Episode 22
Part 92: Edge of Darkness
The cemetery was silent, save for the rapid, frantic footfalls that echoed through the maze of graves. The damp earth, slick from the cold night air, threatened to slow them down, but they pressed on. Then, they saw him.
Hernandez hesitated for a split second at the sight before her, but Flannigan kept running, urgency propelling him forward. Jadon lay motionless, his body barely visible in the early morning light. Flannigan dropped to his knees beside him, shaking him gently.
"Jadon!" he called out, his voice rough with worry. "Jadon, can you hear me?"
Reaching for her radio, Hernandez spoke into the receiver with practiced urgency. "This is FBI Agent Hernandez, requesting a bus at these coordinates. Subject critical."
*****
Westchester County Hospital’s fluorescent lights cast a cold glow over the corridor. Harp arrived, his face lined with concern as he spotted Hernandez near the waiting area.
"How’s he doing?" Harp asked, his voice taut with apprehension.
Hernandez exhaled. "Doctors say he’s hypothermic but stable."
Harp shook his head. "Jeez. I warned him…"
A new voice cut in. "And you are?"
Harp turned to face the speaker.
Hernandez gestured toward him. "Oh, this is Detective Bruce Harper, NYPD."
Flannigan stepped forward, extending his hand. "Nice to finally put a face to the name. Thanks for assisting with this case."
Harp shook his hand firmly. "Yeah, sure, of course. How’d he end up all the way up here?"
Flannigan sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Thanks to you tipping us off about his meeting with Ambrose, we received intel that things didn’t go well. We lost visual on him after he left the restaurant, but we tracked his phone. Noticed it had stopped roaming, and with these frigid temps, we figured he was in trouble."
Hernandez’s voice dropped slightly. "We think it was a suicide attempt."
Harp inhaled sharply. "Jeez, poor bastard. So what happens now? A psych eval?"
Hernandez nodded. "More than likely."
Harp crossed his arms, his gaze distant. He understood all too well the gravity of the situation.
Flannigan broke the silence. "Does he have anyone we can notify?"
Harp hesitated, his mind running through Jadon’s known contacts. Finally, he exhaled. "I’ll see what I can do.
Part 93: Predator
FBI Office, White Plains, New York
Nadia sat stiffly at the metal table, her hands clasped together. Across from her, Flannigan and Hernandez studied her with scrutinizing eyes.
Hernandez broke the silence. "Why so hard on him last night?"
Flannigan shook his head. "You damn near killed him."
Nadia’s voice wavered. "I had to. If I didn’t match Cyrus’s energy, he would’ve known."
Hernandez narrowed his eyes. "Known what?"
She hesitated. "That I still care for Jadon."
Flannigan scoffed. "Care? You put him in the hospital."
"You think I wanted to?" Nadia snapped, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "I never meant to hurt him. But I had no choice. Look, I took your deal to work with you… to protect him."
"Bullshit," Flannigan shot back. "You’re just trying to save your own ass."
Nadia clenched her fists. "Believe what you want. But I agreed to cooperate for a reason. If I don’t help you take Cyrus down, he’ll kill Jadon."
Hernandez studied her carefully. "And what if Jadon doesn’t make it?"
Nadia swallowed hard. "Then do whatever you want with me. I don’t care."
Flannigan shook his head. "Who the hell are you, Nadia?"
She exhaled shakily, her gaze dropping to the table. "I’ve been asking myself that same question for years."
“I was a loner. I preferred to keep to myself. No matter how hard I tried, I could never capture my parents’ attention. My mother’s only love was her restaurant, and my father… well, he was all about himself. So I learned to do my own thing, to be self-reliant at an early age. The only time I interacted with other kids was at school, and even that was uninspiring. I was ahead of them in every way that mattered; maturity, independence, and the understanding that the world didn’t care about you.
Then I met Cyrus. I was fourteen; he was twenty-one. He had just come back from living in the States, and he carried himself with a confidence that was impossible to ignore. He had that Brooklyn accent, that effortless charm, and an air of mystery that made people gravitate toward him. He had a presence, a quiet intensity that made him seem untouchable.
