Chapter 25 The Son's Choice
# Chapter 25: The Son's Choice
"Lucas Albert found unconscious in his Manhattan apartment. Suspected insulin overdose. Critical condition."
The breaking news alert illuminated my phone at 3:17 AM, jolting me from sleep with its grim echo of past events. Beside me, Elliot stirred, immediately alert when he saw my expression.
"Lucas," I said simply, showing him the screen.
He read quickly, face paling in the blue light. "Just like before. When Father tried to eliminate him."
But Albert Friedrich had been dead for over two years. This was no attempted paternal elimination—this was either a suicide attempt or something more sinister. Given Lucas's position as a confidential informant against remaining network members, both possibilities carried significant implications.
We dressed quickly, moving with the practiced efficiency of people accustomed to crisis response. Within twenty minutes, we were en route to Presbyterian Hospital, the same facility where Lucas had been treated after his father's earlier attempt on his life.
"I've alerted Agent Lam," I told Elliot as our driver navigated the pre-dawn streets. "She's arranging security protocols and will meet us there."
Elliot nodded, his expression troubled. Despite the complex history between him and his older brother, they had established a tentative relationship over the past two years—not quite reconciliation, but a mutual acknowledgment of their shared victimization by Albert Friedrich and a commitment to dismantling his legacy.
"Do you think it was voluntary?" he asked quietly.
"Lucas has been under immense pressure," I acknowledged. "The foundation restructuring, the ongoing investigations, the constant security concerns. But he's also been engaged in the work, committed to making amends. It doesn't fit the profile of someone planning suicide."
The hospital's VIP entrance was already secured when we arrived—FBI agents positioned discreetly, medical staff with enhanced clearances managing Lucas's care. Agent Lam met us in a private consultation room, her expression grave.
"He's stabilized but remains unconscious," she reported without preamble. "Initial toxicology confirms insulin overdose, nearly identical to the previous incident orchestrated by his father."
"Security footage?" I asked immediately.
"Being analyzed now. Preliminary review shows no unauthorized entry to his apartment building, but there's a gap in the hallway camera coverage—three minutes, potentially deliberate interference."
Elliot paced the small room, processing the implications. "Who knew he was informing for the FBI?"
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"A limited circle," Lam replied. "My direct team, the US Attorney assigned to the case, and two federal judges who approved his cooperation agreement."
"One of whom is Justice Brenner," I noted grimly, recalling our confrontation at Albert's funeral three weeks earlier. "Who warned me explicitly that the network was evolving in response to our actions."
Lam's expression tightened. "Brenner's involvement in Lucas's cooperation was administrative only. He shouldn't have known operational details."
"Shouldn't have," Elliot repeated with bitter emphasis. "But the network's judicial penetration has always been its most effective protection. If Brenner identified Lucas as an informant..."
The implication hung heavily in the room. Justice William Brenner—Federal Appeals Court judge, respected legal scholar, and potential network member—had both the motive and the connections to arrange an attack on Lucas Albert.
"We need access to Lucas's files," I decided. "Whatever he was working on most recently could identify who felt threatened enough to take this risk."
Lam hesitated, weighing procedural concerns against practical necessities. "I can grant you limited access to his recent communications with our team. But this remains an active FBI investigation—your involvement needs to stay advisory."
We accepted these terms, understanding the delicate balance Lam maintained between official protocols and practical cooperation with our alliance. While she could never officially endorse our independent activities, she had developed a working relationship that maximized our combined effectiveness against the network.
In Lucas's hospital room, security was evident in every detail—guards at the door, restricted access to medical staff, continuous monitoring of all entry points. Lucas himself appeared diminished against the white sheets, medical equipment tracking his vital signs with steady electronic precision.
Elliot approached his brother's bedside with visible hesitation. Despite their evolving relationship, physical proximity still triggered complex emotions—memories of past cruelty colliding with more recent cooperation.
"We'll find who did this," he said quietly, more promise than reassurance since Lucas remained unconscious.
