Chapter Eight:
The Kock family had buried their dead. It was now time to face the living—and the challenges that stared them squarely in the face.
After the burial ceremony, Steven made private arrangements for Rebecca and her son to be lodged in the East Wing of the mansion, a space exclusively reserved for close family members. A few hours later, after rounds of obligatory handshakes and words of condolence with dignitaries, he quietly slipped away from the crowd and made his way to the East Wing—without exchanging a single word with Cherry.
When the doorbell rang, Rebecca adjusted her position. She had been expecting it.
She was draped in an Arabian gold silk robe, the fabric clinging to her in a way that left very little to the imagination. With a quick spray of her signature cologne, she composed herself. Her son had already left the room, stepping into the extravagantly furnished sitting area after hearing the bell.
Rebecca signaled for him to answer the door while she took a brief glance at her reflection on the mirrored wall that led to the private library attached to the room. The hallway mirrors projected crisp, undistorted reflections—ideal for anyone wanting a quick check of their appearance before entering the highly curated space. This East Wing library had recently undergone a major upgrade, outfitted with cutting-edge equipment. It almost seemed like the library had anticipated the return of a mystery it once held in its silence.
As Rebecca admired her reflection one final time, she listened closely to the muffled exchange between her son and Steven.
"Good to have you, sir," the boy said politely, stepping aside. The doorway was designed to admit one person at a time unless reconfigured.
Steven stepped in, offering his hand. "Thank you. I'm pleased to have you and your mother as guests. My name is Steven. What may I call you?"
The boy held Steven's gaze. "I'm sure you don't want to know, sir. Just call me Rebecca's son. That'll do." He gently withdrew from the handshake, adding a smile that carried more depth than his age should have allowed.
Steven was momentarily disarmed, about to respond, when Rebecca appeared at the far end of the massive sitting room. She was already a step away from him.
He turned, arms wide open.
When Rebecca melted into his embrace, it was as though the world stopped breathing. The two of them vanished into a space where the physical world no longer mattered—only the spiritual connection remained.
And then, they wept.
Tears streamed freely as they clung to one another, the weight of years lost and memories buried crashing over them. Each one sobbed for both shared and private reasons. When they finally pulled apart, it was as if by unspoken agreement. They took their seats on opposite ends of a double-upholstered chair, drowning in silence, reflection, and pain.
Rebecca was the first to reach back into the shadows of memory.
She remembered that harrowing afternoon just before she and her mother fled the city. She had gone to a grocery store to pick up a few items. On her way out, she noticed two men in long suits following her. The one on the right casually opened his coat, revealing a double-barreled assault rifle. He then placed a finger on the trigger—just long enough for the message to be clear—before signaling her to a waiting vehicle.
Panic overtook her. Legs shaking, heart racing, she complied.
The second man opened the door of a black Dodge Caravan with heavily tinted windows. Inside, Rebecca was horrified to see another woman seated—her hands tied behind her back, a wide strip of adhesive plaster covering her mouth.
The man who had shown her the weapon slid in beside her, casually pulling out a pistol and pressing it against his lips, signaling for silence. The driver ignited the engine, and the van sped off.
The journey was nightmarish. The vehicle swerved through turns at breakneck speed, maneuvering with the randomness of a getaway car. Eventually, they pulled into what Rebecca guessed was an underground subway entrance. The van screeched to a halt.
The woman beside her was still struggling when one of the men stepped out, circled to the opposite side, and unlocked the door. He drew a long knife from inside his coat.
Rebecca bowed her head, bracing herself for what was to come.
Then came the voice: cold, cruel, final.
"We warned you. But you wouldn't listen. This is what we do to dogs like you."
A stab. A scream. Then—silence.
Moments later, as the van pulled away again, she dared to lift her head. The woman was gone. Only a pool of blood remained.
Just as her brain began to register what had happened, the van stopped once more.
The hitman spoke again. "Today is your lucky day. Next time, you won't be so lucky—I promise you. To stay alive, leave town. Never contact anyone here again. Live like an orphan. If not, we shall meet again."
The door beside her slid open. The man who had sat beside her grabbed her arm, dragged her out, and shoved her to the ground. By the time she regained her footing, the vehicle had vanished.
At home, while recounting her ordeal to her mother, Rebecca learned that she wasn't the only one threatened that day. Her mother confessed that David Kock—Steven's father—had also approached her, offering a deal: leave town and never return. According to him, Rebecca was a bad influence on Steven, and he had no intention of allowing their relationship to continue.
Her mother had worked with David long enough to know what he was capable of. There had been no choice. They had to flee, under duress.
Rebecca fell silent, her voice cracking under the weight of memory. Steven stared into the distance, his thoughts spiraling into places he hadn't dared revisit in years. The truth was now in the open, and the air was thick with consequences.