THE LAST JUDGEMENT

THE LAST JUDGEMENT 9

CHAPTER 9

The news spread like wildfire.

Daniel Calloway was dead.

A gruesome car explosion on a deserted highway. The body too burned to be identified, but the wreckage bore his name, his fingerprints on what little remained. The Concord, efficient as always, had their people confirm the death. And just like that, the hunt was over.

Or so they thought.

Emily sat in the shadows of a bar in the city’s underbelly, nursing a glass of whiskey she barely touched. The fake news reports played on the overhead screens, each one spinning the same story. Daniel Calloway, wanted fugitive, suspected of crimes he never committed, had finally met his end. The media, ever the willing puppet of The Concord, framed it as justice.

She forced herself to stay still, to keep her expression neutral. But inside, she was burning.

Carter had done his job well. The wreckage, the staged accident, even the false forensic evidence—all of it had been meticulously crafted to ensure Daniel’s disappearance looked like an undeniable death. She knew it had to be done. Knew that if The Concord suspected otherwise, they’d hunt him to the ends of the earth.

Still, watching the world erase him was harder than she’d imagined.

A voice interrupted her thoughts. "You look like someone who lost something important."

Emily tensed but didn’t turn immediately. She had chosen this bar precisely because it was the kind of place where people didn’t ask questions. But this man—whoever he was—hadn’t gotten the memo.

"Depends on who’s asking," she replied, finally shifting her gaze toward him.

The man, mid-forties, rugged but composed, slid into the seat across from her. "Call me Reed. And I’m asking because I know the difference between a real death and a cover-up."

Emily’s grip on her glass tightened. "You’re mistaken."

Reed smirked, unfazed. "Come on. You don’t spend as many years in this city as I have without learning how to sniff out a lie. The Concord may have bought the story, but I know Calloway’s not dead."

Emily’s pulse quickened, but she forced herself to remain calm. "And what exactly do you want, Reed?"

He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. "I want what you want. The Concord gone. But unlike you, I don’t have the luxury of waiting for a ghost to come back from the dead."

Emily exhaled, studying him. If he had figured this much out, killing him was an option. But she needed allies, not more blood on her hands. "What makes you think I want that?"

Reed chuckled. "Because I knew Calloway’s father. And Jonathan Calloway didn’t raise a son who would run. He raised a son who would burn the whole damn system down."

Emily’s heart pounded. This man knew too much.

"If you knew his father, why didn’t you help him?" she asked sharply.

Reed’s smirk faded. "Because back then, I was a coward. I watched The Concord destroy him, and I did nothing. But I’m done running from them. And if Daniel is really coming back, I want in."

Emily glanced around the bar, ensuring no one was listening. Then she looked Reed in the eyes. "You’re playing a dangerous game. If The Concord finds out—"

"Then I’ll be just another body in their wake. But I’d rather die fighting than live knowing I did nothing."

Emily considered him for a long moment before finally nodding. "Then you’d better be ready. Because when Daniel returns… he won’t just be taking them down. He’ll be making them pay."

Reed’s expression hardened. "Then let’s make sure he has something to come back to."

Across the city, in the towering glass headquarters of The Concord, a different conversation was taking place.

"It’s done, then?" the woman in the pristine white suit asked, reclining in her leather chair.

"Confirmed. Calloway is dead." A man in a crisp black suit stood before her, his tone even. "The body was charred, but the identifiers match. There is no room for doubt."

She twirled a pen between her fingers. "Then why do I still feel like something isn’t right?"

The man hesitated. "Because Emily Porter is still alive."

Her fingers stopped. "And she’s not mourning."

He nodded. "No, ma’am. She’s waiting."

The woman in white let out a slow breath. "Then we keep watching her. If she so much as breathes wrong, I want to know about it. If Calloway is really dead, she’ll move on. If not…"

She set her pen down with a soft click.

"Then we’ll be ready to finish the job."