busy, Director Vance," the old man said, his voice deep, raspy, and filled with a strange, haunting familiarity. "You dismantled the Santilláns in a week, paralyzed Viktor in a month, and ruffled feathers all the way up to the tribunal. Impressive for a grieving daughter."
Camila stopped ten paces away, her hand resting inside her coat near her sidearm. "Turn around and identify yourself."
The old man slowly turned. As the lamplight hit his face, Camila’s breath hitched in her throat. Deep lines scarred the left side of his jaw, and his eyes—the exact same piercing shade of dark brown as her own—looked back at her with a heavy, sorrowful weight.
"Hello, Camila," the old man said softly. "It’s been a long time."
Camila froze. The room seemed to spin on its axis.
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"No..." Camila whispered, her voice cracking for the very first time since her parents' death. "That’s impossible... You died in the car crash twenty years ago. My father identified the body..."
The old man let out a bitter, self-deprecating laugh, stepping closer into the light. "Your father didn't identify a body, Camila. He helped me fake my own death to protect our family from the very syndicate you’re now hunting."
