Michael got to the airport without incident and made his way through the security line. With his flight being just after noon, he knew he should grab lunch beforehand, but wasn't feeling particularly hungry. That happened when he got really invested in a project; his appetite and any desire to eat faded into the background, becoming more of a nuisance and a distraction from work, instead of a pleasurable break from it. Breakfast hadn't happened, and he knew that once he was back in Miami, the afternoon and evening would be a blur of getting back to the apartment and immediately settling in to work. And calling Christina…he'd still been avoiding that like the plague, but if he wanted to meet her tomorrow, he knew he couldn't wait any longer.
He strolled up and down the terminal, examining his food options, feeling annoyed. He knew he'd have to settle for the least unappealing option, and eventually he just stopped at the Starbucks closest to his gate. There was quite a line, as there always seemed to be at airports, but a sandwich didn't sound too bad and a coffee sounded even better. The coffee was the real reason he decided to stop there…the food was a matter of necessity, not of desire, but he knew he needed something.
"Michael?" a young barista called from behind the counter, her arm outstretched to hand him his drink and sandwich. He came forward past a few other waiting customers and grabbed it, but the second he made eye contact with her he could see the briefest moment of recognition. Of fear. Her eyes lingered still, as if trying to remember where she'd seen him, why his name was familiar, and he just nodded and walked away. He wasn't wanted anymore, he reminded himself. If she called security or something, they'd have nothing on him. But still, it wasn't a great feeling to have complete strangers look at you with terror for no reason.
Trying to put that all aside, he took a sip, enjoying the warm, dark taste and headed towards his gate.
Maybe Lincoln's trial being on the news had revived the story of the Fox River eight. Maybe his picture had been on the news again too. He honestly didn't know, having been far too absorbed in his work to pay any attention to such things. Either way, it didn't matter. He walked over to his gate and looked around for seating options. Most of the area was full; a family with at least five kids and all of their belongings taking up one corner. The blue rows of chairs were scattered with people staring at their phones or trying to sleep in an obviously uncomfortable position. His eyes roamed further, and he spotted a seat at the tall, marble white table that had outlets at every seat.
The airport was busy, so he wasted no time walking over and setting his bag on the chair. He pulled out his laptop and set it on the table, opened it, and got himself situated. While it connected to the WIFI, he texted Sara.
"I'm through security, just waiting to board. I'll let you know when I get to Miami."
After a few moments with no reply, he figured she must be busy working, and turned his attention to his own work.
The background noise around him was appreciated. It was busy as always at the O'Hare airport and he kind of liked it. For him to work, he needed absolute silence or absolute chaos. Nothing in between. If he could pick out individual conversations, it was far too distracting. But here, with the constant bustle of people, announcements, chatter in every language…it all blended together into a sort of white noise that actually helped his productivity.
He wouldn't have heard his phone buzzing above all the noise, but the screen lit up beside him. He figured it was Sara at first, but then realized someone was calling him. It was Aldo.
With a sigh, he picked it up, debating whether or not to answer. His feelings towards the man were still a bit mixed, and he really didn't feel like having a heart-to-heart discussion right now. That being said, if he needed to cut the conversation short, he could always say his flight was about to board. A perfectly reasonable excuse.
Gritting his teeth, he answered, "Hello?"
"Hey Michael, this is uh…this is your dad."
"Hi," he answered simply.
"Do you have a minute to talk?"
"I can spare a minute," he agreed, trying to keep his tone neutral.
Sighing, "This is a long story, but I need to give you a heads up about something."
Slowly, "Ok?"
"I have an old Company contact, name's Gretchen. We used to work together. She was going to help me steal Scylla before…well, before you decided to work on it solo."
He waited in silence, confused as to why he'd needed Scylla, but letting that question pass for now.
"Anyways, she asked me the other day if we were still planning on stealing it – she has a personal stake in the matter. When I told her what you were planning with Christina, she said it was a bad idea and not to trust her."
