Chapter 208: 208 Brotherhood and Boundaries

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208: Brotherhood and Boundaries 208: Brotherhood and Boundaries Thomas Henderson had never imagined his investment banking skills would be used to trace supernatural trafficking networks, but life had become surreal since his daughter manifested witch abilities.

He sat in his own dining room, which had become an impromptu command center, surrounded by three laptops, two tablets, and enough coffee cups to constitute a health hazard.

Beside him, Duncan Classens worked on his own laptop, though Mishka’s brother kept checking his watch with increasing frequency—his design firm in Paris expected him back by week’s end, and the supernatural crisis was eating into his already extended emergency visit.

“I have to leave tomorrow morning,” Duncan said apologetically, highlighting another suspicious transaction.

“My team has the spring collection presentation, and I’ve already pushed the deadline twice.

But Thomas, you need to see this shell company before I go.”

Thomas leaned over to study Duncan’s screen.

“Registered in the Cayman Islands, but the beneficial owner traces back to a trust established in 1847.

How is that possible?

Trusts don’t run for almost two hundred years.”

“They do if they’re supernatural trusts,” Duncan replied, his designer’s eye for detail having proven surprisingly useful in following money trails.

“I’ve been researching while Mishka recovers from…

everything.

The Collector isn’t just a person—it’s a legacy.

A family business passed down for nearly two centuries.”

Outside, they could hear the organized chaos of Eldergrove preparing for the evening’s gala—a celebration that felt increasingly like a funeral being planned by the deceased.

Duncan turned his laptop so Thomas could see the genealogy he’d constructed during sleepless nights of research.

“The first Collector was Edmund Thorne, British naturalist, 1823.

He encountered a shapeshifter in Scotland and became obsessed.

Each heir has added to the archives, refined the methods.

But Thomas—” he paused, checking his watch again, “—I think you should take lead on this investigation.

You have the financial expertise, and I need to get back to Paris.

“You’re leaving?” Thomas asked, surprised.

“In the middle of this?”

“I have to,” Duncan said with obvious frustration.

“My firm’s been incredibly patient, but I’ve already extended my emergency leave twice.

After Jean attacked Mishka in Paris—hit her over the head with a vase because of her obsession with Bruce—I dropped everything to find her, brought her back to Toronto, made sure she was safe.

But I can’t stay indefinitely.

I have obligations, a career—” He stopped, guilt clear on his face.

“God, that sounds awful when people might die tonight.”

“It sounds human,” Thomas corrected.

“And practical.

You’ve done what you could.

But show me what you’ve found before you go.”

Duncan pulled up a series of documents with the organized precision of someone trained in design aesthetics.

“The current heir is Sebastian Thorne, sixty-three, based in London.

But the money trail splits about fifteen years ago.

Someone else took over the actual operations while Sebastian manages the public-facing investments.”

Thomas studied the financial flows with his banker’s expertise.

“These transactions are too sophisticated for one person.

You’d need specialists in multiple fields.

This isn’t a lone operation—it’s an organization.”

“Exactly what I thought,” Duncan confirmed.

“I hacked some personnel records—don’t tell Mishka how—and they employ dozens of specialists.

Acoustic engineers, behavioral psychologists, pharmaceutical developers.

This is a research operation with government funding.”

He pulled up the most damning evidence—defense contracts, homeland security grants, immigration enforcement agreements.

“They’re getting paid by governments to develop supernatural control technology.

If officials are involved at that level, stopping Friday’s attack won’t end this.

The infrastructure remains.”

The door opened and Mishka entered with Director Chen and Mrs.

Callahan.

Duncan immediately stood, pulling his sister into a hug.

“I hate that I have to leave tomorrow,” he said quietly.

“But my team in Paris—”

“I know,” Mishka interrupted.

“You’ve already done so much, Duncan.

You found me after Jean’s attack, got me to safety, stayed to make sure I was okay.

You can’t put your entire life on hold for my supernatural crisis.”

“Show her what you found,” Thomas urged.

“Before you have to pack.”

Duncan pulled up satellite imagery on his laptop.

“I found The Collector’s central archive.

Not where they’re holding prisoners—where they keep two centuries of accumulated intelligence on supernatural beings.”

He indicated an industrial complex in Toronto’s eastern district.

“Disguised as biotech research.

But according to financial records, they’ve been excavating downward for ten years.

At least five underground levels not on official blueprints.”

“How did you find this?” Director Chen asked.

“I traced equipment shipments while researching design suppliers for my Paris firm,” Duncan explained.

“Archival storage systems, climate-controlled vaults, database servers.

They’re storing something more valuable than prisoners.”

“Knowledge,” Mishka said quietly.

“Two hundred years of documentation on how to capture and control supernatural beings.”

Thomas had been studying the power consumption records Duncan had uncovered.

“Look at this spike scheduled for tonight.

The archive facility is drawing massive electricity starting at sunset.

They’re not just storing data—they’re actively using it.”

“For targeting,” Mishka realized.

“They’ve documented every supernatural signature.

If they activate the device using that database—”

“It could affect supernatural beings worldwide,” Mrs.

Callahan finished grimly.

Duncan checked his watch again and made a decision.

“Thomas, I’m sending you everything I’ve compiled.

Financial records, facility locations, personnel files.

You have the expertise to keep tracing this.

I’ll do what I can from Paris, but—”

“But you need to maintain your cover life,” Director Chen said, understanding.

“Actually, that might be useful.

The Collector might not know about your connection to Mishka.

You could be an intelligence asset we didn’t know we had.”

“What do you mean?” Duncan asked.

“Paris has its own supernatural communities,” Director Chen explained.

“If The Collector is truly international, having someone positioned in Europe who isn’t on his radar could be invaluable.

