Chapter 6 - The Ruins of St. Gabriel
St. Gabriel Medical Center stood black against the Wisconsin night.
The upper floors were gutted.
Windows blown out.
Concrete stained by fire.
Claire stopped when she saw it.
For four years, she had avoided the place.
Now she walked toward the doors holding the hand of the father she thought had been dead for fourteen years.
I walked beside her.
“You okay?”
“No.”
“Good answer.”
She almost smiled.
Federal agents should have been involved.
Samuel argued for it.
So did Victor.
But Dominic still had access to my house systems, my guards, possibly law enforcement.
I trusted almost nobody.
That had become the central problem of my life.
Marcus had returned to Chicago with a loyal security unit to recover Harper and Emma.
We needed to buy him time.
Samuel led us through the ruined surgical wing.
A stairwell descended beneath the hospital.
Claire whispered, “I never knew this existed.”
“It was old civil-defense construction,” Samuel said.
At the bottom stood a steel door.
He inserted the key.
Inside were rows of waterproof cases.
Claire stared.
“This is everything?”
“Almost.”
Victor opened one.
Documents.
Photographs.
Encrypted drives.
Shipping records.
I found my own family name.
Vale Freight.
My father.
I looked at Samuel.
“He was involved?”
“Your father discovered the trafficking late.”
“Did he stop it?”
Samuel hesitated.
That was answer enough.
“My father protected Dominic.”
“For a while.”
I laughed bitterly.
Of course.
Every dead father in our lives apparently left a second inheritance.
Claire touched my arm.
That small gesture helped more than I wanted it to.
Then a speaker crackled.
Dominic’s voice filled the room.
“You finally made it.”
Victor raised his weapon.
Cameras.
Multiple.
Dominic was watching.
“You have Emma?” I asked.
“No.”
I froze.
“What?”
“Your people recovered the children twenty minutes ago.”
Relief hit me so hard I almost staggered.
Dominic laughed.
“You’re welcome.”
Claire frowned.
“Then why are we here?”
“Because Adrian would never come if he knew they were safe.”
I stared toward the camera.
“You used my daughters.”
“I used your predictability.”
Samuel whispered, “He wants the archive.”
Dominic heard him.
“Correct.”
I looked around.
“Come take it.”
“Oh, I intend to.”
The steel door slammed shut.
Gas hissed.
Claire looked up.
“Move!”
Victor tried the door.
Locked.
Samuel pointed toward an old ventilation corridor.
We ran.
The gas smelled chemical but mild.
Probably incapacitating.
Dominic wanted the records intact.
We crawled through the maintenance shaft and emerged into the old emergency garage.
Three vehicles waited.
Men stepped from behind them.
Dominic’s men.
Weapons raised.
Victor whispered, “Bad odds.”
I counted.
Eight.
“Could be worse.”
Claire looked at me.
“You say that often?”
“Too often.”
Then headlights exploded through the far entrance.
A black SUV smashed through the gate.
Marcus.
He stepped out firing toward the ceiling.
“Drop them!”
Behind him came six loyal guards.
Dominic’s men surrendered faster than expected.
One shouted, “He told us Samuel was the terrorist!”
That interested me.
Dominic had lied to everyone differently.
To some, Samuel was a criminal.
To others, Claire.
To Marcus, Claire had been the threat.
To me, rival organizations.
He survived by making people fear the wrong enemy.
Marcus approached.
“Emma and Harper are safe.”
I grabbed his shoulder.
“Thank you.”
His expression softened.
“Emma told me to tell you Claire better come home.”
Claire smiled through tears.
Then Samuel opened one final case.
Empty.
His face changed.
“No.”
“What?”
“The master drive.”
“Gone?”
“It was here.”
Victor asked, “Who else knew?”
Samuel stared toward the dark corridor.
“One person.”
Claire said, “Dominic.”
“No.”
Samuel looked at me.
“Elena.”
Silence.
My wife had been inside the archive.
“When?”
“Three years ago.”
“What did she do with it?”
“I don’t know.”
Claire whispered, “Maybe that’s why Dominic killed her.”
Samuel nodded.
My phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
A photograph.
Elena.
Taken two weeks before her death.
Standing beside a woman.
Claire saw it.
Her face changed.
“That’s my mother.”
“What?”
Claire’s mother, Margaret Whitman, supposedly died of cancer two years earlier.
In the photograph, she looked healthy.
Elena held a drive.
Margaret held an envelope.
Below the image was a message.
THE WOMEN HID IT BETTER THAN ALL OF YOU.
Then coordinates.
Chicago.
A cemetery.
Claire stared.
“My mother’s grave.”
Samuel closed his eyes.
“No.”
“What?”
He looked at his daughter.
“Margaret wasn’t buried with jewelry.”
Claire frowned.
Samuel continued.
“She was buried with a sealed medical container.”
My pulse changed.
“The drive.”
Claire whispered, “Mom took it to the grave.”
Victor said, “Then Dominic knows.”
We all looked at the message.
Coordinates.
He wanted us there.
Again.
But this time, I understood something Dominic did not.
He thought fear still controlled us.
He thought Claire would rush blindly toward her mother.
He thought I would storm into another trap.
He was wrong.
I took out my phone.
“Call Rachel Kim.”
Victor raised an eyebrow.
“The federal prosecutor?”
“Yes.”
Claire looked at me.
“You’re actually calling law enforcement?”
“Don’t make it weird.”
May you like
She smiled faintly.
For the first time in my life, I was going to fight a war without pretending I had to win it alone.
