Chapter 8
I ran toward the service door.
Smoke stung my eyes, but it smelled wrong.
Chemical.
Artificial.
Someone had triggered emergency canisters in the ventilation system to create panic.
The stairwell beyond the door was empty.
On the landing lay one of Ruby’s red hair ribbons.
Claire picked it up.
“Richard planned this.”
“He couldn’t have done it alone.”
The lights flickered back on.
Richard was gone.
So was Victor.
Malcolm reached us with two agents.
“Security footage shows Richard entering the private elevator with Grace and Ruby,” he said.
“That elevator requires my access code.”
“Or Claire’s.”
Claire turned pale.
“My trust account used my birthday as the backup code.”
Richard had controlled her records.
He had known it for years.
The private elevator descended to a secure archive beneath the building. My father had built it to protect original contracts and financial records.
It could be sealed from inside.
We took the public elevator to the basement.
The archive door was locked.
A speaker above us crackled.
Richard’s voice filled the corridor.
“You always take what belongs to me, Adrian.”
I stepped toward the camera.
“Let them go.”
“The company should have been ours.”
“Our father gave you half his personal estate.”
“He gave you his name.”
“We have the same name.”
“No. You became Whitmore. I became your brother.”
His bitterness sounded ancient.
I remembered childhood dinners when our father asked about my grades and ignored Richard’s paintings.
I remembered being praised for strength while Richard was mocked for sensitivity.
Then Richard learned cruelty from the same man I had imitated.
“I should have seen what he did to you,” I said.
Claire glanced at me.
Richard became silent.
“Our father made us compete for scraps of approval,” I continued. “I won his attention and thought that meant I was better.”
“You’re trying to manipulate me.”
“No. I’m telling you I was wrong.”
The speaker hissed.
Then Grace cried out.
My heart slammed against my ribs.
“What did you do?”
Richard answered coldly.
“She tried to open the door.”
Ruby sobbed in the background.
Claire stepped toward the camera.
“Uncle Richard, please. I’m the one whose trust you stole. Take me instead.”
“No,” I said.
Richard laughed.
“Still volunteering other people, Adrian? Even your daughter?”
The accusation struck because it contained truth.
I had spent my life letting other people carry the cost of my decisions.
“Take me,” I said.
Malcolm caught my arm.
“It’s a trap.”
“I know.”
The archive door clicked.
“Alone,” Richard ordered.
I stepped inside.
The door sealed behind me.
Grace sat against a cabinet with Ruby in her arms. A red mark crossed her cheek, but she remained upright.
Richard held Victor’s pistol.
Victor stood near the back wall, sweating.
He was no longer handcuffed.
“You helped him escape,” I said.
Victor shook his head.
“He threatened my sister.”
Richard pointed the gun toward me.
“Your fingerprints are on enough documents to make this company mine.”
“The agents have your accounts.”
“They have accounts Victor controlled.”
Victor stared at him.
“You said the money couldn’t be traced.”
Richard did not look away from me.
“He also planted the bracelet,” I said. “Kidnapped Grace from the boardroom. Helped start the alarm.”
Victor’s breathing changed.
“You’re making me the fall guy.”
“You were always the fall guy,” Richard said.
The pistol shifted toward him.
Victor lunged.
The gun fired.
The bullet struck a metal cabinet.
Grace covered Ruby.
I tackled Richard.
We crashed into a table.
Victor grabbed the pistol, but Claire’s voice came through the speaker.
“Victor, agents are outside. Put it down and testify. It is the only way to help your sister.”
He froze.
Richard drove his elbow into my ribs and reached for the weapon.
Grace kicked it beneath a cabinet.
Richard struck her.
Ruby screamed.
I hit my brother once.
He fell against the table.
Years of rage told me to keep going.
Catherine’s voice lived somewhere deeper.
I stepped back.
Richard laughed from the floor.
“There he is. The great Adrian Whitmore pretending he has a soul because a maid fed him.”
Grace rose beside me.
“He doesn’t have to pretend.”
I looked at her.
She held my gaze.
Not forgiveness.
Not yet.
But faith.
Outside, agents began cutting through the locking mechanism.
Richard pulled a lighter from his pocket.
Only then did I smell gasoline.
It had been poured across the archive floor.
“If I can’t have this company,” he said, “neither can you.”
He ignited the lighter.
Ruby started crying.
Victor moved first.
He slammed Richard’s wrist against the floor.
The lighter flew into the gasoline.
Flames raced across the carpet.
Smoke filled the room.
Grace carried Ruby toward the door.
I grabbed a fire extinguisher, but the flames had already reached the paper archives.
Richard crawled toward the pistol.
Victor kicked it away.
“Open the door!” I shouted.
Agents cut through one hinge.
The fire climbed the walls.
Grace removed her coat, wrapped it around Ruby’s face, and held her beneath the cleanest air.
I sprayed a path toward them.
The door finally bent inward.
Claire reached through the gap.
“Ruby!”
Grace pushed her daughter into Claire’s arms.
Victor climbed out next.
I helped Grace toward the opening.
A burning beam fell behind us.
Richard remained beside the table, staring at the fire.
“Come on!” I shouted.
He looked at me like a frightened boy.
“Why?”
“Because you’re my brother.”
I crossed the flames and pulled him up.
The ceiling groaned.
We reached the broken door as part of it collapsed behind us.
Agents dragged us into the corridor.
Richard coughed on the floor.
Handcuffs closed around his wrists.
He looked at me through smoke and tears.
“You should have left me.”
“No,” I said. “Our father taught us people were disposable.”
May you like
I looked at Grace holding Ruby.
“I’m done believing him.”
