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Chapter 54 (The Mortal Multiverse : Liam Raven Harper)
🕑 Added 2025-10-02 11:32:05 +0000 UTCChapter 54 - Liam vs Marcus Hale Part-2
3rd Person PoV
The morning air was crisp, carrying the low hum of Manhattan traffic as Liam pulled into the open parking lot of the Criminal Courthouse.
He cut the engine of his bike, swung a leg over, and slid the helmet off.
His eyes narrowed slightly as he spotted two familiar figures near the courthouse entrance.
Detective Cross stood with his usual composed stance, arms crossed, scanning the area like a hawk.
Next to him, Ruiz shifted from one foot to the other, glancing at his phone, clearly less patient.
The moment Liam approached, Cross’s sharp gaze locked with his, and a silent acknowledgment passed between them.
Liam gave a subtle nod, and Cross returned it.
“Coffee?” Liam asked while looking at the cafe nearby
Ruiz broke the silence first, smirking.
“Wait—did we just drop everything we were doing to grab a cup of coffee with the DA?”
Cross shot him a warning look, the kind that carried the weight of years of experience.
“Shut it, Ruiz. He didn’t bring us here for coffee.”
Liam didn’t say a word, but the flicker in his expression confirmed it.
He tilted his head toward the street, and without another question, the three of them walked side by side until they reached a small, discreet café tucked into the corner of the block.
Inside, the air was warm, thick with the scent of roasted beans.
A waitress appeared almost immediately and took the order.
She set down three steaming cups of coffee before quietly retreating.
Cross and Ruiz slid into one side of the booth.
Liam sat across from them, his posture composed but his eyes sharper than usual.
He reached into his bag, pulled out a folder, and placed it flat on the table.
The name Marcus Hale was written across the tab in bold black ink.
Cross raised an eyebrow, and Ruiz frowned in confusion.
They exchanged a quick glance before flipping the folder open.
Inside were documents they already knew too well—Marcus Hale’s past gambling debts, his celebrity clientele, his frequent nights at the Velvet Rose.
Photos of him exchanging packages, copies of financial records, and evidence tying him to cocaine distribution which Liam showed in court was neatly stacked.
Liam had built a clear, damning picture.
Ruiz leaned back, exhaling.
“Yeah, we’ve seen this before. Hale’s past was a mess, no doubt. But he’s already finished, right? Stone’s already offering you a deal sweeter than anything you’d get from trial.”
Cross didn’t speak right away. He kept reading, eyes sharp, expression unreadable.
Finally, he looked up, studying Liam across the table.
Liam sat there silently, taking a slow sip of his coffee, letting the question hang between them.
He didn’t rush, didn’t explain. He just watched, waiting for them to realize.
Cross’s eyes narrowed slightly, and Ruiz leaned forward, his earlier playfulness fading into curiosity.
The weight in the air shifted.
They both knew—if Liam Harper, the miracle prosecutor had dragged them out here, there must be something wrong and they weren’t looking at it.
Then, without a word, Liam reached into his bag again.
Another file landed on the table with a muted thud.
This one was slimmer, but the name scrawled across its tab made both detectives pause.
Francesco Dorian.
Cross and Ruiz exchanged glances before opening it.
Inside were glossy photographs of Dorian, the slick owner of the Velvet Rose.
Images of him standing beside Hale, drinks in hand, women draped over their shoulders, laughter frozen in still frames.
Alongside the pictures were pages detailing Dorian’s ownership of the club, his connections in nightlife, and a few financial notations that hinted at money moving in places it shouldn’t.
Ruiz frowned, flipping through the pages.
“Francesco Dorian, huh? Yeah, we know him. Club guy, always clean enough on paper not to get nailed. But…” He looked up, squinting. “How’s this supposed to tie into Hale’s mess?”
Cross closed the file slowly, his expression unreadable but his eyes sharp, fixed on Liam.
“You’ve got our attention,” he said, his voice low.
“But what’s the connection? Why drag Dorian into a case about Marcus Hale?”
Liam spoke. “You’ll see soon enough.”
The weight in his tone made Ruiz shift uncomfortably, while Cross only leaned in further, studying him like a man piecing together a puzzle.
