The air in Denver's office was so thick with tension that it felt hard to breathe. Olivia's threat hung between them like a sharpened blade. She wasn't just a shadow from his past; she was a reminder of a life he had tried desperately to bury.
"Tell me where the research documents are, Jackson," Olivia said, her voice dropping to a low, dangerous purr. "You've helped us so much already. So why to stop now? Tell me, and you walk away, you are free. You go back to your quiet life, your boring clinic, and your little family. And if you don't... well, you know how we handle loose ends."
Denver felt a bead of sweat trickle down his neck, beneath the white gauze of his bandage. His heart was hammering, but he forced his expression to remain flat. He took a slow, deliberate breath.
"I don't know where the documents are, Olivia," he said firmly.
Olivia's eyes flashed with sudden, violet rage. She slammed her hand onto his desk, rattling the pens and the glass of water. "Are you kidding me? You were the last person he spoke to. He adored you. Do you expect me to believe that he didn't hand over his life's work to his 'golden student'?"
"Believe me I'm telling the truth," Denver replied, his voice gaining a sudden, cold edge. "The man is dead. His house was swarmed by police. Luis got blasted on the highway. Maybe the papers turned to ash or maybe they're in a police evidence locker. It's your problem, not mine. I did my job. The deal is over. Now, get out of my clinic."
Olivia stared at him, her psychic intuition clawing at his mental barriers, trying to find a crack. Denver focused on a single thought—the image of the car fire—using it as a shield to mask his true memories.
Finally, she stood up, smoothing her trench coat. "If those papers are ever found in your possession, Jackson, you're done. Don't think for a second that your history with us will save you." She leaned in one last time. "If you find anything, tell my messenger at the bar. Information is the only currency that will keep you safe."
As she stepped out of the office, she nearly collided with Mary, who was standing in the hallway with a tray of tea, looking distressed. Olivia stopped, her eyes scanning Mary with a cruel, knowing smirk.
"Poor girl," Olivia whispered loud enough for the hallway to hear. "You're in love with him, aren't you? With the good Doctor Jackson."
Mary turned bright red, her hands shaking so hard the teacups rattled.
"Don't worry," Olivia continued, patting Mary's cheek mockingly. "He's not having an affair with me. But he does have a wife and two children. You really should focus on your own life instead of pining for a man who doesn't see you."
Mary stood frozen in shock and embarrassment as Olivia sauntered out of the clinic. The truth of the statement stung more than the insult. She wondered, with a growing sense of dread, how a total stranger could have looked into her soul so easily.
Inside the office, Denver collapsed into his chair. He waited until he heard Olivia's car pull away before he reached under his desk. He pulled out the black suitcase. He couldn't keep doing this alone. The walls were closing in, and his family was standing right in the center of the target.
He picked up the phone and dialed a number he had scribbled down just the day before.
"Max? It's Denver. I need you to come to my house. Now. It's urgent."
The following afternoon, Max Benson's silver luxury sedan pulled into Denver's modest driveway. Max stepped out, carrying bags of expensive Swiss chocolates and a handheld gaming console for David. He looked every bit the successful, generous friend.
Elle met him at the door, her face a mask of polite coldness. She had never liked Max; she found his wealth loud and his personality hollow.
"Max. Thank you for the gifts," she said shortly.
"Anything for the kids of my oldest pal!" Max beamed, though he quickly sensed the gravity in the house. Denver appeared in the hallway and gestured toward the small study. "Max. In here."
Once the door was locked, Denver stood by the window, peering through the blinds. He scanned the street for any unfamiliar cars or any suspicious person. After Seeing nothing, he finally sat across from Max.
"You remember the professor's party night, Max? What the Professor said that day?"
Max leaned back, sighing. "Yeah, I remember he ignored my business success to talk about 'miracles of the mind' with you. Honestly, Denver, it was a bit much. If the man had used half that brain of his for the stock market, he wouldn't have lived in a drafty old manor; he'd have a villa in Monaco."
"It wasn't silly, Max," Denver said, his voice trembling. "He spoke about a document. A conclusion to his research."
"Right. The papers Luis supposedly stole with the cash and jewelry but it all burned in the car blast," Max said, waving a hand dismissively. "The news said the car blast took everything."
Denver didn't say a word. He reached down, pulled the black suitcase onto the desk, and snapped it open. He withdrew the thick, manila envelope and slid the papers across the table.
Max's eyes went wide. He recoiled as if the papers were made of white-hot coals. "How... how do you have these? Denver, don't tell me you're the one who..."
"No!" Denver shouted, then immediately lowered his voice. "I would never hurt him. He gave them to me, Max. That night, at the party. He pulled me aside and told me to keep them safe. I didn't understand the danger then. But when I heard he was murdered... I realized he knew it was coming. He died, and he left me with this burden."
Tears began to well in Denver's eyes, the stress of the last forty-eight hours finally breaking through. "Luis didn't kill him, Max. I don't believe it. Someone else killed the Professor, and then they killed Luis to cover their tracks. These papers are the reason."
Suddenly, the door to the study creaked open. Elle stood there, her face pale, her eyes fixed on the documents. She had heard everything. She walked into the room and wrapped her arms around Denver, sobbing quietly.
"You should have told me," she whispered. "You don't deserve to carry this alone."
Max, looking uncharacteristically somber, he cleared his throat. "Alright. First things first. We have to get rid of these, Denver. Take them to the police. Tell them the truth."
"No," Denver said, his voice hardening. "He entrusted me with these files. He gave his life for this research. If I hand them over to a random detective, they'll end up lost in a warehouse or stolen by the same people who killed him. I can't let his legacy vanish. I will keep these informations safe with me"
"Denver, think about the kids! They are also in danger with us" Elle argued, her voice rising in panic. "Our lives are in danger as long as those files are here in this house!"
"I have a plan," Max interrupted, holding up his hands to calm them. "Denver, I have connections. The Police Chief of Bristol city is a personal friend of mine. I'll bring him here tomorrow. We'll explain the situation. You can keep the information to yourself, but the police will provide twenty-four-hour security for this house. You'll be protected."
Denver looked at the papers, then at his wife's terrified face. He nodded slowly. "I've read through them. Most of it is dense Theories, but there are methods... techniques and secrets about the human mind that are dangerous in the wrong hands. We can scan the important parts, save them to a secure computer, and then... we'll see."
Max stood up and clapped Denver on the shoulder. "That's the spirit. I'll set everything up. Tomorrow, I'll bring the Chief. We'll get you the protection you need. Don't worry, buddy. I've got your back."
Elle and Denver thanked Max for his help in this type of critical situation, a small glimmer of hope returning to the house. Max left shortly after, promising to return in the morning.
As the Jacksons sat in their living room, trying to find a moment of peace, they were unaware of a small, black device no larger than a button tucked behind the bookshelf in the study.
Miles away, in a darkened room filled with monitors, a man sat with a pair of headphones on. He listened to the playback of the conversation, a cold smile spreading across his face as Denver's voice echoed through the speakers: "...the only important thing is some methods and techniques... and some hidden secrets..."
The man reached out and pressed a button on his console, marking Denver's house on a digital map. "Found you," he whispered.