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The warm light in the apartment cast long, flickering shadows of the three survivors across the floor. Leon gripped his soda can, the condensation chilling his knuckles. The goofy grin he'd worn earlier was long gone, replaced by the same suffocating gloom he had carried back from the precinct.
"I went back to report for duty, and my head was killing me," Leon began, his voice low and tight. "I had no idea how to even start that report. Do I write about how I rescued survivors from a bio-chemical hell, or do I write about how I totaled my new car against a tree because I was daydreaming about a girl?"
He let out a sharp, self-mocking laugh that didn't reach his eyes. "It didn't matter. Before I could type a single word, people came for me. Not my sergeant. Not anyone I knew. Just guys in black suits. Expressionless. Like a flock of crows. They flashed a federal warrant and took me away."
Leon stared into the middle distance, reliving the discomfort. "They put me in a windowless room and made me recount everything. Every detail, from the moment I drove past the city limits to the layout of the lab. They asked questions so specific it made my skin crawl. It was like they already had the answers and were just checking to see if my story matched theirs."
He took a long pull of his soda, the cold liquid steadying his nerves. "Then, they produced a non-disclosure agreement. Top-tier. Buried me in legalese. Bottom line: I keep my mouth shut about Raccoon City forever, or I face the consequences."
The air in the apartment turned to ice. On the sofa, Sherry stopped laughing at her cartoon. Sensing the shift, she clutched her plush toy and pressed closer to Claire.
"I managed to glean one thing from their conversation," Leon whispered. "A lot of people actually made it out of the city during the initial leak."
Claire's eyes lit up. "Really? Then they—"
"They were 'contained,'" Leon interrupted.
"Contained? What does that mean?"
Leon offered a bitter, jagged smile. "Scrutiny. Quarantine. Scratched from the record. They and their families are now part of the silence. Which means..."
"Which means the government was aware of the Hive from the very beginning," Noah finished, his voice terrifyingly calm. "They knew about Umbrella's research. They watched it happen."
Leon nodded heavily. "Things are deeper than we thought. I have a feeling Raccoon City wasn't just a town. It was a massive, open-air laboratory."
"Bastards!" Claire slammed her fist into the sofa armrest. Her face was flushed with a righteous, burning fury. "We can't let them get away with this! We have to go public! We have to tell the world what Umbrella did! What about Marvin? What about the S.T.A.R.S. team? Are their lives just going to be erased by a piece of paper?"
Noah looked at Claire and gently shook his head. "Claire, stop. Who is going to believe us?"
His voice acted like a bucket of ice water on her rage. "Think about it. A rookie cop, a college student, and a foreign exchange student. We have zero evidence. Umbrella will paint us as mental cases. The 'higher-ups' will label us terrorists. We'd be hunted by the entire state apparatus."
Claire's face went pale. She opened her mouth, but the words died. Noah was being cruel, but he was right. "Then what? We just... sit here?"
"No," Noah said, taking her hand to warm her. "But we don't fight a tank with a toothpick. We need leverage. We need to borrow... other forces."
Before he could explain—
Knock. Knock. Knock.
The rhythmic rapping on the door was sharp and sudden.
"Hello? Mr. Noah? I have a package for you. Please sign."
Leon was on his feet in a second, his hand instinctively reaching for the holster at the small of his back. "Who the hell is that?" he hissed. "It's nine at night. No delivery service works this late."
Noah remained seated, remarkably composed. He patted Leon's shoulder. "Easy, Leon. It's not an enemy." A mysterious curve touched his lips. "This is what I meant by borrowing leverage."
Noah walked to the door and pulled it open.
Standing there was a tall man in a crisp black suit, white shirt, and black tie. His face was a mask of professional indifference. He carried a hard-shell briefcase.
Leon's pupils contracted. He knew that face. This was the man who had stood silent behind the lead interrogator that afternoon, watching Leon with the eyes of a hawk.
The man in black didn't seem surprised to see Noah. He handed over the case, his voice flat. "Mr. Noah."
Noah took it. The man's gaze shifted to Leon, giving him a curt nod. "Officer Kennedy. We meet again."
Without another word, the man stepped back into the shadows of the hallway and vanished. Leon felt a film of cold sweat on his neck. Noah... who the hell have you been talking to?
Noah locked the door and set the heavy case in the center of the rug. Claire, Leon, and Sherry hovered over it as Noah clicked the latches.
Inside was a laptop—sleek, made of a lightweight alloy, with lines too advanced for 1998. It looked like a piece of equipment from a different decade. Next to it was a bulging Manila envelope.
Claire gasped. "Noah... what is this?"
"The answers are in here," Noah said. He tore open the envelope.
Two letters and two cards fell out. The cards were from a Swiss bank—one bone-white, one shimmering silver.
Noah picked up the first letter and read it aloud. "Mr. Noah, the information you provided is highly satisfactory. As compensation, $150,000 USD has been deposited into the white card under your name. The Raccoon City matter is closed. Enjoy your peace. We look forward to future cooperation. —Mr. T."
Leon and Claire stared at each other. $150,000. What kind of "information" had Noah traded for that kind of money?
Noah ignored their shock and picked up the second document. His voice remained steady. "This is a Certificate of Asset Liquidation. All assets under the names of William and Annette Birkin—real estate, stocks, patents—have been consolidated."
He paused, looking at the number. "After taxes and fees, the net total is $7.8 million USD. It has been transferred to the sole legal heir: Sherry Birkin. It's all on the silver card."
$7.8 million.
Leon felt a lump in his throat. He thought about his totaled SUV and the loan he still owed and felt a wave of profound sadness. Claire covered her mouth, her brain struggling to process the astronomical figure.
Sherry, however, showed no reaction. She stared at the cold figures on the paper with sapphire eyes that held no joy, no excitement. To the adults, it was wealth. To her, it was just the last, cold remains of a family she never really had.
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