A doctor entered—Dr. Helen Park, according to her identification, with the additional security clearance marker indicating FBI approval. "His condition is stabilizing," she reported after checking monitors. "The insulin was fast-acting but we were able to counter it before permanent damage occurred. We're maintaining induced sedation while his system clears the remaining toxins."
"When do you expect him to regain consciousness?" I asked.
"We'll begin reducing sedation tomorrow morning. Assuming no complications, he should be conscious but groggy by afternoon." She hesitated, then added, "This was extremely close. Without his housekeeping staff finding him during an unscheduled visit, he wouldn't have survived."
The "unscheduled visit" detail caught my attention immediately. "Who arranged for housekeeping to come at that unusual time?"
Dr. Park checked her notes. "The request came through his building's management system at 2:13 AM—logged as an emergency cleaning for a water leak."
Elliot and I exchanged glances, recognizing the significance. Someone had ensured Lucas would be found—not soon enough to prevent the overdose entirely, but before it proved fatal.
"They wanted him incapacitated but alive," I concluded when Dr. Park had left. "This wasn't an assassination attempt; it was a warning or a containment strategy."
"Or both," Elliot suggested. "Remove him temporarily from whatever he was investigating while sending a message to others who might cooperate with authorities."
Lam provided access to Lucas's recent communications with the FBI—heavily redacted but sufficient to identify his focus areas. In the weeks since Albert's funeral, he had been systematically reviewing foundation records, identifying transactions that connected legitimate charitable activities to network operations.
"Here," Elliot noted, pointing to an exchange from three days earlier. "Lucas flagged unusual payments to a medical research facility in Switzerland—significant funds for 'youth regenerative studies' with no corresponding scientific publications."
I recognized the pattern immediately. "Cover for trafficking. Medical research provides perfect justification for transporting young people across borders, housing them in secured facilities, and limiting outside contact."
"Lucas requested financial records for the facility yesterday morning," Lam confirmed. "The subpoena was approved by Judge Carson—not Brenner, interestingly—and served on their US banking representatives yesterday afternoon."
The timeline aligned perfectly—Lucas identifying a significant network operation, initiating official investigation, then being neutralized before he could pursue it further. Not killed, which would attract intensive scrutiny, but removed from active participation long enough for the network to cover its tracks or relocate its operations.
"We need to move on that facility immediately," I urged. "Before they can relocate victims or destroy evidence."
Lam shook her head. "International jurisdiction complications. The Swiss authorities require substantive evidence before approving a raid on a medical facility, especially one with powerful political connections. Lucas's financial discovery alone isn't sufficient."
"Then we provide additional evidence," I said simply.
She studied me with knowing resignation. "I don't want details of how you obtain it. Just make sure it's legally admissible when it reaches me."
This arrangement had become our standard operating procedure—the alliance gathering evidence through methods unavailable to official channels, then providing it through carefully constructed legal pathways that protected both its admissibility and our sources.
While Lam arranged continuous security for Lucas, Elliot and I returned to our apartment to coordinate with alliance members. Catherine immediately began financial analysis of the Swiss facility, while Eleanor activated her diplomatic contacts to gather intelligence on its operations and security.
"The Institut für Regenerative Jugendmedizin," Eleanor reported during our secure video conference. "Established five years ago with funding from a consortium of 'anonymous philanthropists.' Ostensibly researching age-related cellular regeneration, but with peculiar security protocols for a medical research facility."
Catherine added her findings: "Their financial structure is sophisticated—multiple shell companies, cross-jurisdictional protections, diplomatic immunity extensions through partnership with a UN-adjacent health organization. Classic network architecture."
"We need someone inside," I decided. "Visual confirmation of trafficking activities to supplement Lucas's financial evidence."
"I have a contact at Interpol who might help," Eleanor suggested. "Former alliance member now working trafficking cases officially. She could request access under the guise of a routine inspection."
"Too slow," Elliot countered. "If they attacked Lucas, they know their operation is compromised. They'll be moving quickly to eliminate evidence or relocate victims."
He was right. Official channels, even expedited ones, would take days at minimum. By then, any victims housed at the facility would likely be gone, documentation destroyed, operations relocated to another protected site.
