BETRAYED ONCE: FROM NOTHING TO BILLIONIARE POWER

Chapter 13: A Dead Man's Son

Ryan held Marcus’s gaze with uncertainty now creeping in. “And you’re willing to die for a dead man’s son?” he asked, with a subtle astonishment lacing his voice.

Marcus didn’t blink or hesitate. “Your father saved my life. I owe him a debt, and I pay my debts.”

The weight of the words hit Ryan; he barely knows this man, and yet his words were simple and unquestionable, like being carved into stone.

Ryan allowed the residing lump to drop down his throat. “What’s your full name?”

“Marcus Stone,” he replied.

“Where are you from?" Ryan asked, with several towns running through his mind before he could answer.

"I'm from here,” Marcuse replied.

Ryan might have shifted his gaze but said nothing. “How old?”

“Forty-seven.”

“And lastly, are you married?”

Marcus’s eyes flickered for the first time, a crack in his armor. “I was,” he stated.

Ryan couldn’t help but feel his face wrinkle with curiosity. "Your divorce?"

A silence stretched, thick. Marcus’s jaw tightened, with his hands curling into small fists before relaxing. 

"No, she died of cancer ten years ago,” he finally said, almost to himself.

Ryan’s chest constricted. He was familiar with this. His mother and father had shared a similar fate. The same path, the beeping machines, the words that never came out. He felt that sting of grief of Marcus's grief.

"I'm sorry to hear that,” he said quietly.

Marcus didn’t respond.

Ryan turned to Harrison. “He doesn’t talk much, does he?”

“He talks when there’s something worth saying,” Harrison answered. “Otherwise, he listens. That’s why he’s still alive.”

Ryan’s eyes returned to Marcus, and one more question lingered in his mind.

“You know who I’m going after?”

Marcus waited, and then when he was certain Ryan required an answer, he nodded. “The Volkovs and their associate Zhou Industries. Your ex-wife and her lover, Christopher James. I know everything,” he added in a flat voice as if reading from a dossier.

Ryan felt a chill, not fear, but recognition. Something that said survival wasn’t optional.

“We just met; how did you know so much about me?” he asked.

“Your father told me,” Marcus replied. “Before he died, he made me memorize names, faces, locations, and routines. He said—”

Marcus stopped.

“Said what?” Ryan pressed, ignoring the gaze that had been lingering on them since, but none including the reception.

Marcus’s eyes locked on Ryan's; his eyes, laced with something raw, almost vulnerable, flickered beneath the surface.

“He said, ‘They’ll kill my son if they find him.' Don’t let them.’”

Ryan’s eyes drifted to the transparent wall, watching as the city began the day, unaware of the storm.

‘They’ll kill my son if they find him.’ The words repeated in his head.

“When did he tell you this?” Ryan asked quietly.

“Three years ago when he got the diagnosis.”

Ryan nodded, allowing every memory of his father to settle on his shoulders.

Harrison, sensing the unplanned silence, checked his watch. “The reading is at two o’clock. That gives us—” 

He paused and did the math. 

“About four hours.”

Ryan glanced down at his clothes: faded jeans, a worn-out shirt, and shoes with holes. A reflection of a life left behind.

“I need to change,” he said.

As if reading Harrison's mind. The old man smiled, reaching into his pocket, and pulled out a set of keys. He tossed them to Ryan, who caught them, feeling the weight. 

A Mercedes emblem gleamed.

“Take my car,” Harrison said. “There’s a tailor in the fashion district whose name is Marcel. Tell him I sent you. You’ll look like a man who owns the world in an hour.”

Ryan’s lips twitched, almost a smile. “I didn’t know lawyers drove cars like this.”

Harrison erupted into laughter, and the sound hit the air differently; it was light, uncalculated, and human.

“We’re not lawyers,” Harrison admitted, adjusting his suit. “The car’s a lease, very expensive, but still a lease.”

“Okay,” Ryan nodded.

“Marcus will drive,” Harrison said, nodding toward the tall man. “He knows every route, every blind spot, every shadow in this city. If someone’s watching, tailing you, he’ll find it. If someone wants to kill you, he’ll make sure you never see it coming.”

Ryan turned to Marcus. “You’re driving?”

“Yes,” the man replied.

Harrison clapped Ryan’s shoulder, firm and reassuring. “Two o’clock. Don’t be late,” he said before he vanished into the revolving door, leaving Ryan alone with Marcus. 

The weight of a plan set in motion long before he even knew it existed.

Marcus turned and walked past him towards the black Mercedes. Ryan trailed behind, then the door opened, and Ryan couldn’t tell if the vehicle had sensed his presence or if it was Marcus.