GrowingOlderHopeWiser

Zoe waited until Isabel’s footsteps faded down the hallway.

Then she crossed to the evidence board and removed Julian’s photograph.

When she turned, Gabe was standing in the doorway.

“I thought you left,” she said.

“I thought you trusted me.”

“I do.”

“Parts of me?”

Zoe slipped the photograph into a folder. “How much did you hear?”

“Enough.”

Brian appeared behind him, carrying a tablet. “I found the property Isabel remembered. The Majestic Theater on Delancey. Patrick bought it twelve years ago through a company called Empire Restoration Group.”

“Any activity there?” Zoe asked.

“None officially. The building was condemned after a fire damaged the upper balcony. Electricity and water were shut off six years ago.”

Gabe looked at Julian’s photograph. “He has lights.”

“Portable generator,” Brian said. “Or the city records are wrong.”

Zoe reached for her coat.

Brian glanced toward the captain’s office. “Should I call for a tactical team?”

“No.”

Both men looked at her.

“If someone inside this department is warning Julian, a tactical request will reach him before we do.”

“You’re suggesting the three of us go alone?” Brian asked.

“I’m suggesting we find out whether Isabel is right.”

Zoe took out her phone and called David Adams.

“Julian may be hiding at the old Regent Cinema on Tenth,” she said. “I want you to assemble a team, but don’t move until I call.”

Gabe’s eyes narrowed. “The Regent?”

Zoe ended the call.

“There is no Regent Cinema on Tenth,” she said. “If Julian suddenly abandons the Majestic, we’ll know David passed the information to someone.”

Brian looked uncomfortable. “You think David is the leak?”

“I think suspicion is useless unless we test it.”

“And what did you tell the captain?” Gabe asked.

“That we were following a lead at a bus terminal in Queens.”

Brian gave a faint, humorless smile. “So if half the department meets us there, we’ll know everyone is corrupt.”

“We already know half the city is.”

Outside, the rain had weakened to a cold mist. They took Brian’s car and parked two blocks from the Majestic.

The theater stood between a shuttered furniture store and a narrow apartment building with boarded ground-floor windows. Its marquee had lost most of its letters. What remained spelled MA ST C, glowing faintly whenever lightning flashed above the rooftops.

A chain hung across the front doors.

It had been cut cleanly through.

Gabe touched one end. “Recently.”

Zoe drew her weapon. Brian did the same.

Inside, the lobby smelled of wet plaster, mildew, and something sharper—fresh gasoline. Torn posters curled inside cracked display cases. A chandelier sagged from the ceiling, its crystals coated in dust.

A low mechanical hum vibrated beneath their feet.

“The generator,” Brian whispered.

They followed the sound through a corridor lined with tarnished mirrors. Gabe caught his reflection in one of them and stopped.

For an instant, he saw himself wearing a dark suit instead of his rain-soaked coat. Julian stood beside him. Patrick was behind them, one hand resting on Gabe’s shoulder.

Then the memory vanished.

Zoe noticed. “What did you see?”

“I’ve been here before.”

“With Julian?”

“And Patrick.” Gabe pressed a hand against his temple. “There was some kind of meeting.”

“Try to remember when.”

A light flickered at the end of the corridor.

Music began playing inside the auditorium—a scratchy orchestral recording distorted by age. The melody drifted through the theater like something awakened from a long sleep.

They entered through a side door.

Rows of rotting velvet seats descended toward the stage. A single spotlight shone through the darkness. Beneath it stood a wooden table.

The ledger rested on top.

Julian was nowhere in sight.

“Stay back,” Zoe said.

Gabe stared at the book. “That’s too easy.”

A speaker crackled somewhere above them.

“Still suspicious of gifts, Gabriel?”

Julian’s voice filled the theater.

Gabe stepped into the aisle. “Come down and give it to me yourself.”

Soft laughter came through the speaker.

“You always did need to see a man’s face before deciding whether to trust him.”

Zoe searched the balconies, but the spotlight blinded anyone looking beyond the stage.

“What do you want, Julian?” she called.

“I gave Patrick fifteen years of my life. I buried his mistakes, frightened his enemies, and kept his empire standing. Then you walked through the door, and suddenly blood mattered more than loyalty.”

“A fair exchange.”

“For what?”

“The ledger for my freedom.”

“You kidnapped Anna Taylor.”

“Patrick ordered it.”

“You helped.”

“And Gabriel helped Patrick with worse.”

Gabe’s jaw tightened. “If that were true, you wouldn’t be hiding behind a speaker.”

“Wouldn’t I?”

A second spotlight snapped on.

It illuminated a chair at the far side of the stage.

David Adams sat bound to it, blood running from a cut above his eyebrow. Silver tape covered his mouth. A wire ran from beneath the chair to a small black box near his feet.

Brian raised his weapon and scanned the darkness.

Zoe’s phone vibrated.

A message from David appeared on the screen.

TACTICAL TEAM READY AT REGENT CINEMA. AWAITING YOUR ORDER.

She looked from the message to the man beneath the spotlight.

Gabe saw her expression. “What is it?”

“Someone is using David’s phone.”

Zoe pressed the call button.

A phone began to ring somewhere above them.

The sound came from the balcony.

Brian aimed toward it, but darkness concealed the upper seats. After three rings, the call was rejected.

David strained against his restraints, shaking his head violently.

The theater doors slammed shut.

Heavy locks dropped into place behind them.

Julian’s voice returned through the speakers, quieter now.

“You wanted to know who was feeding me information, Detective Bailey.”

The spotlight above the ledger turned red.

“Ask the man in the chair.”

Zoe stepped toward the stage.

“Don’t,” Gabe warned.

“He may be sitting on an explosive.”

She stopped.

Brian glanced between David and the black box. “Julian stole his phone. That doesn’t make David the informant.”

“No,” Gabe said. “But that might.”

He pointed toward David’s exposed wrist.

Just below the edge of his sleeve was a small tattoo: a black circle crossed by three narrow lines.

Gabe opened his shirt collar. The same symbol was inked beneath the tattoos covering his chest.

The sight of it pulled another memory loose.

This theater.

Patrick standing beneath the spotlight while men filled the front rows. Julian guarded one aisle. David stood in the other, younger but unmistakable, the black symbol freshly tattooed on his wrist.

Gabe was on the stage beside his father.

A terrified man knelt before them.

Patrick placed a gun in Gabe’s hand.

Show them whose son you are.

The memory shattered.

Gabe staggered against one of the seats.

Zoe caught his arm. “What did you see?”

He stared at David.

David had stopped struggling. His eyes were fixed on the matching mark beneath Gabe’s collar.

“He’s been here before,” Gabe said.

Brian tightened his grip on his weapon. “How do you know?”

“Because I was here with him.”

Beneath the silver tape, David began trying to speak.

Julian’s laughter drifted through the auditorium.

“The tattoo is how Patrick marked the men who belonged to him,” he said. “Your loyal Detective Adams has been carrying that secret for years.”

Zoe looked at David. “Is that true?”

David shook his head again, more desperately this time.

“Of course,” Julian continued, “the interesting question isn’t whether David worked for Patrick.”

The black box beneath the chair began to blink.

Red.

Red.

Red.

“The interesting question is whether he ever stopped.”

Every light in the theater went out.