What could he say? The evidence was there. Undeniable. A grandfather who'd murdered his own future grandson's father to protect a weapon smuggling operation. Marcus stepped back from the computer, walked to the other side of the garage, put his hands on a workbench and leaned forward, head down, breathing hard.
Jack gave him space. Let him process. Let him grieve for the man he thought his grandfather was. Minutes passed. The only sound was Marcus's breathing and the distant traffic outside.
Finally, Marcus spoke. My mother knew. What? She knew. Maybe not before Franklin died, but after.
She must have found his notes, his investigation. Understood what had happened. Marcus's voice was hollow. That's why she lied about being pregnant. Why she moved away.
Why she raised me under the Webb name, but told me my father was dead. She was protecting me from both sides. From her father's legacy and from the truth about how Franklin died. Jack moved closer. She was protecting you.
By lying to me for 50 years. Marcus turned. His eyes were wet. I built my whole life on a foundation of [ __ ]. Everything I thought I knew about my family was what your mother needed you to believe to keep you safe, Jack finished.
She made a choice. Same choice my father made. Family over truth. And look where that got us. Your mother in a hospital.
My men hurting an innocent woman. 50 years of lies and secrets and Marcus stopped, collected himself. What do we do now? Jack had been thinking about that question since the moment he found his father's letter. He looked at the computer screen.
At the evidence. At the names of men long dead and the crimes they'd committed. We finish what Franklin started, Jack said. We make sure the truth comes out. Even though most of these men are dead, even though prosecution is impossible.
Because their victims deserve to know. Because history deserves to be accurate. Because Jack paused. Because that's what Franklin would have wanted and what my father wished he'd been brave enough to do. Marcus was quiet for a long moment.
Then If we release this, my grandfather's name gets destroyed. Everything the Webb family built was built on blood money and murder? Jack said gently. I'm sorry. I know that's harsh, but it's true.
I know. Marcus wiped his eyes. Christ, I know. I just I thought I was looking for answers. I didn't realize the answers would hurt this much.
Jack understood that. Understood it perfectly. The truth was supposed to set you free, but first it had to break you open. There's something else, Jack said. He scrolled to the end of the document.
Look. Another handwritten note. Franklin's writing. Dated the day before he died. If anything happens to me, Linda is innocent.
Our child is innocent. They deserve protection. They deserve a future. Don't let my investigation destroy them. Richard, if you're reading this, take care of my family.
Please. Marcus read it, then read it again. Tears running freely now. He knew, Marcus whispered. He knew they were going to kill him.
And he was still thinking about my mother. About me. That's who Franklin Morrison was. Marcus turned to Jack. I never knew him.
Never got to meet my own father. But reading this, seeing what he cared about He stopped. Started again. I want to be like him. I want to finish what he started.
The right way. What does that mean? Marcus took a breath. It means we release the evidence. All of it.
We give it to the FBI, to historians, to anyone who can use it to tell the truth about what happened in 1972. We don't hide the names. We don't protect anyone. Not my grandfather. Not anyone.
That's going to come back on you, Jack warned. Your business. Your reputation. People will connect you to the Webb family. They'll ask questions.
Let them ask. I'll tell them the truth. That James Webb was my grandfather. That he was corrupt. That he had my father murdered.
And that I'm doing what Franklin Morrison would have done if he'd lived. Marcus's voice was steady now. Certain. I'm choosing truth over legacy. Jack felt something in his chest loosen.
Relief maybe. Or recognition. Here was another man making the hard choice. The brave choice. The one that cost something.
Okay, Jack said. Then we do it together. We contact the FBI. We turn over the evidence. We make sure Franklin's story gets told right.
Marcus nodded, then extended his hand. Jack looked at it. At this man who was family, but also a stranger. Who had hurt Jack's mother, but was also trying to make it right. Who was choosing the harder path because it was the right one.
Jack took his hand. They shook. Not just in agreement. A bond. Family recognizing family.
There's one more thing, Marcus said. Your mother. I want to apologize to her. In person. I know it won't fix what happened.
But she deserves to hear it from me. Jack considered. His mother was still fragile. Still healing. An apology from the man who'd ordered the robbery might upset her.