The Abduction.

Mark had spent days planning this. He'd tracked Dr. Otim's movements, learning his routines and identifying the best time to strike. Otim was a creature of habit—every evening, after leaving his private clinic, he stopped at a quiet café on his way home. It was a small, out-of-the-way place, perfect for Mark's plan.

Mark parked his car a few blocks away, his heart pounding as he checked the briefcase Amos had given him. Inside were the two Smith & Wesson pistols, along with a few other supplies: zip ties, duct tape, and a black hood. He wasn't proud of what he was about to do, but he didn't see any other way. He needed answers, and Otim was the only one who could give them to him.

Mark waited in the shadows near the café, his eyes fixed on the entrance. It was almost 7 p.m., and right on schedule, Dr. Otim walked in. Mark's stomach churned as he watched the man who had betrayed his family, who had played a role in his mother's death, sit down at his usual table and order a cup of tea.

Mark took a deep breath, steadying his nerves. He couldn't afford to hesitate. He adjusted the black hoodie he was wearing, pulled the hood low over his face, and slipped into the café. The place was nearly empty, just a few patrons scattered around, none of them paying attention to him.

He walked straight to Otim's table, his hand gripping the pistol hidden in his pocket. Otim looked up, his expression shifting from surprise to fear as he recognized Mark.

"Mark?" Otim said, his voice trembling. "What are you—"

"Don't," Mark interrupted, his voice low but firm. "Don't say a word. Get up. We're leaving."

Otim's eyes darted around the café, but Mark stepped closer, blocking his view. "Don't even think about calling for help. I'm not here to hurt you—yet. But if you make a scene, I won't have a choice."

Otim swallowed hard, his face pale. Slowly, he stood, his hands shaking as he reached for his coat. Mark grabbed his arm, steering him toward the door. To anyone watching, it might have looked like two friends leaving together. But the tension between them was palpable.

---

Mark led Otim to a narrow alley behind the café, where his car was waiting. He shoved Otim against the wall, his voice a harsh whisper. "You're going to get in the car, and you're going to stay quiet. If you try anything, I swear—"

"Mark, please," Otim interrupted, his voice pleading. "You don't understand. I didn't want any of this to happen. There's so much going on that you don't know."

"Save it," Mark snapped, his grip tightening on Otim's arm. "You'll have plenty of time to explain yourself later."

He opened the back door of the car and pushed Otim inside, quickly binding his hands with zip ties and covering his head with the black hood. Otim didn't resist, his body not trembling even for a bit as Mark secured him in place.

Mark got into the driver's seat, his hands shaking as he started the car. He glanced in the rearview mirror, his stomach churning at the sight of Otim slumped in the backseat. This wasn't who he was. He wasn't a kidnapper, a criminal. But desperate times called for desperate measures.

---

The drive to the abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of town was tense and silent. Mark kept glancing in the rearview mirror, half-expecting Otim to try something, but the man stayed still, his breathing shallow and surprisingly even.

When they arrived, Mark pulled into the warehouse and parked in a shadowy corner. He got out of the car, his heart racing as he opened the back door and pulled Otim out. The man stumbled, his legs unsteady, but Mark held him up, guiding him inside.

The warehouse was dark and cold, the only light coming from a single bulb hanging from the ceiling. Mark had prepared the space earlier, setting up a chair in the center of the room. He pushed Otim into the chair, securing him with more zip ties.

Mark stepped back, his chest heaving as he pulled off Otim's hood. The man blinked, his eyes adjusting to the dim light as he looked around, his expression a mix of calmness and resignation. There was no fear in his eyes, no panic—just a quiet, unsettling composure.

"Mark," Otim said, his voice firm and steady. "Please, you have to understand. I didn't want any of this to happen."

Mark didn't respond right away. He just stood there, staring at the man who had betrayed his family, his mind racing with a mix of anger, guilt, and desperation. What surprised him most was Otim's demeanor—he didn't flinch, didn't beg, didn't show any signs of fright. It was as if he'd been expecting this.

"Mark, you shouldn't be doing this," Otim continued, his tone almost paternal. "You know I can help."

"Help?" Mark burst out, his voice sharp with disbelief. "How? How can you help when you're the problem yourself?"

Otim sighed, his gaze steady. "You don't understand. None of this is what it seems. If you'd just let me explain—"

"Explain?" Mark interrupted, his voice rising. "You think I'm going to believe anything you say? After what you've done?"

He pulled out his phone, his hands trembling with anger as he tapped the screen. A moment later, the recording of Otim's incriminating call filled the room. Otim's voice, strained and desperate, echoed in the cold, empty space.

"I'm done. I've done everything you asked, but this… this is too much. Killing Alice wasn't part of the plan. I didn't sign up for this."

Otim's calm façade cracked for the first time, his eyes widening as he listened to his own voice. "You… you hacked my phone?" he asked his tone a mix of shock and disbelief.

Mark's jaw tightened. "You left me no choice. Now tell me the truth. Who are you working for? Why did you kill my mother?"

Otim leaned back in the chair, his expression shifting from shock to something darker—something like regret. "Mark, there's so much you don't know. So much more to this than you realize."

"Then tell me!" Mark shouted, his voice echoing through the warehouse. "Stop playing games and tell me the truth!"

Otim hesitated, his eyes searching Mark's face as if weighing his options. Finally, he let out a long, weary sigh. "This… this goes back further than you think. It's not just about your mother. It's about your grandfather. His choices, his mistakes. This whole situation… it dates back to his youthful days."

Mark froze, his anger momentarily replaced by confusion. "My grandfather? What does he have to do with this?"

Otim shook his head, his tone grim. "I can't explain it all now. There's no time. But you need to understand—your life is in danger, Mark. Yours, mine, everyone connected to this. They're already looking for us. It's only a matter of time before they find this place."

Mark's fists clenched, his frustration boiling over. "Who's 'they'? Who are you talking about?"

Otim's gaze was steady, but there was a flicker of fear in his eyes. "People you don't want to cross. People who don't leave loose ends. Mark, you have to let me go. If we stay here, we're both dead."

Mark stared at him, his mind racing. He didn't want to believe him, didn't want to give him the satisfaction of being right. But deep down, he knew Otim wasn't lying—not about this.