Liam’s hand moved again, calm and deliberate, pulling out a third folder.
He placed it on the table with a precision that made both detectives instinctively lean closer.
The name on the tab froze them both for a second.
Victor Marino.
Cross’s jaw tightened, while Ruiz raised his brows in disbelief.
“Seriously?” Ruiz muttered, half to himself. “You’re bringing him into this?”
They both knew who Marino was.
Everyone in their circle did. A loan shark with deep roots in the underground, his name floated through countless files, always attached to violence, broken kneecaps, missing debtors.
Yet, despite all that, he had never been nailed—not once. Every time an investigation crept close, some poor bastard stepped up to take the fall.
Cross glanced at Liam, the memory still fresh. Just days ago, Liam asked him to find Marino’s enforcer and Cross had given him the name.
Now here it was, tied neatly inside a file Liam had dropped in front of them.
They opened it.
Photos spilled across the pages—Victor Marino with Marcus Hale, both seated in the dim backroom of Velvet Rose.
Another image showed Francesco Dorian leaning in close during a conversation with Marino, all three together like a tightly-knit group.
Attached notes detailed Hale’s financial records: money borrowed from Marino, debts piling up, late payments.
Ruiz flipped a page, his brow furrowed.
“So what if Hale borrowed money from Marino?” he asked, his tone skeptical. “Guy lends cash to half the city, then breaks bones to collect. That’s his business model. Doesn’t mean Hale’s case ties to him any deeper.”
Cross didn’t say it out loud, but the same question flickered in his sharp eyes.
He closed the folder carefully, resting his hand on it as though weighing its significance.
Then he leaned forward, his gaze fixed on Liam and asked “What’s next?”
Liam didn’t answer right away.
Instead, he lifted his coffee cup and took a measured sip, letting the silence stretch just enough to sharpen their curiosity.
Then, slowly, deliberately, a faint smile curved his lips.
That smile was enough to tell them—whatever came next wasn’t small.
Without a word, Liam reached back into his bag and slid three more files across the table, stacking them neatly in front of Cross and Ruiz.
The names on the tabs were written in bold, clean strokes:
Carlos Vega. Adrian Kane. Dr. Leonard Strauss.
The detectives exchanged a quick glance, then started with the first.
Carlos Vega.
They skimmed through the photos and notes quickly, but what they read was enough to stiffen both men.
Vega wasn’t on the radar yet he was a big supplier.
His name was never heard of but Liam’s file told a different story.
It painted Vega as a newly expanded, fast-rising drug supplier in New York and now that they thought about it, the surge in small-time cocaine and weed busts they’d been handling recently… it suddenly fit.
Drugs flooding the city, arrests of nobodies, but never a lead on who was pulling the strings.
“Damn,” Ruiz muttered under his breath, tapping a page. “No one knew such a guy existed.”
Cross said nothing, but his expression hardened.
He kept reading until he reached a paragraph that made him pause. The line about Vega’s “distant cousin.”
Adrian Kane.
They closed Vega’s file and picked up the one marked Kane.
Inside were glossy photos of a clean-cut executive, sharp suit, polished smile.
Kane was the CEO of NutraGenix, a supplement company marketed around healthy lifestyle.
Pages of corporate reports, magazine covers, and public statements were clipped in. To anyone else, Kane looked like a businessman and not a criminal.
Ruiz let out a skeptical laugh. “So, a drug dealer’s cousin studied properly and is currently running a vitamin company? That’s… something new, I guess.”
They put Kane’s file aside and opened the last.
Dr. Leonard Strauss.
This one was thinner but dense in technical detail.
A leading specialist in protein absorption and known in certain scientific circles, but not someone who ever touched the streets.
Currently employed by Oscorp, heading a small but advanced research unit.
The file included his resume, publications, and photos of him.
Cross and Ruiz closed the final folder slowly. They both looked at Liam, confusion plain on their faces.
They’d followed him through Hale, Dorian, and Marino. That all made little sense—a web of crime, debt, and drugs.
Even the Drug supplier could be linked but now? a corporate CEO and a scientist in a lab coat.
The picture was still missing.
Finally, Ruiz leaned back in his chair, exhaling as he rubbed his temple.
