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Chapter 0159
Marcus left the Palmer Group building, feeling great as he walked through that huge glass door. At last, he would begin his revenge against all those who had done wrong to him or his beloved Valerie. At last, he would get justice for Peter. He got into his truck and remembered that fateful day when he had to go to the morgue to identify his friend.
[Galea]
After nearly seven hours of flying, Marcus’s plane landed at a private hangar where he was greeted by a group of grim–faced men. Frederick had arranged for heavy security to protect Marcus, and Valeria himself had extended his support upon hearing of Peter’s death.
Marcus went straight to the morgue, where he found Mary with Agnes. The warning Marcus had given Agnes had arrived too late; Mary’s face was pale, her eyes red and swollen from crying. Despite her anguish, she stood firm, waiting to see the man she had planned to marry.
During the flight, Marcus had informed Leonardo of Peter’s death, and Leonardo, in turn, had told Maximus. Both were already waiting at the morgue when Marcus arrived. As soon as they saw him, Maximus stormed toward him, his face twisted with tage.
“What the hell do you have to do with my brother? What gives you the right to meddle in my family’s affairs? This is your fault! He died because of you!” Maximus shouted, barely restraining himself.
Leonardo quickly stepped in, grabbing Maximus’s arm. “Calm down, son! Now’s not the time for this. What matters is taking Peter home. Marcus, can you find out what’s going on? Why won’t they let us see him? We need to take him to Florentia.”
Marcus ignored the outburst and walked toward Mary, who was clutching Agnes’s arm for support.
“Ma’am,” Marcus said gently but firmly, “I’ll go in to see Peter. If I think it’s appropriate for you to see him, I’ll let you know. Otherwise, you’ll have to follow my instructions. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” Mary replied, her tear–filled eyes meeting his.
The sight of her broke Marcus’s heart. He had to fight to stay composed; otherwise, he knew he would crumble as he had hours earlier.
Frederick knocked on the morgue door, and an agent stepped out. After confirming Marcus’s identity, he opened the door and gestured for him to enter. Marcus walked in slowly, his limp more pronounced than usual as his injured leg throbbed with each step.
Inside the cold room, several bodies lay under white sheets. Peter’s body was at the far end, covered like the others. As Marcus approached, he clenched his jaw trying to steel himself. For a brief moment, he deluded himself into thinking it wasn’t Peter.
“Mr. Bartz,” the medical examiner said, breaking the silence. “These are the remains we recovered. I’m sorry.
“What?” Marcus asked, his voice faltering.
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The agent gave a nod, and the examiner began lifting the sheet. Marcus instinctively took a step back as the remains of what was once Peter came into view. His heart clenched. The handsome face with warm brown eyes framed by long lashes–now gone. He could still see the image of his friend as he had been, full of life.
Marcus covered his mouth with one hand, tears spilling over as he struggled to stay standing. His grip on his cane tightened as his knees threatened to buckle.
“Sir, are you okay? I know this is hard, but someone needs to confirm the identity, and the missus can’t do it.”
“Show me his right hand,” Marcus said in a strained voice. “He had a tattoo there.”
“I’m sorry, sir, but…”
“Then check his nape. He had a tattoo there too,” Marcus said firmly, though his voice wavered.
The examiner carefully lifted the sheet again, this time turning the body slightly to reveal the back of the neck. Marcus’s eyes landed on the famillar tattoo a delicate design Peter had gotten in his youth.
“It’s him,” Marcus choked out, stepping back as tears rolled freely down his cheeks. “Cover him. That’s enough. Prepare him for cremation. No one from the Palmer family is to see him–not even his wife. Is that clear?”
“Yes, sir,” the examiner said.
Marcus leaned in close to the body, placing a trembling hand on the edge of the sheet. “I’m here for you, my friend. Let’s take you home now.”
When the examiner nodded toward the agent, Marcus added, “If Peter’s father insists on seeing him, notify me first. No parent should have to see their child like this. Nothing leaves this room without my consent, and you’ll be well compensated for your discretion.”
As Marcus left the room, he felt the weight of grief settle heavily on his chest. His cane barely supported him as he limped toward the exit. The pain in his leg was excruciating, but he refused to falter.
Outside the morgue, Leonardo and Maximus immediately approached the agent at the door.
“Can we go in now?” Leonardo asked, his face somber
“I’m sorry, gentlemen,” the agent replied. “The only person authorized to make decisions regarding Mr. Palmer is Mr. Bartz.”
Maximus’s face turned crimson with fury. “Marcus Bartz! Who the hell do you think you are, giving orders in MY family?” he snarled, storming toward Marcus.
Before Marcus could respond, Maximus grabbed him by the collar and shoved him against the wall, lifting him slightly off the ground.
“Mr. Maximus,” Frederick’s cold voice interrupted, “release my boss, or I will shoot.”
The sound of a gun being cocked made Maximus freeze. A red laser dot hovered on his temple as
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Frederick aimed his weapon at him,
‘Son, let him go!” Leonardo urged, gripping Maximus’s shoulder. “Enough tragedy has already struck our family. Don’t make it worse. Catherine won’t survive if we keep this up!”
Reluctantly, Maximus released Marcus, and Frederickre–engaged the safety on his gun before helping his boss regain his footing.
“Leonardo,” Marcus said calmly, brushing himself off “if you want to discuss arrangements, meet me at Peter’s house. We can talk there. Have you informed Catherine yet?”
“No,” Leonardo admitted, his voice heavy with sorrow
“Peter will be cremated, and his ashes will be taken to the Flavian Cemetery. Let’s discuss the details at the house,” Marcus said firmly, turning to leave.
Maximus glared at him but said nothing, his fists clenching at his sides as Marcus walked away, his cane clicking rhythmically against the cold floor.
