Harrison Wells Dc Novels & Stories

"Hello?" "Mrs. Phoenix? This is Warden Thompson from Riverdale Correctional Facility. I am calling about Richard Harrison." My blood turned cold. "What about him?" "He collapsed in the prison yard this afternoon. We rushed him to the hospital. The doctors say it is serious." "How serious?" "Life threatening. He is asking for you." Benjamin grabbed my arm. "What is it?" I covered the phone. "Richard is in the hospital. Dying. He wants to see me."

And whoever Damien was talking to in that corridor knew it was happening tonight specifically, which meant the information came from inside this operation, and Damien was closer to Vreeth’s network than he had admitted. I knocked on the study door twice. It opened in seconds. Harrison stood in the doorway in dark trousers and a white shirt with the sleeves rolled to the elbows, and loosened buttons, his phone in one hand, jaw tight. He had clearly not slept, his eyes read my face in one sweep. “What happened?” he said. “I need to tell you something.” He stepped back and let me in. I told him exactly what I had heard. Harrison listened without interrupting, which was how I knew it was serious

A confirmation of something he had already calculated the moment the gravel crunched. "Nephew." Harrison Mercer's gravelly voice filled the doorway before the rest of him did. He stepped inside without waiting for an invitation, his pinstripe suit somehow perfectly pressed despite the hour, his cane tapping the floor twice in quick succession, like punctuation at the end of a sentence he hadn't finished saying yet. "I do apologize for the timing. The board does not." "It is four in the morning," Zariel said, pulling her robe tighter around her waist. Harrison's sharp gaze swept over her, head to bare feet, cataloguing every detail with the cold efficiency of a man who had spent four decades

“I’m just doing my job. Next time, please make it easier by opening up to us. The police are your friend after all.” “I’m sorry about that. " I was just scared.” Damian’s brow furrowed. How did you even know she was in danger? The timing of your arrival was... uncanny.” Harrison’s lips thinned. “I can’t disclose my sources, Mr. Lux. What matters is that we got to her on time.” Damian studied him for a moment before nodding reluctantly. “Fair enough.” “So, Mr. Lux,” Harrison leaned in. “What happened at the warehouse?”

Dante led us up an old staircase, and then through a hidden door that led into the basement of what looked like an ordinary apartment building. "It’s a safe house," he explained briefly as we climbed up more and more stairs. The apartment was small but it was well-stocked. Marcus collapsed onto the couch immediately, and I started looking for first aid supplies to treat his wound properly. "Someone's coming," Dante said as he looked out of the window. I tensed, but I relaxed when he added, "It's only Agent Harrison." Agent Harrison looked like he had been through hell. His suit was torn, there was soot on his face, and his usually perfect hair was a mess. But his eyes were sharp and focused

But he just laughed louder, running straight toward the waiting car—toward a night I wasn’t sure I was ready for, but one I could no longer avoid. Outside, the first thing I noticed was the car. It wasn’t a taxi. It wasn’t even close. The sleek black vehicle sat calmly by the curb, polished and imposing, the kind of car that didn’t just arrive anywhere—it announced itself. My heart skipped uncomfortably. I already knew before I fully processed it. This was a Harrison car. Before I could retreat or even think of another excuse, the door opened from the inside. And then I saw him. Kai Harrison.

The concrete floor was cracked in multiple places, exposing the rebar beneath. Jackson dropped down first, landing in a crouch, then reached up to steady Savannah as she descended. The moment her feet touched the ground, a voice echoed from the shadows. “Well. What a touching scene.” Savannah stiffened. Harrison stepped out from behind a row of fallen server racks, a gun in his right hand, the muzzle glinting under the emergency lights. Sweat plastered his hair to his forehead, but his smile was confident, cruel. “Going somewhere?” he asked lightly.

Harrison turned sharply. “What is it?” “The police are back.” My stomach dropped slightly. “Why?” “They said it’s urgent.” Harrison nodded once. “Bring them in.” A few minutes later, two officers stepped inside the security wing. Harrison crossed his arms. “Update?” The taller officer cleared his throat. “There’s been… a development.” “What kind of development?” The officer glanced briefly at his partner before speaking. “The suspect you apprehended earlier.” “Logan Hunt,” Harrison said flatly.

Edward Harrison. Harrison had first appeared in Chapter 16, arriving as a senior advisor with a quiet demeanor and a reputation for neutrality. When May had faced resistance from the old guard of the company, he had been the only one to listen without judgment. He had nodded in agreement when she spoke of transparency, offered thoughtful suggestions when she felt outmaneuvered, and even shared what he claimed were “internal whispers” about corruption. To May, he had been a lifeline—the only sympathetic figure in a world that felt increasingly hostile. She had trusted him with sensitive plans, had let him review draft policies, and had believed, deep down, that he was someone who shared her d

After Saturday's charity auction, everyone in the Upper East Side was buzzing about the butterfly brooch Aiden dropped two hundred K on. By Monday noon, I was back at his office with lunch. "Mr. Harrison's in the conference room," his assistant said. "You can wait in his office." People in the hall were suddenly all smiles, like I'd leveled up overnight. Guess news travels fast. I flopped onto the couch, scanning the room. Diplomas everywhere—Harvard, Yale, bar license. Shelves stacked with brick-thick law books that looked like instant migraines.