He took an interest in me. It was our secret. At first, he was just a voice on the other end of the phone. He’d call me every day, just talking, listening. He knew I practically lived alone and over time, he started coming over, and we’d spend hours together. We’d talk about everything; dreams, fears, life beyond what we knew. Strangely enough, he’d let his guard down and we played together. Mostly video games. With him, I felt seen. Understood. We created a bond unlike anything I had ever known.
The Cyrus I knew was different from the one everyone else saw. With me, he was thoughtful, introspective, almost vulnerable. Almost childlike. But on the streets? He was something else entirely. He was tough. Respected. Feared. And I admired that about him. He was both worlds in one, a contradiction that fascinated me.
By the time I was sixteen, my feelings had shifted. It wasn’t just admiration anymore. It was something deeper. I wanted his attention, I wanted him but he kept his distance, as if he knew something I didn’t. Frustrated, I found distractions, filling the void by having sex with people who could never truly hold my interest. I was always careful to keep my encounters private so he wouldn’t find out.
Still, our connection never wavered. We laughed, challenged each other, and built a relationship based on trust and loyalty. Looking back, I realize that Cyrus never had a childhood. He’d been forced to grow up fast on the streets of New York. And in me, he found rare moments of simplicity.
Then came the day everything changed.
I had invited someone over, a casual acquaintance, for sex. We were in my room, when my door swung open. Cyrus just stood there. He was pissed. So angry that he scared me. He looked like he would kill.
Without a word, the guy I was with jumped out of my window and took off. Cyrus stared at me seething. He was jealous.
“You don’t need anyone else,” he said, his voice quiet but certain. “You have me.”
There was anger in his tone and in that moment, I understood. Our bond had been about obsession and possession. A connection that neither of us could define, yet neither of us could deny. I willingly gave myself to him that day.
From that day forward, everything was different. I wasn’t just someone in his orbit… I was part of his world. And for the first time in my life, I knew exactly where I wanted to be; by his side.
Hernandez: You do realize he groomed you. Right?
Nadia sat hunched over, her hands clenched together as she stared at the table. Her voice was hoarse, raw with emotion.
"Perhaps," she murmured. "But at that time, it felt like he brought me to life. I was out of my shell, seeing Barbados for the first time. Cyrus was bold, running things, making a name for himself. Soon, he was rubbing shoulders with the elites on the island."
Flannigan narrowed his eyes. "Elites? You mean politicians?"
Nadia let out a humorless chuckle. "Politicians were just worker bees for the wealthy. The real power? There’re levels to it. Lawyers, and businessmen working their way up pulling the strings. They served the elites. These lawyers play the game until they were deemed worthy enough to step into public service. But it’s never about serving the people. It’s always about control." She exhaled sharply. "And Cyrus, even at a young age, was carving his place in that world. He was rising fast through the underworld ranks. I barely saw him anymore, and he never slowed down with other women. So I took out my cravings for him with someone else… and then I got pregnant."
A thick silence hung in the air. Hernandez shifted in her seat, while Flannigan folded his arms, waiting.
Nadia's voice trembled. "When he found out…he knew. He knew the baby wasn’t his. So I went into hiding. After my son was born, Cyrus reminded me of one thing… that I was his. And my baby? My baby wasn’t so it had to go."
Tears welled in her eyes, but she didn’t stop.
"I didn’t want to give him up. I carried him for nine long months, and the moment I held him in my arms, I knew I had bonded with him. I took my baby home. But Cyrus… he made it clear. If I kept my child, he’d kill his father or worse." Her breath hitched as she wiped her eyes. "He didn’t deserve that. So I gave my boy up. I wanted him to be safe."
She choked on a sob, shaking her head as if trying to rid herself of the memory. "It broke me. That was the moment I realized what I had become. A monster, just like Cyrus. And once I accepted that, I played the role. I embraced it. Because self-hate? It eats you alive. It twists you until you can’t tell the difference between right and wrong, survival and destruction."
