Chapter 9 - The People She Bought.
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The roof of the east wing offered no safe direction.
Police filled the courtyard.
Estate guards controlled the halls.
The frozen river lay beyond a forty-foot drop.
Nora could barely stand after inhaling the gas.
Clara supported her beneath one arm.
Ortiz held the analog tape beneath her coat.
I looked toward the old chapel roof twenty feet away.
A narrow copper gutter connected the two buildings.
When I was fourteen, I had crossed it to avoid a punishment from my father.
The gutter had seemed wide then.
Now it looked like a blade suspended above stone.
“We go to the chapel,” I said.
Ortiz looked at the gap.
“You cannot be serious.”
“The chapel has a tunnel to the family cemetery.”
“Of course it does.”
I stepped onto the gutter.
The copper groaned beneath my weight.
Snow made the surface slick.
I moved sideways, one hand against the wall.
Halfway across, a bullet struck the slate above my head.
The loudspeaker had promised we would not be harmed.
The shooter fired again.
Ortiz returned fire toward the upper window and forced him back.
I reached the chapel roof and tied a fallen lightning cable around a stone angel.
Clara sent Nora across first with the cable as support.
Then Ortiz crossed.
Clara came last.
A guard climbed through the east-wing window behind her.
He raised his weapon.
I shouted.
Clara turned, lost her footing, and fell against the gutter.
Her hands caught the edge.
The guard aimed down at her.
Ortiz fired once.
His weapon flew from his hand.
I pulled Clara onto the chapel roof.
She lay against the snow, breathing hard.
“You came back,” she said.
“I should never have left.”
“That is not the same thing.”
“No.”
It was the first honest answer I had given her about Singapore.
We entered the chapel through the bell tower.
The room below was dark except for rows of red votive candles.
My father's memorial plaque covered the wall behind the altar.
ARTHUR JAMES STERLING.
BELOVED HUSBAND, FATHER, AND BUILDER.
The hypocrisy made Clara laugh once, without humor.
“He hated that word.”
“Builder?”
“Beloved.”
I found the release beneath the third pew.
A section of stone floor opened onto narrow stairs.
The tunnel led beneath the cemetery and ended inside the family mausoleum.
We emerged behind Arthur's empty marble sarcophagus.
The police had not yet surrounded the cemetery.
Adrian waited beyond the trees with a delivery truck.
We climbed inside among stacks of empty theater scenery.
He drove before the rear doors closed.
Nora lay on a blanket while Clara monitored her breathing.
Ortiz placed the tape beside Adrian's laptop.
“Show us the list,” I said.
He opened Arthur's files.
There were one hundred and forty-three names.
Judges.
Police commanders.
Regulators.
Journalists.
Doctors.
Union officers.
Two state senators.
A deputy governor.
The federal prosecutor responsible for financial crimes.
Each name was linked to payment dates, shell companies, and recordings.
Victoria had not merely protected a theft.
She had built an ecosystem around it.
The Sterling Foundation's charity galas funded a private government.
“Arthur collected this before his disappearance,” Adrian said.
“Some entries were added later.”
“By whom?”
“The file signature says Elias Reed.”
Clara looked up from Nora.
“He is alive.”
“Or he was when he updated the card six months ago,” Adrian replied.
Ortiz studied the list.
“There are three federal judges not named here.”
“Can we trust them?”
“We can trust that Victoria has not paid them through these accounts.”
“That is not enough.”
“It is what we have.”
Clara pointed to an entry near the bottom.
MARA REED - GREENVALE OVERSIGHT.
A red mark appeared beside it.
“What does the red mark mean?”
Adrian opened the legend.
“Coerced, not purchased.”
“Mara helped Victoria?” I asked.
Clara shook her head.
“Mara inherited Greenvale from her husband.”
“Victoria forced her to keep Arthur hidden by threatening Elias.”
“Then Mara may help us.”
“If she is still alive,” Ortiz said.
My phone received a message from Victoria.
It contained a photograph of Sophia sitting at a small table in the red room.
Her eyes were open now.
A bowl of soup sat untouched before her.
A clock on the wall showed eleven fifteen.
The message beneath it read:
BRING THE LEDGER AND THE TAPE TO THE STERLING FOUNDATION GALA TOMORROW NIGHT.
COME ALONE.
I called immediately.
Victoria answered.
“Let me speak to her.”
“Tomorrow.”
“I will bring what you want now.”
“No.”
“Why wait?”
“Because tomorrow the board will vote to remove you permanently.”
“This is about the company?”
“It has always been about the company.”
“It was about the company when you imprisoned Dad?”
Silence followed.
For the first time, I had surprised her.
“You saw him,” she said.
“I spoke to him.”
“He does not know what he is saying.”
“He knew you.”
“Everyone remembers the person they blame.”
“You injected him.”
My mother exhaled slowly.
“Arthur planned to destroy generations of work because he developed a sentimental attachment to pensioners.”
“He planned to stop you from robbing them.”
“I preserved an institution.”
“You preserved yourself.”
Her voice turned cold.
“Tomorrow, Ethan.”
“If Sophia is harmed—”
“She will be fed when you surrender the evidence.”
I heard a small voice in the background.
“Daddy?”
“Sophia.”
The line went silent except for breathing.
Then my daughter said, “The lady in the wall gave me a button.”
Victoria pulled the phone away.
“What lady?” I asked.
The call ended.
Clara stared at me.
“Mara.”
“How do you know?”
“When Sophia was held at Greenvale, Mara visited her through a service panel.”
“What button?”
“A panic transmitter.”
Ortiz leaned forward.
“Does it have a location signal?”
“It did when Mara showed me the prototype.”
Adrian opened a wireless scanner on his laptop.
A weak encrypted pulse appeared every thirty seconds.
It was not coming from the estate.
The signal originated in Manhattan, six blocks from the Sterling Foundation headquarters.
Victoria had staged the photograph in a replica of the red room.
Sophia was already at the gala building.
“We go tonight,” I said.
Ortiz shook her head.
“The building will be protected.”
“So was the estate.”
“Tomorrow, hundreds of witnesses will be present.”
“So will everyone on the list.”
The reason for the gala became clear.
Victoria was not waiting to make a trade.
She was gathering the people she owned into one room.
“What if the gala is not a celebration?” Clara asked.
Adrian looked at the list.
“What else would it be?”
“A cleanup.”
Arthur had recorded names, payments, and crimes.
If Victoria believed the evidence could escape, every person on the list became a liability.
Ortiz's radio cracked with breaking news.
A fire had started at Greenvale Behavioral Center.
The Memory Wing was burning.
Patients were trapped inside.
My father was still there.
The gala was tomorrow.
Sophia was already in Manhattan.
May you like
And Victoria had forced us to choose which member of our family to save first.
THE BREAD AGAINST MY SUIT