"Huh," was all he could manage, then added, "Christina has held up her end of the deal with me in the past. I have to believe that she will again."
"It didn't sound like that was Gretchen's concern."
"What was her concern?" he asked, humoring him. He didn't know Gretchen or really give a damn about her concerns, but he'd hear him out another minute.
"She knows that Krantz is no prize, but hedoes run The Company with the goal of advancement. He hires the best minds and puts them to work, wanting to find solutions to some of the world's biggest problems…and obviously does whatever is necessary to accomplish that which isn't always…well, it ends up hurting people. I get that. But Christina only cares about advancing herself. Gretchen fears that with her in charge, things would get a lot worse."
His mind flashed back the that night, walking into the apartment and finding Sara unconscious and bruised. Worse? How could Christina be any worse than Krantz? His mind started filling in those blanks with possible scenarios, but he quickly shut it down.
He needed to talk to Christina.
"Thanks for letting me know," he responded politely, "I'll take that into consideration."
"That's all I ask," Aldo replied, "take care, Michael."
XXXXXXX
Lincoln woke up slowly, vaguely aware of his surroundings. There were no jingling keys of the guards, no buzzing, no yelling and hollering.
Silence.
It was unsettling.
He wanted it to be peaceful, but after so long in prison, it was still hard to get used to the only sound in his hotel room being the hum of the air conditioner.
After a while of laying in the silence, his mind wandered ahead to what he needed to do today. That was another adjustment he'd have to make; in prison, he never needed to make plans considering that his whole day was the same. Any variation was someone telling him he had a visitor, or a health check up in the infirmary. Otherwise, it was just him and his cell, day in and day out.
He knew that getting a job was his first order of business and finding somewhere to live was the second. Veronica had offered to let him stay with her – a kind and somewhat confusing gesture that he'd turned down, getting a hotel room instead. Was her offer out of pity? A, "You're just out of prison and have nothing so you can stay with me," offer? Was it a, "We're dating and I want to live together," offer? He had no way to know…aside from asking her directly, but that was out of the question. At least for now.
Living together so soon after his release might not be good anyways. He still needed to find his sea legs again, blending back into society and figuring out how he fit into the world. It might take time, and he knew she said that she was ok with that, but he only hoped that she meant it.
Where the hell did he want to work? Or the better question, where would hire him? He was good with his hands – construction, working on cars…that might be a good place to start looking. He had virtually no credible experience in those fields, but he was willing to try. Showing up to work on time and putting in a solid effort went a long way, and that he could do.
XXXXXX
Michael got back to his Miami apartment and tossed his keys on the counter. The afternoon sun was bright and strong, shining through the sliding glass door that led to the balcony. The plane ride had been productive; with another solid night of work, he should have it all completed and ready to hand over by tomorrow, which meant he needed to arrange things with Christina as soon as possible.
But he didn't want to.
He stalled by unpacking his bag, trying to formulate what he would even say to her, and knowing that Aldo's concerns were stewing in the back of his mind. But how could he bring them up? Was he curious about her motives, about what she would do after getting Scylla? Sure, but he didn'twantto care. Getting her Scylla was the job, and after that he would be free and clear. That was the goal. How was it his problem what happened with The Company after that?
It wasn't, he firmly told himself as he tossed his clothes into the washer. It wasn't.
He slammed the lid shut and pressed start, his mind filling with all of the horrible things they had done, and knowing that his glimpse into what they were capable of was just the tip of the iceberg. But who was better, Krantz or Christina? Was there a "better" option, or just two different version of evil?
He wasn'tunaware of his own biases, but they were starting to become a tangled mess. He knew nothing about Krantz aside from what he'd done to Sara, and what Gretchen and Aldo had offered. But did he really know more about Christina? The facts on her weren't any clearer: she'd been a good mother in the early years as far as he could remember, but then faked her own death, leaving her children in the system. Now she was back and giving him life-saving surgery, offering him millions of dollars and a path to freedom.