She lifted her gaze to them, eyes dark with pain. "So now you understand why I hurt Jadon last night. I needed him to run. To get as far away from me and Cyrus as he possibly could. Because Jadon... he taught me how to feel again. How to truly love. And now, the only way I could save him?" She swallowed hard. "Was by breaking his heart… making him hate me."
Flannigan and Hernandez exchanged a glance, unreadable expressions passing between them. Without a word, they pushed back their chairs and stepped outside, leaving Nadia alone with her ghosts.
In the hallway, they huddled near the door, speaking in low voices.
"You buying this?" Flannigan asked, skepticism laced in his tone.
Hernandez exhaled, rubbing a hand over her jaw. "I didn’t think I would, but her story fills in a lot of gaps. She's corroborated things we already suspected."
Flannigan shook his head. "I’ll never understand how people don’t watch over their kids. This is a textbook case of child neglect, abuse and trauma."
"Manifesting into adulthood," Hernandez finished grimly. "With terrible consequences."
They both stood in silence for a moment, the weight of the case pressing down on them. Finally, Flannigan sighed and straightened his posture. "Let’s figure out our next move. Because if Cyrus Ambrose is as dangerous as she says, we’re running out of time."
Part 94: A Reckoning at Reverie
Malcolm Chambers leaned back in his chair, exhaling sharply as he took in the sight of FBI Agents Flannigan and Hernandez standing in his glass-walled corner office on the top floor of Skyline Entertainment. The usual view of Manhattan glowed behind them, but today, it only served as a stark contrast to the shadows creeping into the room.
He gestured toward the leather chairs across from him, though no one seemed eager to sit. The tension was thick… the kind that made Malcolm's instincts flare like they had in his early days negotiating multi-million-dollar contracts under cutthroat conditions.
"Mr. Chambers," Flannigan began, his voice clipped and procedural. "I’m FBI Agent Flannigan, and this is my partner, Agent Hernandez."
Malcolm didn’t bother with formalities. His tone was even, but sharp with warning. “Tell me… what the hell is going on?”
Hernandez stepped forward, eyes locked on Malcolm’s. “Jadon’s in the hospital. Hypothermia. He nearly didn’t make it.”
Malcolm’s breath caught for half a second before his composure returned. "What? No. How’d this happen?"
Flannigan glanced toward the floor, then back up. “We found him unconscious in a cemetery in Westchester County. Alone. In the snow.”
Malcolm narrowed his eyes. “His family’s grave,” he said quietly, already piecing it together.
Flannigan gave a short nod. “We think it was a suicide attempt.”
A silence settled over the room, heavy and unspoken.
Malcolm stood slowly, walked over to the windows, and stared out without seeing. “I know he’s been struggling… but I thought he would bounce back. He always does.” He turned, voice lower now. “What caused this? What aren’t you telling me?”
Hernandez stepped closer. “Do you know Cyrus Ambrose?”
The name hung in the air like smoke.
“I’ve heard the name,” Malcolm said cautiously. “He’s some potential investor Jadon brought in. But I don’t know him personally. Why?”
“He’s much more than a potential investor,” Flannigan said. “He’s a con man, and he’s been laundering money through shell companies, some of which now have ties to Reverie Entertainment. We believe Jadon was manipulated into being the face of several fronts. And now he’s exposed.”
Malcolm’s expression darkened, jaw tightening as he tried to process the implications. “You’re telling me Reverie’s been compromised?”
“That’s exactly what we’re telling you,” Flannigan replied. “And if Jadon hadn’t collapsed, you might be guilty by association and sitting in a holding cell instead of this office.”
The weight of those words landed hard. Malcolm sat back down slowly, his voice quieter now, thoughtful. “I knew something was off. Cyrus was always just a little too helpful, too confident. But Jadon is smart, I trusted his instincts.”