"I'll go," I said simply. "Medical facilities always need consulting specialists. With the right credentials and backstory, I can gain access within 24 hours."
Elliot's expression hardened. "Not alone."
"The alliance has resources in Switzerland," Catherine reminded us. "Local support, secure communications, extraction protocols if needed."
After further discussion, we developed an infiltration plan—I would pose as Dr. Mei Chen, cellular regeneration specialist from Singapore, responding to a consultation request we would fabricate through the facility's electronic scheduling system. Eleanor's diplomatic contacts would provide the necessary documentation and background verification to withstand cursory examination.
"This is higher risk than our usual operations," Catherine cautioned. "The network is clearly in defensive mode after the funeral interventions. Security will be enhanced, scrutiny increased."
"Which is precisely why we need to move quickly," I countered. "While they're still adjusting to their new vulnerability, before they can fully adapt their protective measures."
Within hours, my transformation into Dr. Mei Chen was underway—appropriate credentials created, professional history established through strategic database insertions, even scholarly articles attributed to my fictional research career. The alliance's technological capabilities had evolved significantly since our early days, allowing us to create cover identities that could withstand substantial verification.
Elliot would remain in New York, coordinating with Lam regarding Lucas's security while maintaining our secure communications hub. Though he objected initially to our separation, he recognized the tactical necessity—his face was too recognizable from recent media coverage of the Albert Foundation restructuring.
"Forty-eight hours," he insisted as we prepared for my departure. "If you haven't confirmed trafficking evidence by then, withdraw and we'll pursue alternative approaches."
I agreed to the timeline, understanding his concern was both tactical and personal. Our partnership had evolved beyond professional collaboration or even romantic connection into something more fundamental—a shared purpose that made separation increasingly difficult, particularly when danger was involved.
Eighteen hours later, "Dr. Mei Chen" arrived at Zürich International Airport, where she was met by a representative from the Institut für Regenerative Jugendmedizin. The facility itself was located in a remote Alpine valley, accessible only by helicopter or a single secured road—isolation justified by claims of "research sensitivity" but perfectly aligned with trafficking operational security.
The institute's physical structure impressed even my experienced eye—modern architecture seamlessly integrated into the mountain landscape, appearing both prestigious and impenetrable. Security measures were comprehensive but carefully disguised as medical protocols—biometric access controls presented as contamination prevention, surveillance systems as patient monitoring, armed personnel as safety officers.
"We're honored by your interest in our research, Dr. Chen," the medical director greeted me in the facility's opulent reception area. "Your work on telomere stabilization in adolescent stem cells has been groundbreaking."
I offered appropriately modest acknowledgment of my fictional achievements while cataloging operational details—staff movements, security patterns, communication protocols. My recording contacts, now advanced beyond the versions I'd used in the Albert household, captured everything while transmitting encrypted data to Elliot's secure server.
"I'm particularly interested in your subject selection methodology," I commented as the director led me through immaculate research areas. "Genetic predisposition factors are crucial to my current research focus."
"Of course," he replied smoothly. "We maintain a specialized subject cohort with carefully controlled genetic profiles. Perhaps you'd like to review our selection criteria?"
This was the opening I needed—access to documentation that would reveal the true nature of their "subject cohort." Over the next several hours, I maintained my cover as the curious specialist while gathering evidence of what was clearly a sophisticated trafficking operation disguised as medical research.
The "subjects" were young women and girls, primarily from Eastern European and Southeast Asian countries, housed in what were essentially luxurious prison cells described as "controlled environmental chambers." Their presence was justified through elaborately falsified consent documentation and research protocols that would never pass legitimate ethical review.
Most damning was what I discovered in the restricted database I accessed during a momentary distraction of my escort—direct financial connections to Justice Brenner, who appeared as both a "research funding advisor" and recipient of "cellular treatment protocols" at the facility.