Why?
He put his now empty bag in the closet and pressed his thumb and finger to the bridge of his nose.
What if he couldn't trust either of them? Where did that leave him? An uneasy feeling stirred in his belly, starting to question if all the work he'd done on Scylla had been for nothing. He also thought of his colleagues- the capable, brilliant people who'd started this whole thing…the people he was essentially piggybacking on for nothing but personal gain.
He paced the apartment, glad to have the sun streaming in the window to offer some kind of brightness, lessening the sense of impending doom.
Emotions aside, he forced himself to look at the situation logically. If he was deciding between Krantz and Christina, his only question was: what's the third option? When faced with two less than desirable choices, the only logical thing to do is look for a third. That was the outside-the-box kind of thinking that supposedly made him a "genius" of sorts. He didn't like that word…didn't feel worthy of it, but maybe today it would come in handy.
His conversation with Aldo replayed in his mind, "We were planning on stealing it, but…"
What had he and Gretchen intended to do with Scylla?
He stewed on that for a moment, but it wasn't any use. Speculating didn't do a damn thing; he needed a straight answer. To his own surprise, he grabbed his phone and called Aldo.
"Hello?" Aldo answered, sounding just as surprised as Michael was.
"You said earlier that you and Gretchen had planned to steal Scylla," he blurted, not wasting any time, "I need to know why."
"Oh uh," Aldo stammered, "that was before the whole trial to get Linc exonerated. I was thinking that if confessing about the scandal wasn't enough, I could use Scylla as leverage."
"Like blackmail?"
"Pretty much."
"But how? If you had Scylla, what would you have done with it?"
"What do you mean?"
Clarifying, "I mean, would you have destroyed it, sold it…?"
"Sold it probably," he answered, "Gretchen still has contacts within the Company, she knows who the potential buyers are."
A sly smile appeared on his face, "Really?"
A pause, "Yea, why? What're you thinking?"
Normally, Michael liked keeping his cards close and not revealing his plans until they were ready, but he could feel his guard lowering. Christina was expecting Scylla soon, so time was of the essence. For the first time in a very long time, he started thinking out loud, and let Aldo in on a plan before it had fully formed.
"Well, I'm thinking that I don't really trust Krantz or Christina. Scylla is done, or almost…I can finish it tonight. I'm starting to think that I should avoid the middle-man and sell it myself. If Gretchen can get the name and number of an interested buyer…"
"Whoa, whoa, slow down Michael. Krantz would have you killed in an instant, or at least arrested," then quietly, "Christina might do the same."
"Not if they're dead."
"If they…Michael, I can't do that."
"Why not? Krantz is dying either way. This is a question of whether Christina gets Scylla, or if I sell it myself."
"Look, I don't like her. I'll admit that, and I don't trust her. But killing her!? Who's to say she wouldn't make good on her promise anyways?"
"You. You said that."
"I passed along a warning, nothing more."
Contemplating, "I need Gretchen's number."
"Michael-"
"-please. I need time to think, and I need to explore every option."
Sighing, hesitating, "Alright. I'll send it to you."
Michael hung up, his mind reeling. He had to test Christina somehow, that was the last piece of information he needed before making his decision. It could work: sell Scylla and get millions of dollars to start his new life, have Krantz killed and if Christina wouldn't walk away quietly…
He lowered his head, was he really considering killing his own mother? Would she give him any other choice? Only one way to find out.
He texted her, "I'm back in town. Can you meet tonight?"
A reply came quickly, "Yes. There's a bar just down the street from headquarters. Eight o'clock, be there."
XXXXXXX
Sara was starting to space out, but she wasn't so far gone that she wasn't aware of that fact. It was a weird space to be in; tired enough to be drifting in and out of awareness, but still aware enough to realize what was happening. She kind of liked the feeling in a strange way – it was the mark of a productive day, and a feeling that promised a night of deep, blissful sleep.