Malcolm rubbed his temples, the pressure in his skull now matching the fire in his gut. “What do you want from me?”
“Full cooperation,” Flannigan said bluntly. “Access to your books. Internal emails. Financial transfers. We need to untangle this web, and fast. If you’re clean, we’ll know. But if you stonewall us, we’ll assume you’re protecting Cyrus and then things get ugly.”
Malcolm let out a long breath. “Fine. You’ll get what you need. I’ll have my compliance team meet with you first thing tomorrow morning. I’ll take over day-to-day operations of Reverie while Jadon’s out.”
He stood again, not for show, but with a quiet fury. “But when he wakes up…” He paused, struggling for a moment. “He and I are going to have a very serious conversation. Because if this whole thing burns down … I need to know how the hell we got here. I need to know how he let it get this far.”
Flannigan gave a short nod. “We’ll be in touch.”
As the agents left, Malcolm remained standing at the window, staring at his reflection in the glass. The empire they’d built… the dream Jadon was building was teetering on the edge. And if Malcolm had to choose between protecting Reverie or salvaging what was left of Jadon’s trust, he wasn’t yet sure where he’d land.
But one thing was certain:
A reckoning had begun.
Part 95: Broken Lines
The quiet beep of machines and the sterile scent of antiseptic filled the hospital room as Malcolm Chambers stepped inside. The sight that greeted him stopped him cold.
Jadon lay propped up in the narrow bed, an IV snaking into his arm, his face pale and bruised by exposure. Even conscious, he looked haunted… like a man dragged back from the edge of something vast and unforgiving. His eyes flicked toward the door and widened in recognition.
“Malcolm.”
Malcolm walked in slowly, his usually crisp stride softened by unease. “Jesus, Jadon…”
He took a long look… really looked and for the first time, saw the cracks not just in Jadon’s body, but in his spirit. The man before him wasn’t just tired. He was hollowed out.
“I wasn’t sure you’d come,” Jadon said, his voice raspy but steady.
Malcolm pulled up the lone visitor’s chair, sat down heavily, and exhaled. “I wasn’t sure either. But here I am.”
There was a long silence between them, the kind that only exists between people who’ve built something together… and watched it nearly fall apart.
Finally, Malcolm spoke. “How are you doing?”
Jadon looked away. “Alive. That’s about all I’ve got right now.”
Malcolm studied him. “Why, Jadon?” he asked quietly. “Why didn’t you tell me you were in trouble? That things had gotten this bad?”
Jadon’s shoulders slumped. “Because I thought I had it under control,” he said, almost a whisper. “I didn’t want to come off like I couldn’t handle it. I was managing… until I wasn’t. Then Cyrus came in, promising everything I needed. I didn’t expect to get conned. I didn’t expect him to steal my identity. I didn’t know how deep it went until it was too late.”
Malcolm shook his head, disappointment etched into every line on his face. “That’s where leaning on a partner comes in, Jadon. That’s what this…” he gestured between them…“was supposed to be. A partnership. You didn’t have to go it alone.”
Jadon swallowed hard, ashamed.
Malcolm’s expression hardened. “And in doing so, you compromised everything including Skyline Entertainment. Reverie is your dream, I know that. But it's also my subsidiary. My name is on those contracts, those checks, those filings. You weren’t just gambling with your own future. You were gambling with mine.”
Jadon’s lips trembled, and he finally broke. The weight of months of buried stress, loneliness, and shame cracked open. His voice wavered. “I’m sorry, Malcolm. I really am. I didn’t know how to ask for help. I thought if I just kept moving, it would all work out.”
Malcolm sat back, watching the apology land. He didn’t rush to forgive. Instead, his voice came slow and deliberate.
“You’re going to get the psychological help you need. That’s not a suggestion, Jadon. That’s step one.”
Jadon nodded, eyes rimmed red.
“But know this,” Malcolm continued. “You’ve broken trust. Between us. Between you and Reverie. And more than that, you’ve broken our contractual agreement. What you did by hiding your financial distress, by failing to disclose Cyrus’s involvement, it violates the fiduciary responsibility you owe to me as your partner.”
