CHAPTER 8 — THE PRICE OF TRUTH
Thomas Creed called at dawn.
His voice sounded exactly as it always had.
Measured.
Patient.
Almost paternal.
“Mara, I’m sorry it came to this.”
“Where is my mother?”
“Safe.”
“You helped keep her imprisoned.”
“I kept her alive.”
“You worked with Celeste.”
“I used Celeste.”
My father leaned toward the speaker.
“Thomas, bring Helena home.”
Thomas laughed softly.
“You have no right to use that word.”
“What do you want?” I asked.
“The original ledger from the vault.”
“You already have the information.”
“I have copies. The original contains Helena’s authentication codes. Without them, the evidence can be challenged.”
“Then give it to prosecutors.”
“Prosecutors are in the ledger.”
He was right.
Judges, senators, police officials, and federal contractors appeared throughout my mother’s records.
Thomas had spent eighteen years watching powerful people escape consequences.
Somewhere along the way, he had stopped believing in law.
“What will you do with it?” I asked.
“Give every person named inside a choice.”
“Blackmail.”
“Accountability.”
“That is not accountability.”
“It is the only language they understand.”
I looked at my father.
He shook his head.
Thomas continued.
“Bring the ledger to the Hawthorne Museum tonight. No police. No federal agents. No Adrian Cole.”
“You expect me to trust you?”
“No. I expect you to want your mother alive.”
The call ended.
Grant had been listening from across the room.
“He’ll kill her after the exchange.”
“You don’t know Thomas.”
“I know men who believe they’re saving the world.”
Grant leaned closer.
“They are more dangerous than men who know they’re selfish.”
Adrian prepared a replica ledger fitted with a tracking device.
My father objected to letting me make the exchange.
“You are not going alone.”
“Thomas specifically asked for me.”
“He also helped steal your mother’s life.”
“That is why he’ll talk to me.”
Shortly before midnight, I entered the museum through the private garden corridor.
The building remained closed as police processed evidence from the auction.
Emergency lights glowed along the marble walls.
The same pillar where Grant had attacked me stood beside the central gallery.
My blood had been cleaned from the floor.
I carried the replica ledger inside a leather case.
“Thomas?”
My voice traveled through the empty museum.
A spotlight activated above the auction stage.
My mother sat in a wheelchair beneath it.
Her hands were bound.
Thomas stood behind her.
He looked older than I remembered from the previous morning.
Tired.
Hollow.
But his hand held a pistol steadily against Helena’s shoulder.
My mother lifted her face.
Her eyes found mine.
“Mara.”
One word.
My name.
I took a step toward her.
Thomas raised the weapon.
“The ledger.”
I placed the case on the floor.
“You first.”
“No.”
Helena looked at me with sudden urgency.
“Mara, don’t give it to him.”
Thomas pressed the pistol closer.
“Helena.”
“There is something inside that ledger he hasn’t found.”
Thomas’s expression changed.
I saw it.
A flash of uncertainty.
My mother continued.
“The final page.”
Thomas stared at the case.
“What final page?”
May you like
Helena’s eyes never left mine.
“The page that proves who ordered the crash.”