It was almost seven and she was still at Fox River making her way through the files on her desk, slowly but surely. It was meticulous work; she had to review everything that had happened while she was gone, not to mention entering the important stuff into the dinosaur of a computer on her desk.
She was in the middle of a daze, her eyes unfocused and unseeing, simply resting on the file in front of her when the sound of shuffling outside her door got her attention, her heart rate quickening. Everyone else was gone, at least she'd thought, so no one should be in the hallway unless an inmate was in trouble…but if that was the case, she would've gotten the "heads up" phone call that they were on their way up to the infirmary. She listened more carefully and heard footsteps.
She held her breath, not wanting to make a sound, as she silently got up out of her chair and started looking around in a mute panic for anything that could function as a weapon. They wouldn't come after her here, would they? How could they even get in?
Law enforcement. The Company had so many agents that worked in law enforcement, she remembered with a sinking feeling. Any one of the C.O's could be Company and she'd never know.
The footsteps got closer and she heard the jingle of keys; the sound slightly soothed her feeling of dread…a hit man wouldn't be thoughtful enough to open the door properly, would they?
Maybe it was the fatigue, the stress of the day, or the lingering possibility of never being safe, but suddenly she swore she could smell –
"-Sara? Got dinner for you," Katie's voice came through the door, along with a knock.
Sara exhaled so heavily, a flood of relief washing over her as her racing heart struggled to comprehend that the threat was no longer there.
She opened the door and Katie narrowed her eyes, "You ok? Look like you've seen a ghost."
She chuckled, trying to stabilize her shaking hands as she grabbed the bag of food, "Something like that, and thank you," she met her eyes, "I really appreciate it."
She shrugged and gave a wink, "I just happened to be in the neighborhood."
"Yea right," she replied with a laugh, releasing some of her nervous energy. She knew that Katie lived a good twenty minutes from Fox River.
"Thanks again, I didn't realize how hungry I was until right about now."
"No problem- just don't burn yourself out, girl. We need you."
Sara nodded as Katie shut the door behind her, the sound of footsteps now fading away and leaving Sara alone.
She exhaled again, still struggling to slow her racing heart, and opened the take-out bag, pulling out the container of whatever delicious Thai food Katie had gotten her. She shoved the inmate files to the side, creating an eating area of sorts, and took a bite, letting her mind take a break for a minute.
Naturally, her mind wandered to Michael and what he might be doing…how he might be doing. He'd checked in with her when he landed, and she knew he intended to talk to Christina tomorrow, but other than that she couldn't be sure of what his plans were and if he was coping alright with everything.
She sighed at the irony; she was concerned for his wellbeing, but knew deep down that she wasn't doing any better. She hated knowing that the General was going to be killed, partly because of her. Even though she knew it wasn't her fault- she'd gotten caught in the middle, but a man was going to die so that she'd be safe. She didn't like that.
But what was the alternative?
There wasn't one; not that she could come up with anyways. She just wanted this to be over, which made her feel even more guilty…wishing a man dead so she could have some peace of mind. The whole thing made her really uncomfortable and irritated. She felt like a hypocrite. She'd have done anything to get Lincoln free and off of death row for two reasons. The first being that he's innocent and she was convinced that he didn't murder Steadman. The second: she didn't like the death penalty.
That's where the hypocrisy came in and annoyed the heck out of her. How could she justify Michael making a deal to have Krantz killed? How was it different? Of course, the situations weren't the same, but the outcome was: a man would be killed by another. One person deciding to end the life of another. For her.
She knew that Michael loved her, cared for her, and wanted her safe; that's why he was doing this, but the consequences of her safety put an unfair amount of weight on her that she didn't like. She'd wanted to bring it up before, to tell Michael how uncomfortable it made her, but she hadn't found the right time…and didn't know if he'd listen. He was protective of her. Stubborn. But was this going too far?
