Chapter 6 - My Father’s Real Partner
“Put the gun down, Malcolm.”
He smiled.
“You sound exactly like Arthur.”
“That isn’t a compliment anymore.”
Camila stared at the weapon.
I kept my voice calm.
“It’s okay.”
She nodded, but her hands tightened around the cereal bowl.
Vivian looked annoyed rather than frightened.
“Malcolm, this is unnecessary.”
He laughed softly.
“You still think you’re giving orders.”
Her expression changed.
That was the moment she understood.
“Who are you working for?”
“Myself.”
Preston had warned me Dad built the system with someone.
Now I knew who.
Malcolm had spent thirty years collecting private information for Arthur Callahan.
Then Arthur died.
And Malcolm realized secrets were worth more when nobody owned him.
He had manipulated Harrison.
Vivian.
Preston.
Probably my mother.
“You stole from the trust.”
Malcolm shrugged.
“Some.”
“You diverted payroll.”
“Small amounts.”
“Fourteen families.”
“Collateral.”
Camila’s face hardened.
“My mom isn’t collateral.”
Malcolm looked at her.
“You’re right.”
He smiled.
“She’s leverage.”
I moved before I thought.
The gun swung toward me.
“Adrian.”
I stopped.
Vivian snapped, “Enough. Give me Camila and take whatever records you want.”
Malcolm looked amused.
“You don’t have anything I want.”
“The key.”
His eyes shifted.
There.
That was what mattered.
I slowly removed the brass key from my pocket.
Camila had given it to Rosa before she disappeared.
Vivian believed Camila still had it.
“What does it open?” I asked.
Malcolm’s expression tightened.
“You don’t know?”
“No.”
He looked toward Vivian.
She didn’t either.
Suddenly I almost laughed.
Thirty years of blackmail.
Fraud.
Betrayal.
And everyone was fighting over a key without knowing what it opened.
Then Camila spoke.
“I know.”
We all looked at her.
She put down the bowl.
“My grandma told my mom.”
My pulse quickened.
“Camila.”
“Grandma said Mrs. Callahan kept a box where nobody would search because rich people never look at what workers use.”
Vivian whispered, “The laundry.”
Camila nodded.
“The old steam room.”
Malcolm’s face changed.
The original estate laundry had been sealed twenty years earlier during renovation.
Under the mansion.
Not the beach house.
Malcolm raised the gun.
“We’re going back.”
I smiled.
“No.”
His eyes narrowed.
“You don’t control this.”
“I wasn’t talking to you.”
Red light suddenly appeared against his chest.
Then another.
Then another.
Outside the windows, tactical officers moved from cover.
Elena had insisted I wear a tracker.
Preston had insisted on a second.
Malcolm’s gun swung toward Camila.
Vivian moved first.
She stepped between them.
The shot never came.
Police shattered the glass doors.
Malcolm dropped the weapon after realizing he had nowhere left to run.
Camila ran to me.
I held her tightly.
“You okay?”
“I want my mom.”
“I know.”
Vivian stood with her hands raised.
Police approached.
She looked at me.
“I saved her.”
“You helped kidnap her.”
“Malcolm lied to me.”
“You lied to everybody.”
Her face cracked.
“For Preston.”
I stared.
“No.”
“What?”
“You did this because you wanted Preston to belong to you.”
“He is Robert’s son.”
“He’s Maria’s son.”
Her eyes filled.
“My sister destroyed my marriage.”
“And you punished her child for it.”
“I protected him!”
“You used him.”
Vivian stopped.
Police handcuffed her.
Camila watched silently.
Then she whispered, “Can we go home?”
That word hurt.
Home.
Which home?
Her apartment where eviction notices waited?
My mansion where she had been taken?
I crouched.
“Your mom is waiting.”
We returned to Beverly Hills at 2:17 a.m.
Rosa ran down the steps barefoot.
Camila broke away from me.
“Mom!”
Rosa fell to her knees and wrapped both arms around her.
I turned away.
Some moments belong to families.
Preston stood behind me.
“She’s safe.”
“Yes.”
“You did good.”
“I almost got her killed.”
“So did I.”
We stood in silence.
Then Rosa called my name.
I turned.
She was still holding Camila.
“Thank you.”
I shook my head.
“You don’t owe me thanks.”
“Yes.”
Her eyes were red.
“I do.”
Camila looked over her shoulder.
“You still owe us three months’ pay.”
I laughed.
Preston did too.
Rosa covered her face.
“Camila.”
“She said it first.”
That child might have saved all of us.
At sunrise, we entered the abandoned laundry room beneath the mansion.
Dust covered everything.
Ironing tables.
Old copper pipes.
Industrial sinks.
Behind one cracked cabinet, we found a steel box.
The brass key fit.
Inside were dozens of folders.
My father’s blackmail archive.
Politicians.
Employees.
Judges.
Partners.
Family.
And one folder labeled:
MARIA — FINAL.
Inside was a voice recorder.
My mother’s voice filled the underground room.
“If Adrian is hearing this, then I failed to stop them.”
I closed my eyes.
She continued.
“Malcolm is dangerous. But he is not the person who changed my medication.”
Everyone froze.
I looked at Preston.
He looked at me.
My mother’s voice continued.
“That person is someone Adrian will want to forgive.”
A pause.
“He must not.”
Then she said the name.
May you like
Preston Callahan.
My brother stopped breathing.
