CHAPTER 14 — THE TRIAL OF TWO FAMILIES
The trials began eight months later.
Grant pleaded guilty to assault and obstruction.
He also testified against his parents.
The prosecution did not portray him as a hero.
Neither did I.
He had made a choice beneath the museum lights.
He had hurt me because he believed I had no power.
His cooperation reduced his sentence, but it did not erase what he had done.
Malcolm Holloway faced charges for kidnapping, conspiracy, attempted murder, bribery, money laundering, and trafficking stolen cultural property.
Celeste faced many of the same charges.
Thomas Creed pleaded guilty to kidnapping, unlawful imprisonment, blackmail, and obstruction.
My father entered a guilty plea for conspiracy, evidence suppression, and soliciting an attempted murder.
The courtroom was packed on the day of sentencing.
My mother sat beside me.
She still walked with a cane, but she refused assistance.
Malcolm was given a sentence that ensured he would never leave prison.
Celeste received forty-two years.
Thomas received twenty-eight.
My father received twelve.
Before he was taken away, Elias asked to speak to me.
We stood several feet apart beneath the watch of two marshals.
“I loved your mother,” he said.
“I know.”
“I loved you.”
“I know that too.”
His eyes filled.
“Then why does it sound like goodbye?”
“Because love does not cancel what you did.”
He lowered his head.
“I understand.”
“I hope one day you become the man you kept telling yourself you were.”
He nodded once.
Then the marshals took him away.
Outside the courthouse, reporters filled the steps.
I expected relief.
Instead, I felt hollow.
Justice had arrived.
It had not returned the stolen years.
My mother took my hand.
“We still have years left.”
Before we reached the car, Adrian approached with an evidence envelope.
“What is it?” I asked.
“Something recovered from Malcolm’s private safe.”
Inside was a photograph of the Hawthorne Museum taken before the auction.
A red circle had been drawn around me.
Several names were written beneath it.
Grant.
Julian Mercer.
Adrian Cole.
Helena Vale.
Each name had a date beside it.
Planned dates of death.
My mother’s date was the night of the auction.
Mine was three days later.
But one name appeared at the bottom without a date.
EVELYN HART
Dr. Evelyn Hart.
The museum curator who had authenticated nearly every disputed artifact in my mother’s archive.
Adrian looked toward the courthouse entrance.
“She was supposed to testify this afternoon.”
“Where is she?”
“No one can find her.”
My phone rang.
Unknown number.
I answered.
A woman whispered through heavy breathing.
“Mara, they know the Holloways failed.”
“Dr. Hart?”
“There are others above Malcolm.”
A loud impact sounded behind her.
Then she said the words that changed everything.
May you like
“The network was never controlled by one family.”
The call disconnected.
