Page 76 of Illusionist
“Yeah. Why?”
I choose my words carefully. “I'm working an angle that requires finding a specific type of survivor. Someone with advanced degrees in social work or child psychology. Someone currently running or capable of running a major charitable foundation focused on at-risk youth.”
The line goes quiet for a moment. “That's... weirdly specific. And maybe a bit sensitive.”
“I know. But it's important, Kane. More important than I can explain over the phone.”
Another pause. Then: “Alright. Give me two hours. I'll see what I can pull together.”
“Two hours?” I'm surprised by the speed. Kane’s good, but two hours seems fast even for a master.
“I never stopped working this case, man. Even after everything with Basia's stalker got resolved, I kept digging. The Sanctum of Ash isn't done hurting people, and I'm not done hunting them.”
The conviction in his tone makes me realize I'm not the only one who's been changed by exposure to this case. “Thanks, Ethan. I owe you one.”
“You owe me nothing. I just hope this is for the right reasons.”
I think about the children disappearing from Malachi's programs. “It is.”
“Good enough for me. I'll be in touch.”
The line goes dead, and I lean back in the cheap motel chair, staring at the ceiling. Two hours to kill. Two hours to sit with the magnitude of what I'm doing.
I'm actively helping vigilantes hunt a cult leader. Using federal resources to aid in what amounts to an elaborate revenge plot. Prioritizing personal justice over legal process.
A month ago, this would have been unthinkable. Now? It feels like the most important work I've ever done.
My phone rings sooner than expected. An hour and forty-seven minutes, to be precise.
“That was fast,” I answer.
“I found your unicorn,” Ethan says without preamble. “And she's perfect.”
“She?”
“Dr. Rebecca Morrison. PhD in Child Psychology from Northwestern, MSW from University of Chicago. Currently runs the Morrison Foundation for Child Welfare, based out of Denver. Annual budget of twelve million, serves over three thousand at-risk youth every year.”
I grab my pen, scribbling notes. “Background?”
“Rebecca, no known last name at the time, surfaced in Chicago as a young teen with no real identity. Foster family took her in, helped her get clean documentation.”
I narrow my eyes at the odd word choice. “Clean how?”
Ethan grunts. “The kind of clean that suggests someone with resources wanted her to have a fresh start.”
A survivor who got lucky. Who found protection and used it to build something meaningful. “What else?”
“She's been vocal about systemic failures in child protection. Written articles, given speeches about how institutions fail vulnerable kids. She's also...” He pauses. “She's been very critical of charitable organizations that operate without proper oversight. Specifically organizations that claim to help children but seem to exist primarily to enrich their leadership.”
My pulse quickens. “Sounds like she already knows what to look for.”
“There's more. She's married to David Morrison, investment banker, old money Denver family. No kids of their own, but they've fostered half a dozen teenagers over the years. All kidswho aged out of the system, needed that extra support to transition to adulthood.”
I nod, even though Ethan can’t see me. “She's a protector.”
“Through and through. One more thing. She's also been a vocal supporter of Langford's efforts to investigate the Sanctum of Ash. She was quoted in the Denver Post calling for federal intervention in cases of organized child abuse.”
Perfect. Better than perfect. A survivor who's already publicly committed to the cause, with the credentials and resources to take over Malachi's empire from within.