She put her food down and looked at the clock. Should she call him? By tomorrow it might be too late to change his mind…but she was so mentally drained. Debating ethics sounded like an impossible task in her current state of mind.
Better not, she decided, as she tossed the container and decided to work for another hour at most before heading home for the night.
XXXXXXX
Michael walked past the Company headquarters and down the block. The evening was warm, but with the sun setting, that was changing quickly. He wore black pants and a dark purple collared shirt, figuring that this meetingwas still a business transaction and he should look the part. It wasn't just a casual drink between friends, and certainly wasn't a friendly mother-son dinner. Being in his work attire helped get him into the right mindset.
He found the bar on the corner and entered it at 7:58. It was classy and upscale, as expected. The bar in the center of the room was a huge circle, the center of it lined with bottles of everything imaginable, and the blue/purple lights setting off the silver and gray of the bar itself. Despite him being a few minutes early, he wasn't surprised to see her perched at the bar, facing the door. Her gaze rested easily on him as she stirred her clear, fizzy drink with a lime wedge on the edge.
He strolled over, taking his time, and her gaze more directly met his.
"Good evening, Michael. It's good to see you again."
He nodded curtly and took his seat next to her. The bartender, a young man, came over quickly, "What can I get for you, sir?"
"Whatever she's having," he gestured towards Christina, not wanting to waste his time with such a trivial decision.
"Vodka and tonic is your thing now?" she asked with a smirk.
"It is today."
She nodded, dropping the subject and turning to business, "So, why am I here?"
He paused, "It's done."
Eyebrows raised, "You finished Scylla?"
He shrugged, "Pretty much. It'll be done by tomorrow anyways."
She put her hand on top of his, gushing, "Michael, that's wonderful news. I'll contact the buyer and let them know it'll be on its way."
He remained quiet, and she sensed his hesitation, "Unless-?"
"I have concerns."
"Oh?" she retracted her hand, an almost undetectable huff, "and what might those be?"
"What are you going to do with it? I mean, I know you're going to sell it, but-"
"-here you go," the bartender set his drink in front of him.
"Thanks," he wrapped a hand around it and turned back to Christina, "but after you sell it, what will become of The Company? What's next?"
She looked a bit more hopeful, "Are you looking for another job opportunity?"
He stifled a laugh, but couldn't hide an incredulous smile, "Not at all. I'm concerned for the welfare of…everyone. Under Krantz's direction, there have been a lot of people hurt. A lot of people killed, and a lot of people who've felt trapped, like they can never leave The Company. I want to know that if I give this to you, and you hold up your end, that things will change."
He searched her face and noted that she was listening intently. That was something he actually liked about her; when she was talking with you her attention was on you one hundred percent. It was slightly unnerving, but he'd rather have that than have her distracted while he was expressing his deepest concerns.
She considered his words for a while, taking a sip of her drink. Eventually she turned her torso to face him more directly, "You and I both know that in this situation, I can't guarantee you anything. I could talk all day about my plans for running The Company, but none of that will matter if you don't believe me. You trusted me once and I came through for you," her gaze was piercing, "you have no reasonnot to trust that I'll do it again."
He looked down, mumbling, "But I do."
"What's that?" she leaned forward slightly.
He raised his head, more confident, "I do have a reason. A reason not to trust you, and it comes from someone who apparently knows you better than I do, someone who's worked for The Company for a long time."
Eyes narrowed, "Your father?"
He tilted his head back and forth, "Not directly…someone he's known for a long time."
A sly, knowing smile spread onto her face, "Gretchen."
That caught him by surprise.
"She never liked me, that one," shaking her head, "I can't fathom why."
"You know her?" he asked, wanting more clarification.
"She worked with your father on a number of operations. I'd see her around from time to time but never got to know her. Unhinged if you ask me, but Krantz seemed to like her. He knew she was willing to do the dirty work and not ask too many questions."
