Chapter 4 Shadows in the Bureau

The night was thick with tension as Martha drove through the empty streets. Rain drizzled against the windshield, streaking down in rivulets, illuminated by the flickering glow of passing streetlights. The rhythmic squeak of the wipers filled the silence, each pass slicing through the haze that clouded the glass. Randi sat in the passenger seat, his jaw tight, mind racing. His fingers drummed against his knee, the only outward sign of the storm raging inside him.

Gerald was dead. Another casualty in the growing war against Redwell Industries. The memory of his final moments was still raw-blood pooling beneath him, lips trembling as he forced out his final words. A name.

Marcus.

A hacker. A ghost in the system. A man who apparently knew more than he should.

They pulled up to a rundown warehouse on the edge of town. The building loomed in the darkness, its corrugated metal exterior rusting at the seams. A single, flickering bulb above the entrance cast a sickly yellow glow, making the puddles on the cracked pavement shimmer. Martha killed the engine, the sudden silence pressing in on them.

"You sure about this?" she asked, her voice low but steady.

Randi exhaled sharply. "No. But we're here."

The metal door groaned as he pushed it open. Inside, the air was thick with the scent of stale coffee and overheated electronics. The space was a chaotic mess-monitors stacked haphazardly, wires snaking across the floor, half-empty takeout containers balanced precariously on desks littered with keyboards and circuit boards. At the center of it all, bathed in the cold glow of multiple screens, sat Marcus.

He was in his late thirties, thin, with a scruffy beard and dark circles under his eyes. His fingers danced across the keyboard, the soft clatter filling the room. He barely acknowledged them as they stepped inside.

"Took you long enough," he muttered, his gaze locked on the screen. Lines of code flashed by in rapid succession, unreadable to anyone but him.

"Martha said you had something," Randi said, stepping forward. "About Redwell."

Marcus paused. His fingers hovered over the keyboard for a beat before he turned to face them. His eyes, bloodshot and tired, studied Randi for a moment.

"Yeah," he said finally. "But you're not gonna like it."

Randi crossed his arms. "Try me."

Marcus didn't speak. Instead, he reached for the mouse and clicked a few keys. One of the monitors spun around to face them, the screen flickering before loading a grainy video feed. The image was dimly lit-an office, sleek and modern, with expensive leather chairs and a minimalist desk. The quality was low, but the figure at the center of the frame was unmistakable.

Randi's breath caught in his throat.

Navaro.

It couldn't be.

His longtime partner. His brother in arms. Dead. Burned alive in a house fire with his wife and kids.

And yet, there he was. Alive. Breathing. Giving orders.

Randi took an involuntary step back, his mind scrambling for an explanation. His stomach twisted as he stared at the screen, at the man he had grieved for years.

"No," he muttered, shaking his head. "This... this is fake."

Marcus said nothing. He clicked another button, and a second video appeared. The timestamp was recent-just days ago. Navaro again, but this time, he was laughing, shaking hands with a man Randi recognized instantly-a top executive from Redwell.

The room closed in around him. His pulse hammered in his ears. His fingers curled into fists.

"This isn't possible," he muttered. His voice sounded distant, hollow. "Navaro's family-his wife, his kids-"

"They were never real," Marcus interrupted. His voice was quiet, but it carried the weight of a sledgehammer. "It was all a cover. A story Redwell fed you. That fire? Staged. The bodies? Planted."

The words hit Randi like a physical blow. He staggered back, his head spinning, his breath coming in short, uneven bursts. His mind reeled, scrambling through memories, trying to pick apart the truth from the lie.

He had carried Navaro's casket.

He had stood in front of a gravestone, whispering promises to a man who was never in the ground.

Martha sucked in a sharp breath beside him. "Jesus..." she whispered.

Randi barely heard her. His entire world had just shifted, twisted into something unrecognizable. His fingers dug into his palms, nails biting into skin.

"Why?" he forced out, his voice raw. "Why would he-?"

Marcus leaned forward, his gaze steady. "That's what we need to find out."

Randi closed his eyes for a second, just long enough to get a grip on the fury building inside him. When he opened them, the fire hadn't diminished. If anything, it burned hotter.

Navaro was still out there.

And Randi was going to find him.

The weight of the revelation sat heavy on Randi's chest as he and Martha left the warehouse. Rain still drizzled from the night sky, the rhythmic tapping against the car's roof the only sound between them. The cold night air carried the distant hum of the city, but inside the car, silence reigned. Neither spoke as Martha turned the key in the ignition, the headlights slicing through the darkness ahead. Randi's fingers twitched at his sides, his mind an unrelenting storm of memories and betrayal.

Navaro was alive.

The thought alone was enough to turn his stomach. Years of grief, of guilt, of carrying the weight of a fallen brother-it had all been a lie. He clenched his jaw, forcing himself to focus. He couldn't afford to let emotions get in the way now. Navaro was out there, playing a game he didn't yet understand, and Randi intended to find out why.

Martha finally broke the silence. "So what's the next move?"

Randi exhaled, rubbing his temple. "Marcus said it himself. We need to figure out why."

She nodded, drumming her fingers against the wheel. "And where do we even start?"

Randi stared out at the rain-blurred cityscape. "Gerald."

Martha shot him a look. "Gerald's dead, Randi."

"I know," he said, his voice steady. "But what if he left us something? A clue."

Martha frowned. "Like what?"

"He knew he was a target. If he had information on Redwell, on Navaro, there's a chance he stashed it somewhere. Something we missed."

Martha considered this for a moment before nodding. "Alright. His place?"

"His place," Randi confirmed.

The drive to Gerald's apartment was tense. The rain had eased into a fine mist, clinging to the city in an eerie haze. As they pulled up, Randi scanned the area. A single streetlight flickered near the entrance, casting long, shifting shadows. The parking lot was nearly empty, save for an old sedan with fogged-up windows. No signs of trouble, but his gut told him they weren't the only ones looking for answers.

Martha picked the lock in seconds. They slipped inside, careful not to disturb anything that would signal their presence. The air was stale, thick with the scent of dust and something faintly metallic. A half-eaten meal sat on the counter, untouched. A whiskey glass, half-full, stood next to an open file. It was as if Gerald had simply stepped away for a moment, never knowing he'd never return.

Randi moved to Gerald's desk, fingers tracing the edges of scattered notes. It looked like a mess at first glance, but he knew better. Gerald had been meticulous.

"Look for anything out of place," Randi said, shifting through the paperwork.

Martha opened a drawer and pulled out a notebook. "What about this?"

Randi took it, flipping through the pages. Scribbles of numbers, times, addresses. Then, towards the back, a name jumped out at him.

Navaro.

His pulse quickened. Next to the name was a series of coordinates and a single phrase scrawled in red ink:

'The dead don't stay buried.'

Randi met Martha's gaze. "We need to go."

She nodded. "Where?"

He tapped the coordinates. "Wherever this leads."

Martha glanced at the open file on the counter. "We should be careful. If Gerald knew something worth dying for, then whoever silenced him might be watching."

Randi slid the notebook into his jacket, nodding. "Then we move fast."

They slipped back out into the night, the cold air sharper than before. A sense of urgency crackled between them. Gerald had left them a trail, one that could unravel everything. And if Navaro was part of this conspiracy, Randi needed to know the truth.

The night was far from over.