Jadon closed his eyes, tears sliding down his cheeks.
Malcolm stood, took a few slow steps toward the foot of the bed, then spoke with a finality that silenced even the steady beeping of the machines.
“Here’s what I’m going to do.”
Jadon looked up, heart stalling as Malcolm continued.
“I will take over Reverie. From this point on, it’s mine to run. You’ll receive fifteen percent of the company’s revenues in perpetuity. No tricks, no buyout clauses. That’s more than fair given the mess we’re in.”
Jadon’s eyes widened, the words sinking in slowly.
“But you’re out,” Malcolm said firmly. “Completely. No title, no decisions, no seat at the table. You and I both know this is a generous offer… especially given the circumstances.”
He took a breath, the edge in his voice giving way to something more sincere.
“Jadon… I’ve always liked you. You know that. You’ve got heart. You’ve got vision. But we have to part ways.”
Jadon stared at him, stricken.
Malcolm didn’t flinch. “The money you’ll receive from this deal will set you up for the rest of your life, kid. That’s not nothing. But more importantly… just work on getting it together. Fix you. Because this…” he gestured around the hospital room “… this is what happens when you try to carry it all alone.”
He gave one last look, filled with something between regret and resolve.
“Goodbye, Jadon.”
Then he turned and walked out, his footsteps fading into the hallway as Jadon sat frozen, staring at the door long after it had closed.
His dream was gone.
Part 96: Turning Point
Malcolm stepped into the loft, the tension in his shoulders evident as he closed the door behind him. The room was dimly lit, the air heavy with anticipation. The others… Crystal, Marcus, and Lyric looked up from their scattered conversations, sensing the weight of what he was about to say.
"Alright," Malcolm exhaled, stepping further in. "We need to talk."
Crystal stood, arms crossed. "It’s Jadon, isn’t it?"
Marcus leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "What happened?"
Malcolm ran a hand over his face before meeting their gazes. "Jadon's in the hospital. Hypothermia. He almost died."
A stunned silence settled over the room. Crystal’s hands dropped to her sides, her tough exterior cracking. "Oh my God…"
Lyric shook his head, his jaw tightening. "How the hell did this happen?"
Can we see him?” Crystal asked with concern.
“When the time is appropriate. Right now he needs space. Malcolm hesitated for a moment before deciding on full transparency. "He got mixed up in something dangerous with Cyrus Ambrose. The FBI is involved now. It’s bad."
Marcus let out a low whistle. "Damn."
Crystal dropped onto the couch. "I knew something was off. Jadon’s been different lately, but I thought… I don’t know, I thought he’d bounce back." She glanced up at Malcolm. "Is he going to be okay?"
"He’s stable," Malcolm reassured her. "But he won’t be coming back to Reverie."
That landed like a punch. Lyric let out a breath. "What do you mean?"
Malcolm squared his shoulders. "I mean, Jadon is done. This was his dream, but it’s time to face reality. He can’t be a part of this anymore, and we can’t sit around hoping he’ll walk through that door again. We have to move forward."
Crystal shook her head. "Just like that? He built this place.
"I know," Malcolm said firmly. "And I’m going to honor that. I’m committed to Reverie. I’m committed to you. Business doesn’t stop because of tragedy."
Marcus nodded slowly, the logic sinking in, even if the emotions hadn’t caught up. "So… what now?"
"We keep going. We push ahead. If you’re with me, we make this bigger than Jadon ever imagined. If you’re not, I understand."
Lyric exchanged a glance with Crystal. She sighed, rubbing her temples. "I’m in. I don’t like it, but I’m in."
Marcus exhaled. "Yeah. Me too."
Lyric shrugged. "Guess that makes it unanimous."
Malcolm nodded. "Good. Because from this moment on, Reverie moves forward. No looking back."
The finality of his words lingered in the air, a silent acknowledgment that things would never be the same again.
