Page 111 of Crossover

He was drawing me in to kill him.

Not me.

“Why didn’t you put your weapon down when I arrived, then?” I asked.

My old mentor sighed, and for a moment, I caught a glimpse of the man who had once guided me.

“You deserved some answers, Grayson,” he said, his voice heavy with resignation.

The words twisted something inside me. This wasn’t nobility—it was manipulation wrapped in false redemption. Daniel knew exactly what he was doing. He understood how unanswered questions would gnaw at me, how they’d keep me awake at night, turning over every detail until I went mad. So he’d orchestrated this final act, choosing to unburden his conscience at gunpoint rather than face justice. And he must’ve feared that, had he put down his weapon earlier, there was a chance I would have turned him over to authorities rather than kill him.

This wasn’t closure—it was his final betrayal disguised as a gift.

“Death is too easy for you,” I said. “You deserve to rot in a prison cell.”

Daniel tensed; this wasn’t going according to his plan.

“Vosch won’t let me live in prison. He’ll kill me.”

But in a much more brutal fashion, I’d imagine.

“Maybe,” I allowed. “But it won’t be me who pulls the trigger. I won’t give you the gift of a swift end.”

“He’ll come after my family.”

“Your family is merely leverage to him, to get you to comply with his demands. If there’s no you, there’s nothing to be gained by killing your family. But you already knew that. That’s why you came here. It wasn’t to apologize or explain away your sins; you see no other way out than to die to protect them.”

Ironic, when you think about it. In an obscene, filthy way. Karma can hit us when we least expect it.

“Do you want to know something?” I continued. “I don’t think you’re trying to die to protect them; I think you’re trying to die so that they’ll never find out what you’ve done.”

Daniel’s jaw ticced.

“So, look at my face closely,” I said. “This look of disgust is all you will get from your family from this point forward.”

With his grimace, I could tell my words delivered a catastrophic blow.

“I’m dead either way.”

Maybe he was even considering firing at me—suicide by shooting and all that. But perhaps our years together did mean something to him, after all, because his gun lowered as his muscles softened into defeat.

“We all have choices to make, Daniel, and now, yours are catching up with you.”

“You think you’re so smart, don’t you? You think you’d have discovered a way to keep Vosch at bay?” Daniel shook his head. “You think you can escape him, outsmart him, take him down. Ivy’s dad tried, as did countless CIA operatives, all of whom failed. I’ve tried for years, and look where it’s gotten me…to this very place—right here, right now.”

I swallowed.

“Mark my words,” he said calmly. “He’ll find out you were his attempted assassin and that Ivy poses a risk to his organization. Vosch will eventually hunt you both, and you’ll never see him coming.”

His warning poisoned the air around us for what felt like an eternity, and as I stared at him, I didn’t see a man playing a game of chess. I saw the man he once was, the father figure, the mentor, teaching me lessons he’d learned the hard way.

Before I had the chance to say anything else, the door slammed open with a thud. Three police officers burst in, their guns drawn and aimed at Daniel. Detective Mitchell followed close behind, his attention locked on the scene before him.

Reflexively, Daniel aimed his gun at them, beads of sweat glistening on his forehead as he stared down the barrels of the officers’ weapons.

“Put the weapon down!” a police officer barked.

I held up my palm to the cops. “Don’t shoot him. That’s exactly what he wants.”

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