Or it might give her closure. I'll ask her, Jack said. If she's willing to see you, I'll arrange it. Thank you. They spent the next hour copying the evidence.
Creating backups, digital files, physical printouts. Everything organized and documented. Jack called Wyatt, filled him in on what had happened. Wyatt listened, asked a few pointed questions, then said he'd contact a federal agent he knew. Someone trustworthy.
Someone who would handle this right. By 10:00 a.m. They had a plan. By noon they'd have the evidence in the right hands. By evening, the story Franklin Morrison died trying to tell would finally be heard. Jack drove to the hospital.
Marcus followed in his Mercedes. They rode the elevator up together. Walked the hallway side by side. At the door to Martha's room, Jack stopped. Let me talk to her first.
Alone. Marcus waited outside. Jack entered. His mother was awake, sitting up slightly, eating lunch from a tray with the grim determination of someone who knew they needed strength to heal. She saw Jack and smiled.
There's my boy. Hi, Mom. He kissed her forehead, sat down. How are you feeling? Like I got pushed by a truck, but the doctor says I'm healing well.
She set down her fork. You look tired. Long night. Long morning. Jack took her hand.
Mom, I need to tell you something. About the locket. About what I found. He told her everything. About the microfilm.
About Marcus Webb being Franklin's son. About the decision to release the evidence. About justice finally coming 50 years late, but still coming. Martha listened without interrupting. When he finished, she was quiet for a long time.
Franklin has a son, she said finally. All these years and we had family we didn't know about. He's here. Outside. He wants to apologize to you for what happened.
You don't have to see him if you don't want to. Martha looked at Jack. Really looked at him. What do you think I should do? Jack thought about his promise.
About not losing himself. About choosing mercy over revenge. I think, he said carefully, that Franklin would want his son to know his family. And I think you'd regret it if you didn't at least meet him. Martha smiled.
You've grown wise, Jack Morrison. I had a good teacher. She squeezed his hand. Bring him in. Jack opened the door, gestured to Marcus.
She'll see you. Marcus entered like a man approaching an altar. Nervous. Reverent. Carrying the weight of what his actions, however unintentionally, had caused.
He stood at the foot of Martha's bed, opened his mouth, closed it, tried again. Mrs. Morrison. I don't have words. What happened to you was my fault. I hired those men.
I told them to take your purse. I thought He stopped. Started over. I'm sorry. I know that's not enough.
I know sorry doesn't fix anything. But I am. I'm truly, deeply sorry. Martha studied him. Jack could see her taking in the details.
The resemblance to Franklin in the shape of his eyes. The set of his jaw. The family visible in the bones. You're Franklin's boy, she said softly. Yes, ma'am.
You look like him. Around the eyes. Marcus's throat worked. I never knew him. My mother, she kept us apart to protect me.
I didn't know who my real father was until 6 months ago. But you know now. Yes, ma'am. Martha was quiet. Then Sit down, Marcus.
You're family. Family doesn't stand at the foot of the bed like a stranger. Marcus sat. Jack could see him trying not to cry. Franklin Morrison, Martha said, was the best man I ever knew besides my Richard.
He was brave. He was kind. He loved your mother more than life itself. I'm learning that. And you're choosing to finish what he started.
To release the evidence. Even though it will hurt your family's name. Yes. Martha reached out, took Marcus's hand. Then you're his son in more than blood.
You're his son in spirit. Marcus broke then, tears running down his face. I'm so sorry for what happened, for everything. I know you are. Martha's voice was gentle.
And I forgive you. Because that's what Franklin would do. That's what family does. Jack watched this moment, this grace, this woman who had every right to be angry, to demand justice, to punish, instead offering forgiveness. This was strength, real strength, the kind that didn't come from fists or fear, but from something deeper.
Something his mother had tried to teach him his whole life. They talked for another hour, Martha telling Marcus about Franklin, about the man his father had been, about the legacy he'd left behind, about how proud Franklin would be to see his son choosing truth over convenience. Marcus, soaking it all in, learning his father through the eyes of family who'd loved him. When visiting hours ended, Marcus stood. Thank you, Mrs. Morrison, for seeing me, for forgiving me, for forgiving me my father back.
You call me Aunt Martha from now on, she said firmly. We're family. And family takes care of each other. Marcus nodded, couldn't speak, just nodded. Jack walked him to the elevator.
They stood in the hallway, two men who'd started the day as enemies and ended it as family. Thank you, Marcus said, for everything, for not for not being what you could have been. Iron Wolf, you mean? Yeah. Jack smiled, tired but genuine.
I made a promise to my mother that I wouldn't lose myself. Turns out keeping that promise was the hardest fight I've ever had. But you kept it. Yeah, I did. The elevator arrived.