Chapter 7 - Midnight at the Wellington
The restaurant that had no chair for Gideon Hale now had an entire ballroom waiting for him.
The New Year's decorations remained.
Gold streamers.
Champagne bottles.
Wilted flowers.
But the guests were gone.
Marcus had chosen the Wellington because of its underground service tunnels.
The police chief owned part of the building through a shell company.
Gideon entered through the kitchen.
Jo stayed beside him despite every attempt to stop her.
They found another purple mark near the freezer.
Then another.
Sammy had scratched one using crayon against a brass door.
Gideon touched it.
“This way.”
Below the restaurant was an old Prohibition-era storage level.
Marcus waited there with six armed men.
Sammy sat in a chair.
Unhurt.
Angry.
When he saw Jo, he shouted, “Mom!”
Marcus pressed a gun near the boy.
Gideon stopped.
Jo stopped.
“The drive,” Marcus said.
Gideon held it up.
“Let him go.”
“You first.”
“No.”
Marcus smiled.
“The famous Gideon Hale negotiating.”
“I'm not negotiating.”
“Sounds like it.”
Gideon tossed the drive onto the floor between them.
Marcus's eyes followed it.
Jo understood Gideon's plan half a second before it happened.
The lights went out.
Gunfire exploded.
Jo dropped.
Gideon moved through darkness.
His men entered from the service corridor.
Someone screamed.
Metal crashed.
When emergency lights activated, Marcus was dragging Sammy toward a rear exit.
Jo ran.
“Sammy!”
Marcus fired behind him.
Gideon stepped between the gun and Jo.
The bullet struck him.
He fell.
Jo screamed his name.
Sammy bit Marcus's hand.
Marcus cursed.
The boy escaped and ran toward his mother.
Gideon's men surrounded Marcus.
Gideon lay on the floor.
Blood spread beneath his coat.
Jo dropped beside him.
“No.”
His eyes opened.
“Kid?”
“Safe.”
“Good.”
“Don't you dare die.”
“Very demanding waitress.”
“Gideon.”
He tried to smile.
Then lost consciousness.
Marcus was arrested.
Not executed.
That mattered later.
So did the drive.
Gideon had never brought the real one.
Federal investigators received everything.
Within forty-eight hours, raids swept through the city.
The police chief was arrested attempting to cross into Canada.
Councilman Peter Walsh—the same man Gideon had seen at the Wellington—was indicted.
Elliot Crane agreed to cooperate.
Daniel entered protective custody.
The network Silas Hale built over thirty years collapsed in seventy-two hours.
Gideon remained unconscious for eighteen.
Jo refused to leave the hospital.
Sammy slept across two chairs.
At 4:12 a.m., Gideon opened his eyes.
Jo was holding his hand.
He looked at their joined fingers.
“Are you getting blood on my table?”
She laughed and cried simultaneously.
“You're an idiot.”
“Yes.”
“You got shot.”
“I noticed.”
“For me.”
His gaze sharpened.
“For both of you.”
She squeezed his hand.
“Don't make promises you can't keep.”
“I haven't promised anything.”
“Good.”
“I was going to.”
She stared.
Gideon spoke slowly.
“I can't promise I'll become someone with a clean past.”
Jo listened.
“I can't promise people won't hate my name.”
She kept listening.
“But I can promise that whatever life I have after this won't look like the one before you.”
Jo lowered her forehead to his hand.
“That was dangerously romantic.”
“I've been medicated.”
She smiled.
Then Sammy woke.
He climbed carefully onto the edge of the bed.
“Uncle Gideon?”
Gideon's eyes filled.
Jo noticed.
He tried to hide it.
Failed.
Sammy handed him a folded paper.
Another drawing.
This time four figures.
Jo.
Sammy.
Gideon.
And someone above them with wings.
Gideon knew immediately.
Caleb.
Sammy had never met him.
“Mom told me about my first dad.”
Jo had explained only what a six-year-old could understand.
Gideon swallowed.
“He would've liked you.”
“How do you know?”
“Because he liked annoying people too.”
Sammy grinned.
Then his expression became serious.
“Are you my uncle forever?”
Gideon looked at Jo.
She gave him no answer.
This one belonged to him.
“Yes.”
Sammy nodded.
“Okay.”
As though forever were that simple.
Perhaps children understood things adults complicated unnecessarily.
But outside the hospital room, Gideon's attorney waited with news.
Federal prosecutors were prepared to negotiate.
Gideon's cooperation mattered.
So did the evidence.
But prison remained possible.
Years of it.
Jo saw his face.
“How long?”
“We don't know.”
Gideon looked through the glass at Sammy.
For the first time since being shot, he looked afraid.
May you like
Not of prison.
Of losing time.
