PART 3: The Ghost of the Wilderness
PART 3: The Ghost of the Wilderness
Surviving Alaskan avalanches hides impossible truths.
The warm air of the ballroom felt suddenly suffocating as Harrison struggled to process the impossible mathematics of what was unfolding before him.
“Tell me your name, son,” Harrison whispered, his voice cracking violently as he reached out with shaking fingers to gently brush a matted lock of dark, dirt-caked hair away from the boy’s forehead.
“My... my name is Leo,” the boy whimpered, his small frame shuddering with exhaustion and lingering fear. “Leo Scott. My mom sent me... she said if I found the man wearing the silver star watch, he would help us.”
Harrison’s breath hitched in his throat.
The watch.
The custom Geneva timepiece had a tiny, hand-engraved five-pointed star hidden inside the inner casing—a private symbol forged only for the two men who survived the first leg of that brutal Arctic expedition.
Only Scott knew that star was there.
How could a ten-year-old boy raised in obscurity know about a hidden engraving unless he had seen it on his father’s wrist?
Or worse... unless Scott was still wearing his own.
“Leo,” Harrison said, his tone turning fierce and urgent as he gripped the boy’s shoulders gently, keeping him steady. “Your dad... when did you last see him? Where is he right now?”
The boy sniffled, wiping his nose with the back of his mud-caked sleeve, his lower lip trembling as fresh tears cut clean tracks through the grime on his cheeks.
“He’s... he’s in the old logging camp across the county line,” Leo whispered, his voice dropping into a frightened rasp. “The bad men found us there two days ago. They said we had to move, that the debt wasn't paid. When I tried to run to get help, they chased me through the woods... they hit my mom...”
A collective gasp rippled through the guests standing near the perimeter.
Harrison’s expression shifted from stunned disbelief into a cold, terrifying mask of pure fury.
Debt?
Bad men?
The man who had saved a billionaire’s life at the cost of his own freedom and safety—the man Harrison had mourned as a fallen hero for a decade—wasn't just alive.
He was living in hiding.
Living in fear.
Hunted by thugs in the shadows of the very society Harrison ruled over.
“Security!” Harrison roared, standing up abruptly and pulling the little boy safely into his arms, lifting him against his chest.
The head of estate security, a massive former marine named Vance, sprinted forward instantly.
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“Sir? What are your orders?” Vance asked crisply.
“Clear the ballroom,” Harrison commanded, his voice vibrating with absolute, unyielding rage. “Lock down the perimeter. Mobilize every tactical vehicle in our private fleet. We are riding out tonight.”