By evening, I had gathered sufficient evidence to justify official intervention—visual confirmation of trafficking victims, financial documentation of criminal operations, and direct connections to network members including Brenner. I transmitted everything to Elliot through our secure channel, who would relay it appropriately to Agent Lam.
As I prepared to extract, however, a facility-wide security alert activated—not directed at me specifically, but indicating some external threat had been detected. Staff moved with practiced efficiency into what appeared to be a predetermined protocol, securing areas and initiating what I recognized as evidence destruction procedures.
"Dr. Chen," the medical director approached me with professional calm belied by the tension in his posture, "I apologize for the interruption. We're experiencing a minor security concern that requires temporary lockdown procedures. You'll be escorted to guest quarters until we resolve the situation."
The "guest quarters" were clearly designed for containment rather than comfort despite their luxurious appearance—communications blocked, exits secured, surveillance comprehensive. They had not identified me as a threat yet, but standard protocol during security events apparently included isolating all visitors.
Through a carefully concealed communication device disguised as a medical implant, I contacted Elliot. "Facility lockdown initiated. Unknown trigger. Evidence secured but extraction complicated."
"Lucas regained consciousness an hour ago," he replied, his voice tight with concern. "He immediately warned about a mole in Lam's team who might have compromised your operation. We're working on identifying the leak and coordinating extraction options."
The situation had evolved from intelligence gathering to potential survival scenario. If the facility security identified me as an infiltrator rather than legitimate visitor, their response would likely be permanent and untraceable—another "research subject" added to their collection, or perhaps a medical "accident" during the lockdown.
"Alliance assets in position?" I asked, already calculating potential exit strategies.
"Two teams. Mountain approach and air extraction both viable. Awaiting your signal and location confirmation."
I studied my luxurious prison, identifying both its security measures and potential vulnerabilities. "Proceed with mountain team. East wing, third floor, room 317. Window access possible but alarmed. Timing needs to coordinate with shift change observed at approximately 23:00 hours."
As night fell over the Alpine facility, I maintained my cover as the concerned but cooperative specialist, even attending a "security briefing" where the medical director assured all visitors that the situation was merely a technological glitch in their perimeter systems. His practiced reassurance did nothing to alleviate my certainty that something significant had triggered their protocols—likely connected to Lucas's recovery and whatever he had revealed upon regaining consciousness.
At precisely 22:57, facility lights flickered momentarily—the alliance team initiating their approach by temporarily disrupting power systems. Three minutes later, as security personnel conducted their shift handover, a precisely calculated alpine climbing team reached my window, disabling its alarm through technologies developed specifically for such operations.
My extraction proceeded with professional efficiency—rappelling equipment deployed, secured descent established, transfer to waiting ground transport executed without detection. The alliance's operational capabilities had evolved dramatically since our early days of evidence gathering, now rivaling professional military teams in their precision and effectiveness.
By dawn, I was on a secure flight back to New York, my gathered evidence already being processed by both alliance analysts and Agent Lam's trusted team members. The Swiss authorities, presented with comprehensive documentation of trafficking activities, had initiated their own investigation of the institute, though I harbored no illusions about the network's ability to obscure evidence before official action could be taken.
Lucas Albert was awake and under enhanced security when I returned to Presbyterian Hospital. Despite his weakened condition, his mind remained sharp, his determination to continue dismantling his father's legacy undiminished by the attempt on his life.
"They're escalating because they're desperate," he told us from his hospital bed, voice hoarse but resolute. "The funeral operation damaged their financial infrastructure more severely than anticipated. The Swiss facility was one of their few remaining revenue-generating operations."
"And Brenner's direct involvement confirms what we suspected," I added. "The judicial protection extends to the highest levels, including direct participation in trafficking operations rather than merely legal interference."
Agent Lam had identified the likely source of the information leak—a technical analyst on her team whose financial records showed unexplained deposits coinciding with key operational decisions. The analyst was now in custody, providing valuable information about network communications protocols in exchange for consideration during sentencing.
"What happens with the Swiss facility?" Elliot asked.
