EPILOGUE

The sky hung low and dark, a thick blanket of clouds threatening rain as Morgan stood beside Derik at the edge of Thomas Grady's grave. The air was heavy with the scent of impending storms, the mood as somber as the small cluster of FBI agents gathered to pay their respects. It was a meager turnout, a testament to the fact that Thomas, for all his years with the Bureau, had few true friends. There was a detached feeling to the whole affair, as if Thomas's secretive life had followed him even into death.

Morgan pulled her black coat tighter, the wide brim of her hat shielding her face from the cold drizzle that had begun to fall. Her expression betrayed nothing of the tumultuous thoughts churning inside her as she stared at the dark hole in the earth that would soon swallow Thomas's casket. Derik stood silently at her side, ever-present, his green eyes watching her with quiet concern. He could sense the storm raging within her, knew that her reasons for being here went far beyond mourning a fallen colleague.

The reality of Thomas's sudden, violent end was still a raw wound, but it was the unanswered questions surrounding his death, and his life, that gnawed at Morgan most. The photograph of her father with Thomas's mother that Mueller had uncovered replayed in her mind's eye on a maddening loop. What secrets had died with Thomas? What did he know about her father's past, about Cordell's involvement in Mary Price's death all those years ago? The need for answers burned in Morgan's chest, as unrelenting as the tattoos etched into her skin.

The priest's droning eulogy barely registered as Morgan wrestled with the implications of everything she and Thomas had uncovered about Cordell. The corrupt director who had sent her to prison on false charges ten years ago, who had now orchestrated Thomas's murder - how deep did his web of deceit go? Was her own father nothing more than collateral damage in whatever game Cordell had been playing?

A wave of nausea washed over Morgan as another, more terrible thought rose like bile into her throat. If her father and Thomas's mother had been involved somehow, did that make Thomas her...what? Brother? Cousin? The possibilities made her head spin. Derik must have noticed her swaying slightly, because his hand found hers, squeezing gently. She shot him a tight smile of gratitude, the simple contact anchoring her to the present.

There were still so many unknowns, so many shadowy corners of the past yet to be illuminated. But one truth shone clearly through the gloom - whatever secrets had died with Thomas, Cordell knew them too. And he would stop at nothing to ensure they stayed buried. As the first shovelful of dirt thudded hollowly onto the casket, Morgan vowed silently to herself that she would not rest until she had exposed the rot at the Bureau's core. For Thomas. For her father. And for herself.

Morgan's eyes narrowed as she scanned the somber faces around her, searching for any hint of Richard Cordell's presence. The old man was a master of manipulation, always lurking in the shadows, pulling strings from afar. It would be just like him to show up here, to gloat over his victory, even if only from a distance.

Her gaze settled on a figure standing apart from the rest, a man in a dark coat with a hat pulled low over his face. Something about his stance, the way he held himself, sent a chill down her spine. Could it be one of Cordell's men, the very shooter who had ended Thomas's life? The thought made her fists clench at her sides, the urge to confront him almost overwhelming.

But she held herself in check, knowing that this was neither the time nor the place. Causing a scene here would only play into Cordell's hands, giving him more ammunition to use against her. No, she needed to bide her time, to wait for the right moment to strike.

As the eulogies began, Morgan found it hard to focus on the words being spoken. The agents who stepped forward to pay their respects spoke of Thomas's dedication to the job, his tireless work ethic, but their words rang hollow to her ears. Did any of them truly know the man he had been? The secrets he had carried?

She thought back to their last conversation, just days before his death. Thomas had been on edge, hinting at the tangled web of lies and corruption that he had uncovered within the Bureau. He had warned her to be careful, to trust no one, but even he couldn't have imagined just how far Cordell's influence reached.

Morgan's mind raced with questions, each one leading to a dozen more. What had Thomas discovered that had made him a target? What role had her father played in all of this? And what did it mean for her now that she found herself at the center of this deadly game?

As the service drew to a close, Morgan felt a heavy weight settle on her shoulders. She knew that the road ahead would be long and treacherous, that every step would be fraught with danger. But she also knew that she couldn't turn back now, not when the truth was so close at hand.

The rain fell harder as the mourners dispersed, umbrellas popping open like dark flowers against the gray sky. Morgan remained standing at the gravesite, immobile as a statue, her eyes fixed on the freshly turned earth that now cradled Thomas Grady's body.

Derik moved closer, his shoulder brushing against hers. "Morgan," he said softly. "We should go."

She shook her head, droplets of water cascading from the brim of her hat. "Not yet," she murmured. "I need a moment."

