Restitution is Written Between the Lines(Working Title)
an excerpt

Prologue

Dim sunlight seeped weakly through the widows over a man sitting huddled in a long black coat, his face drawn and pale. He held something close to his chest, wrapped inside the cocoon of his jacket and arms. A picture was clutched in his hand - four people, a family, smiling into the camera on a bright, sunny afternoon.
A second man entered the room with short blond hair and gray eyes. He had been sent to clear the house to make the ‘official’ investigators didn’t find something they shouldn’t when they arrived. He had expected it to be empty. The remaining family members were supposed to be hiding out in a safe house somewhere and so he fairly sputtered as he recognized the haggard visage. “You shouldn’t be here. They’re looking for you.”
“I know.” The voice was raw and spent, though it still contained hints its usual depth and strength, yet he remained still, not even looking in the blond man, Damon’s, direction. His gaze was fixed on a bit of metal in the middle of the floor, a twisted and broken lock that had been casually tossed aside in the Corporate assault. It looked abused, forlorn, forsaken alone there in the middle of the expanse of empty floor.
“Sir,” Damon looked around the room nervously, as if he expected someone to jump out from around a corner any moment. “There are orders for a clean-up team to come and make sure they didn’t miss anything important.”
“There is nothing important here, only memories,” a silent shudder ran through the older man. “They’ve already taken what matters.”
“But… you’re here. If they find you…”
“What? They’ll kill me?” He, Josiah, finally looked at Damon and the pain etched on his face was so deep it was a tangible thing from across the room. “What kind of man am I that I wasn’t able to defend them? She’s dead, Damon. Katherin is dead. Tony is only six. What has he done to her already?”
Damon felt himself break out in a cold sweat. “Sir, you’re not going to… You’re a level five. Your face has been imprinted on their memories with a shoot to kill order. He doesn’t even care what you might know. He wants you dead.”
“It doesn’t matter. My life is nothing.” The bundle in Josiah’s arms stirred revealing a glimpse of a dark-haired little boy, his face wrinkled up in sleep. Josiah hugged the boy closer and his voice caught as he looked at Damon. “But she made me promise…”
“Sir?” Damon held his breath, afraid the slightest movement might cause it all to teeter and fall.
Resignation settled uneasily on a countenance more accustomed to resolution and Josiah rose slowly to his feet, careful not to disturb the boy in his arms, and tucked the picture away into the safety of his pocket. “Search all you like. It has all been destroyed. We will leave you in peace. Go with God, my brother.” He clasped Damon’s shoulder. “May His strength be on us all.”
Then he was gone and Damon was left standing alone watching the dust motes fall through the light to settle on the ground once more. He wondered as he watched them shift and fall, how it was that Josiah persisted in his belief in God even after all that had happened. It was a mystery that the greatest historical philosophers of modern education continued to debate and still had no answer. A buzz distracted Damon from his wandering thoughts.
“Cross here, over.”
“Arrival in T minus fifteen minutes. Make sure all is clear before arrival.”
“All will be clear. Thank you, sir. Over.”