An openly gay designer with a successful firm—you’re the last person he’d suspect of being involved in this fight.”

Duncan looked at Mishka, torn between his obligations and his desire to help.

“Are you sure?

It feels like abandoning you.”

“You’re not abandoning anyone,” Mishka assured him.

“You came when I needed you most.

You got me away from Jean, helped me rebuild my life here.

Now I need you to go back to Paris and be my brother who has a normal design career.

That’s actually more valuable than you staying and making yourself a target.”

Patricia Henderson had entered during the conversation, Emma leaning on her arm.

“Besides,” Patricia added, “some of us have obligations we can’t leave.

Thomas and I have Emma.

We can’t run even if we wanted to.

But Duncan, you can leave.

You should leave.

Get to safety.”

“I’ll coordinate from Paris,” Duncan decided.

“Thomas, you take point on the financial investigation here.

I’ll work the European angle, see if I can trace Collector operations on that side.

Maybe find something that helps.”

As Duncan began packing up his research to transfer to Thomas, Riley entered looking troubled.

“We have a problem.

Someone just posted bounties on supernatural dark web forums.

Five million for Emma.

Ten million for Mishka.

Both alive, delivered by midnight tonight.”

Duncan’s hands froze on his laptop.

“That changes everything.

Mishka, you need to—”

“Stay and fight,” Mishka finished.

“I’m not running, Duncan.

This is my community now.”

Thomas was already analyzing the bounty postings with his financial background.

“The payment structure suggests this is designed to trigger a feeding frenzy.

Every mercenary in Toronto will come hunting.

And Duncan—” he paused, pulling up more data, “—the bounty was posted from a European server.

Paris, specifically.”

The implications hung heavy in the air.

The Collector had operatives in Duncan’s city, possibly watching his movements, potentially knowing about his connection to Mishka.

“Then I’m definitely going back,” Duncan said firmly.

“If there’s Collector presence in Paris, I need to be there tracking it.

Thomas, I’m sending you everything now.

Everything I found, every source, every contact.

You continue the investigation here.

I’ll work it from the other end.”

As Duncan prepared to leave, transferring files and briefing Thomas on investigation techniques, a message appeared on his screen—from his anonymous surveillance technology contact:

*Collector deployed aerial reconnaissance drones around Eldergrove.

Military grade, thermal imaging, supernatural energy detection.

You’re being watched from above.

No way in or out undetected.

—M*

Duncan showed the message to Thomas, his face pale.

“I can’t leave now.

If there are drones, if they’re already watching—”

“Then you leaving on a scheduled flight tomorrow becomes perfect cover,” Thomas countered, his investment banker’s mind seeing the strategic angle.

“You’re Mishka’s brother visiting during a family emergency.

Your departure looks normal.

But if you cancel your flight now, that’s suspicious.

They might investigate you more closely, discover your research, compromise your ability to help from Paris.”

Director Chen nodded agreement.

“Mr.

Classens, Thomas is right.

Maintain your cover.

Leave as scheduled.

The Collector is most dangerous when he realizes we’re onto him.

An openly gay designer living in Paris with no apparent supernatural connections is valuable precisely because you’re not obviously part of this fight.”

Duncan looked at his sister, struggling with the decision.

Mishka stepped forward and took his hands.

“Go home,” she said gently.

“Go back to your design firm, your life in Paris.

And if anything happens tonight—if The Collector wins—you’ll be the one who’s safe, who can tell our story, who can continue fighting from outside his reach.”

“And if you win?” Duncan asked.

“I’ve always wanted to see your designs on the runway.”

They embraced, brother and sister, one heading back to normal life while the other stayed to fight an impossible battle.

After Duncan left to finish packing, Thomas continued working through the files, his investment banker’s brain processing implications that made his blood run cold.

The scope of The Collector’s operation was staggering—not just one facility, not just Toronto, but an international network with roots in governments worldwide.

His phone buzzed with an encrypted message from one of Duncan’s contacts—someone who’d helped track the financial flows.

The message contained a single attachment: a list of names.

Thomas opened it and felt the world tilt beneath him.

The list contained fifty-seven names, all marked as “Collector Network Assets – Active.” Government officials, corporate executives, academic researchers, military contractors.

People with the power to make supernatural beings disappear and call it legal.

And at the bottom of the list, marked with a red flag: “Toronto Operations – Priority Target Management.”

Under that heading were three names that made Thomas’s hands shake:

*Classens, Mishka – Siren, Priority 1 Acquisition*

*Henderson, Emma – Resonant, Priority 1 Acquisition*

*Henderson, Thomas – Asset Liability, Elimination Recommended*

He stared at his own name, at the cold calculation that had marked him for death simply because he’d gotten in the way.

The Collector didn’t just want to capture his daughter.

He wanted to kill anyone who might interfere with that capture.

Including Emma’s own father.

Thomas Henderson had never imagined his investment banking skills would be used to trace supernatural trafficking networks, but life had become surreal since his daughter manifested witch abilities.

He sat in his own dining room, which had become an impromptu command center, surrounded by three laptops, two tablets, and enough coffee cups to constitute a health hazard.

Beside him, Duncan Classens worked on his own laptop, though Mishka’s brother kept checking his watch with increasing frequency—his design firm in Paris expected him back by week’s end, and the supernatural crisis was eating into his already extended emergency visit.

“I have to leave tomorrow morning,” Duncan said apologetically, highlighting another suspicious transaction.

“My team has the spring collection presentation, and I’ve already pushed the deadline twice.

But Thomas, you need to see this shell company before I go.”

Thomas leaned over to study Duncan’s screen.

“Registered in the Cayman Islands, but the beneficial owner traces back to a trust established in 1847.

How is that possible?

Trusts don’t run for almost two hundred years.”