Derik nodded, understanding in his eyes. He stepped back, giving her space. “I’ll wait in the car.”

Morgan's thoughts drifted to the photograph Mueller had shown her, the image seared into her mind. Her father, John Christopher, standing next to Mary Price, their postures intimate, familiar. The revelation had shaken her to the core, upending everything she thought she knew about her past.

What secrets had her father been keeping? What had drawn him to Mary Price, and what had transpired between them? The questions swirled in Morgan's mind, a relentless torrent that matched the rain pouring down around her.

Morgan stood at the graveside alone, her mind reeling with the revelation that had struck her like a thunderbolt. The photograph of her father and Mary Price, the questions it raised about their relationship, and now, the sickening possibility that Thomas Grady could have been her half-brother.

The rain fell in sheets, soaking through her coat, but Morgan barely noticed. Her thoughts were consumed by the man lying six feet under, the agent she had clashed with, competed against, and ultimately, reluctantly allied with in their quest for the truth.

Thomas Grady. The thorn in her side, the constant reminder of the corruption that had stolen a decade of her life. And yet, in the end, he had been a victim too, caught in the same web of lies and deceit that had ensnared her father and shattered both their families.

Morgan's stomach churned as memories assailed her. The tense confrontations, the bitter rivalry, the begrudging respect that had grown between them as they navigated the treacherous waters of the FBI's underbelly. And through it all, the nagging sense that there was more to their connection than met the eye.

Now, staring at his grave, Morgan couldn't shake the feeling that she had lost more than just a colleague or a tentative ally. If her suspicions were true, if Thomas had been her brother, then she had lost a piece of herself, a link to the father she had never truly known.

The weight of it all crashed down on her, and Morgan felt her knees buckle. She sank to the ground, the damp earth seeping into her pants as she knelt before the headstone. Her fingers dug into the grass, seeking anchor as the world spun around her.

Tears mingled with the raindrops on her face, hot and stinging against her chilled skin. Morgan let them fall, unleashing the torrent of emotions that had been building inside her since the moment she saw Thomas's body disappear beneath the dark waters.

Grief, anger, confusion, and a hollow sense of loss swirled within her, threatening to drag her under. But beneath it all, a flicker of determination stubbornly refused to be extinguished.

Thomas was gone, but his legacy, their shared purpose, lived on. Morgan knew she couldn't let his death be in vain. She had to keep fighting to unravel the twisted knot of secrets and lies that had bound their fates together.

With a shaky breath, Morgan pushed herself to her feet. She reached out, her fingers tracing the letters of Thomas's name etched in stone.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice raw and thick with emotion. "I'm sorry I couldn't save you. But I swear I won't stop until I find the truth. For both of us."

She stepped back, her gaze lingering on the grave for a moment longer. Then, squaring her shoulders, Morgan turned and walked away, the rain washing over her as she left Thomas Grady to rest in eternal peace.

The sound of approaching footsteps cut through the steady patter of rain, jolting Morgan from her thoughts. Instinctively, her body tensed, ready for anything. She turned, her hand reflexively reaching for the gun concealed beneath her coat.

Through the misty veil of rain, she saw an old man standing nearby, holding an umbrella over his head. He seemed calm, almost serene, as if he were simply paying his respects at the gravesite. But there was something in the way he looked at her, a knowing glint in his eye that set Morgan's nerves on edge.

He took a step closer, and Morgan's grip tightened on her gun. "Can I help you?" she asked, her voice steady despite the unease churning in her gut.

The man smiled, a gesture that seemed almost friendly, but it didn't reach his eyes. "I just wanted to offer my condolences," he said, his voice smooth and even. "Thomas Grady was a good man. A dedicated agent."

Morgan's eyes narrowed. "You knew him?"

"Our paths crossed a few times over the years." The man shrugged, the motion almost too casual. "In our line of work, it's inevitable."

A chill ran down Morgan's spine. "And what line of work would that be, exactly?"

The man chuckled, a low, unsettling sound. "Come now, Special Agent Cross. Let's not play games. We both know the world we operate in. The shadows, the secrets... the sacrifices."

Morgan's heart pounded in her chest. This man, whoever he was, knew too much. About her, about Thomas, about the tangled web of lies and deceit that had brought them to this moment.

"Who are you?" she demanded, her voice low and dangerous.

The man's smile widened, but there was no warmth in it. "Someone who has been watching you for a long time, Morgan.”

Morgan felt as if the ground beneath her feet had suddenly given way. The man took another step closer, his umbrella lifting enough for her to see beneath the veil. At that moment, she realized who he was.

Richard Cordell, in the flesh.