The moment Max looked at the man standing in front of him, he recognized exactly who he was. Detective Marvin Morgan. But the recognition didn’t stem from his current, chaotic life as Max Smith—it belonged to his past life. In the deep trenches of the metropolitan underworld, Marvin Morgan was a name spoken in hushed, bitter whispers. He was infamous among the syndicates.
Once in a very long while, the criminal underworld would run face-first into an anomaly like him: a detective who simply could not be influenced by mountains of money, political leverage, or lethal threats. Yet, he operated in a high enough position and with enough public scrutiny that the corrupt upper echelons of the police force couldn’t just bring the hammer down to force him out.
Marvin was viewed as a dangerous rogue element, but due to his unparalleled clearance record, the department allowed him a long leash. At the end of the day, even a corrupt police department occasionally needed a massive, public win to maintain a facade of justice. Because of his volatile nature and his legendary status, not even the monolithic Syndicate families wanted to take him out. They lived in absolute terror that Marvin had meticulously set up a dead-man’s switch—a hidden digital trail of evidence that would automatically circle back and destroy their empires the moment his heart stopped beating.
The universal strategy when dealing with Marvin Morgan was simple: do whatever it takes to stay completely off his radar. However, age eventually catches up with everyone. Max looked at the lines etched into the detective’s face; it seemed Marvin had taken a step back from the high-intensity anti-syndicate task forces in the capital and was now working a quieter beat in Notting Hill, of all places.
"We’ve seen each other and talked briefly once before, haven’t we?" Max asked, keeping his composure entirely locked down.
"Right. At your friend’s funeral," Marvin said, his sharp eyes never leaving Max’s face. "Although we didn’t get an opportunity to have a proper conversation at the time. To be honest, I don’t think I’ve been able to get a solid handle on your trajectory until today. And out of all the places in this city, I find you standing right outside a maximum-security perimeter. I guess a smart kid like you can already deduce why I’m here."
Marvin adjusted the collar of his coat against the suburban wind. "There was a massive, highly irregular breakout here, and the bureau brought me in to investigate the forensic details. But as for yourself... why exactly would you be lurking around the outer gates? The only logical connection that comes to my mind is a specific inmate who used to attend the exact same high school as you. A kid named Dipter."
Inwardly, Max was shaking his head at the cosmic irony of the situation. Although the Billion Bloodline group had technically committed a staggering number of high-level crimes during their ascension, Max was entirely confident that they had flawlessly covered their digital and physical trails. In a lot of ways, localized street gangs like the Bloodline weren’t the type of monolithic targets Marvin typically spent his energy hunting.
"You free for a quick chat?" Marvin asked, gesturing toward the facility’s auxiliary buildings. "I think it’s going to be in your absolute best tactical interest if the two of us have a long, thorough talk right now."
Before Max could answer, Wolf aggressively pulled him over by the shoulder, lowering his voice to a frantic whisper. "Hey, Boss... I might be the strategist for our crew, but I’m absolutely not a defense lawyer. I have zero understanding of what specific words will cause you permanent legal trouble or what phrasing will get you out of it. If you’re genuinely planning to have a sit-down conversation with a legendary bloodhound like him, it would be a thousand times better if we had legal counsel present."
"It’s okay," Max whispered back, his voice steady. "If I decline right now and walk away, a man like Marvin is going to stick to our borders like glue on every single corner until he extracts an answer. He’ll begin digging into our infrastructure, and with his intellect, he might eventually come to a highly dangerous, wrong conclusion. I’d rather steer the narrative."
The detective led Max and Wolf past the secondary checkpoints and into a private dining area typically reserved strictly for the senior prison staff. Marvin casually waved his hand at the employees inside, requesting that they grant them absolute privacy, and the staff happily and quickly complied with the demand, clearly terrified of the detective’s reputation.
Now, sitting around a circular wooden table in the hollow quiet of the cafeteria, it was just the three of them. The atmosphere felt incredibly tense and awkward.
"Max Smith," Marvin began, pulling out a small notebook and placing it on the table. "You are a remarkably fascinating individual. It seems that two high-profile deaths have occurred in your immediate orbit over a very short timeline, and now, you suddenly manifest to run an independent audit on a high-security prison breakout. A breakout involving a student from your specific class, no less. And the most interesting detail? This breakout information hasn’t even been cleared for release to the public yet."
Marvin leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table as his gaze sharpened. "Do you mind explaining to me exactly how you became privy to this classified intelligence? And why exactly are you here analyzing the perimeter? While you’re at it, maybe you can properly introduce your friend here."
Wolf sat perfectly rigid, his tactical mind racing as he tried to calculate the safest, most legally ambiguous answer possible. The silence was stretching, and it was taking him a significant amount of time to formulate a response—which was exactly why he was utterly stunned when Max chose to bypass the defenses entirely and answer first.
"I think there is a remarkably simple, direct answer to the vast majority of the questions you’re asking, Detective," Max said, his voice completely devoid of hesitation. He leaned back in his chair, meeting Marvin’s predatory gaze with an unshakeable confidence. "The name you just spoke—Max Smith—is not my actual identity. That was simply an alias I went under while I was navigating the public school system."
Max paused for a fraction of a second, letting the weight of the revelation settle into the quiet room before delivering the final blow.
"My real name is Max Stern. And yes, Detective... I am from that Stern family. I imagine a man of your experience knows exactly what that name implies."