"Unhinged?" he asked as he sipped his almost forgotten drink.
"Oh, he didn't tell you?" she asked, clearly enjoying herself, "she tried repeatedly to get into the police academy but couldn't pass the psych evaluation. Krantz hired her out of pity," tilting her head, "that and the fact that her instability and lack of emotion actual comes in handy in our line of work."
He needed to talk to Aldo again and confirm what she was saying, but her last phrase reverberated in his mind, so he asked, "Our line of work? Is emotional instability something you look for in your prospective hires too?"
"No," she shook her head, "our line of work is changing the world.How that's accomplished depends solely on who is in charge," growing more animated, "I told you before, The Company bends to the will of its head, and with Krantz in charge it's violent. With me, it won't be. It'll be a reputable organization with the finest minds in the world solving the problems of the world. It'll be different."
He knew he'd need more time to think this through, and to confirm what she was saying about Gretchen was true. But there was one more thing he needed to know, and it was something he needed to hear directly from her.
Slowly, "If we go through with this…I'll be left alone?"
"You'll be free to do as you please. You and Sara, millions of dollars richer and able to live the rest of your lives however you want to."
He took another sip of his drink, and she fiddled with the thin red straw in hers, waiting.
"I'll let you know my decision tomorrow, before the end of the day," he decided out loud.
"I look forward to it."
XXXXXX
The walk back to his apartment felt a lot longer than the walk there which he found strange; normally whenever he went somewhere, whether it was on foot or on the road, the way to somewhere always dragged on and the trip back went by in the blink of an eye. But not this.
He was confused, his mind a jumble of information and he couldn't even know how true any of the information swirling around in it was. He huffed out a breath, trying to take a step back and gain some perspective. The root problem of all of this was his general lack of trust in both of his parents. He had Christina in one ear telling him one thing and Aldo in the other. And Gretchen, someone he'd never met who apparently has a screw loose. Great. Solid intel he had with that bunch.
Both parents had left him, lied to him, betrayed him as a child. Now they were both back and had kept their word so far, helping him and Lincoln…but was this different? Millions of dollars were at stake, global power…those were high stakes. Maybe high enough to have them doing anything to get him on their side. Hell, maybe Aldo still wanted Scylla…but instead of using it as blackmail he could sell it and start a new life.
He had no idea what was true anymore.
He got close to his apartment, but his instincts had him taking a right turn instead to head down to the beach. The walking helped him not spiral too deeply into his own mind, and if there was ever a time he needed to prevent a spiral, it was today.
It was dark now, but the lights from the residences along the shore, along with a bright moonlight kept it lit enough for him to walk alongside the waves. He took off his shoes and felt the cool, wet sand beneath his feet, and he walked.
He'd analyzed this decision from every angle, every puzzle piece that he had, and he'd come up with nothing. No matter what he chose, he was taking a risk. It was simply a question of what he was willing to risk.
He felt the pounding of the waves beneath his feet, heard them coming and going, letting their rhythm lull his thoughts. In a more relaxed state, his mind wandered to Sara and to the life he wanted with her. He could practically feel the ghost of her walking beside him, hand in hand, talking and laughing. That dream felt so far away, yet so painfully close. He could be free tomorrow if that's what he chose.
He remembered that Aldo had sent him Gretchen's number, but he honestly couldn't bring himself to care. Did it matter what she thought? Doing things her way would lead to Krantz and Christina dead, The Company without a leader, and the whole stunt would probably piss off a lot of Company agents. Did he really want that? As far as his safety and Sara's, they'd be right back to where they are now…maybe even worse.
No matter what he thought, his instincts kept leaning him in one direction, towards one decision. It was slight- only a small advantage over the other options, but it was there and it was consistent. A hunch; one he didn't really know why he had, but sometimes those were the best kind. He knew what he had to do.