“Okay… we’ll bite. Hale, Marino, Dorian—I get. And even Carlos Vega will fit the picture as they’re scum. But these two?”
He gestured at the files. “How the hell do they connect to Hale? What’s the actual play here?”
Cross didn’t speak, but his eyes never left Liam.
He wanted the same answer.
Liam didn’t answer yet. He just sat back in his chair, the faintest glimmer of confidence in his expression, as though every move had already been calculated.
Liam leaned forward at last, sliding the thickest file across the table.
His bag was empty now. This was the one he had been saving.
The cover carried no name, just a plain black tab.
Cross reached for it without hesitation, while Ruiz instinctively pushed the other files back toward Liam, clearing space on the table as though they already knew this one mattered more.
The tension between the three men was heavy as Cross opened the file.
The first page was familiar: Marcus Hale’s arrest report.
His and Ruiz’s own signatures stamped on it. Evidence lists. The cocaine and the bag of lactose powder confiscated from Hale’s car.
At first, Ruiz frowned. “We already know this—”
“Keep reading,” Liam cut him off, calm but firm.
The next page shifted.
Both men saw Carlos Vega’s face staring back at them, side-by-side with the cocaine evidence log.
Lines and notes tied Vega directly to the supply chain Hale was caught with.
That made sense. That was clear.
But then came the lactose powder.
Cross’s brows narrowed.
Vega’s name was attached there too. Not only cocaine, but of the strange protein powder, passed through to Hale’s.
Ruiz blinked, scratching his chin. “Coke, fine. That’s expected. But… protein powder? What the hell does that matter?”
Cross didn’t answer.
His eyes flicked up at Liam for just a second, then back to the file.
The next part struck harder.
Photos.
Hale, shaking hands with Victor Marino and Notes about debts.
Then another shot of Hale standing beside Marino and Francesco Dorian, owner of Velvet Rose.
Hale, grinning like he belonged there, even though the fear in his body language told another story.
Cross exhaled slowly. “So Dorian introduces Hale to Marino… Hale borrows money he can’t pay back…”
“And in return, he sells them a business pitch to save his life” Liam finished for him, though he didn’t touch the file. His eyes stayed on them, watching.
Cross turned the page and Ruiz leaned in closer.
Now, new photos.
Hale again—but this time seated in a private VIP room.
The men around him: Marino, Dorian, Carlos Vega, and a sharply dressed Adrian Kane. .
Ruiz’s jaw dropped slightly. “Wait—this is…”
Cross didn’t speak. His face tightened.
Underneath the photos, typed notes explained: Hale gave up a business idea. A partnership with a unique protein powder that is under development, it pushed humans and animals performance past their limits.
They use those wins to bet big, control outcomes, and make millions.
Ruiz shook his head slowly, muttering, “Jesus Christ…”
Cross turned another page.
The photographs hit harder now. A boxer, his performance climbing impossibly fast—until his obituary photo followed.
Next, a nineteen-year-old runner, hailed as a prodigy—before a hospital death certificate closed his page.
Then, charts of hound races, horses, all spiking beyond natural capacity—before the photos of collapsed bodies, dead on tracks or in stables.
By the time they reached the section on the athletes still alive, both men were silent.
The pages listed six hospitalized, all with different conditions.
Fourteen still competing, their names highlighted, unaware that their bodies were ticking time bombs.
Then more: twelve horses, nineteen hounds—all juiced by the powder, still being run into the ground.
The deeper they read, the colder their bodies became.
Ruiz leaned back, his usually playful eyes wide with dawning horror.
His lips parted but no words came out.
Cross’s hands, steady a moment ago, tightened on the file. His face shifted through the stages in silence—confusion, to focus, to mounting anger.
His jaw clenched as he turned another page. By the time he reached the last, his expression was grim, a chill dawning in his bones.
He looked up finally, locking eyes with Liam.
“This… this is bigger than Hale,” Cross said, his voice low and edged. “These goddamn animals!”
Ruiz swallowed, leaning forward, his voice quieter but trembling with realization. “And they’re killing people for it. Athletes, kids, animals… all for money.”
The air between them was heavy now, the weight of what they’d just seen pressing down.
Liam only nodded once, calm as ever.
The look in his eyes told them they finally see the whole picture.
The End
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