"Officially, it's under investigation by Swiss authorities," Lam explained. "Practically, most evidence will be destroyed before they complete their warrant process. But your documentation provides sufficient basis for financial freezes and travel restrictions on key personnel, which will disrupt operations regardless."
Lucas shifted uncomfortably in his bed, wincing slightly from the lingering effects of the insulin overdose. "They'll reestablish elsewhere. Different location, different medical justification, same operational model. It's too profitable to abandon."
"Then we'll find the new location," I said simply. "And the next one after that. Until the cost of constant disruption exceeds the profit from exploitation."
Lucas studied me with an expression I couldn't quite interpret—something between admiration and concern. "You know this doesn't end, right? Even with my father gone, even with the foundation redirected, even with major figures arrested or exposed. The demand driving these operations doesn't disappear."
"We're not seeking an ending anymore," Elliot replied, meeting his brother's gaze steadily. "Just continuous improvement. Each intervention protecting specific victims while making the overall system more visible, more vulnerable, more costly to maintain."
Lucas nodded slowly, accepting this philosophy of incremental justice. "Then I have a decision to make." He glanced at Agent Lam. "The FBI has offered witness protection—new identity, relocated internationally, complete extraction from current life."
"You'd be safer," Lam acknowledged. "After this attack, we can't guarantee your security if you remain publicly connected to the Albert name and ongoing investigations."
Lucas looked between Elliot and me, his expression resolute despite his physical weakness. "I'm declining protection. I'll continue as a public figure, continuing to dismantle what our father built. The network wants me silent and hidden—which is precisely why I need to remain visible and vocal."
The choice reflected how profoundly Lucas had transformed from the entitled, cruel young man who had participated in my assault years earlier. He had found purpose in accountability, in using his privilege and position to undermine the systems that had enabled his family's crimes.
"It's dangerous," Elliot warned, though his expression conveyed understanding rather than discouragement. "They'll try again, likely with different methods."
"I know," Lucas replied simply. "But disappearing feels too much like surrender. Like everything they did—everything I did—just continues without consequence."
I recognized the sentiment—the same driving force that had transformed my personal vendetta into a commitment to systemic change. Not martyrdom, but purposeful risk in service of meaningful justice.
"We'll coordinate security," I offered. "The alliance has resources that can supplement official protection without limiting your public work."
As we left Lucas to rest, Elliot and I discussed the implications of his decision and the broader patterns emerging in our ongoing conflict with network remnants. The attack on Lucas, the Swiss facility's operations, Brenner's direct involvement—all indicated adaptation rather than dissolution, evolution rather than extinction.
"They're consolidating," I observed as we reviewed the evidence I'd gathered. "Fewer operations but more protected, more integrated into seemingly legitimate systems. Medical research provides particularly effective cover—humanitarian justification, privacy protocols, international protections."
Elliot nodded thoughtfully. "Which means our approach needs to evolve as well. Direct confrontation worked against Albert's more obvious criminal enterprises, but these embedded operations require different strategies."
This recognition would shape our next phase of alliance operations—less focused on exposing individual criminals, more on transforming the systems they exploited. Medical ethics reforms, financial transparency requirements, judicial oversight mechanisms—structural changes that would make exploitation more difficult regardless of who attempted it.
Lucas Albert's choice to remain visible despite the danger represented a crucial component of this approach—the power of public accountability, of refusing to be silenced or hidden even when personal safety might recommend retreat.
As we prepared our documentation for Swiss authorities and Agent Lam's team, I reflected on how profoundly the mission had evolved since my days planning revenge against Albert Friedrich. What had begun as a personal quest for justice had transformed into a multigenerational struggle against exploitation itself—not merely punishing individual perpetrators but reimagining the systems that enabled them.
The attempt on Lucas's life, like all network countermeasures, had ultimately strengthened rather than weakened our resolve. Each adaptation on their part prompted corresponding evolution on ours—a continuous cycle of action and response that was gradually, incrementally shifting the balance of power away from exploitation toward accountability.
Not an ending, as Lucas had noted, but a process—one measured not in dramatic victories but in lives protected, systems reformed, and choices like his to continue the work despite personal risk.
