Chapter 7 - The Night the Mansion Burned
Smoke poured beneath the archive room door. The sprinklers had failed. Marco shouted orders while Vincent and I helped Mrs. Alvarez guide two young kitchen workers down the rear staircase.
The heat pressed against my face. For one terrible moment, I smelled the old boardinghouse fire that had taken my mother when I was sixteen. My knees threatened to buckle.
Vincent noticed. He reached for my hand but stopped short, waiting.
I took it.
We emerged into the courtyard coughing. Fire trucks were already approaching. Marco had called emergency services immediately, and the crews moved with practiced urgency. Nobody tried to play hero by reentering the burning wing.
Adrian appeared near the fountain, perfectly dressed despite the chaos.
"A tragedy," he said. "All those old records."
"Copies exist," I told him.
His expression froze.
Vincent stepped between us. He held up his phone: YOU ARE FINISHED.
Adrian laughed. "You think a few papers will make anyone believe you? You're a crime boss who can barely hear. Your wife is a maid your family bought for fifty dollars. Who will listen?"
I stepped around Vincent.
"The people who saw you threaten my brother. The doctor who preserved the device. The lawyer who has the records. And the investigators who'll want to know why the sprinklers were disabled."
For the first time, Adrian looked at me as though I were dangerous.
He leaned closer. "You have no idea how many people owe me favors."
"Then they'll have to decide whether they want to go down with you."
A police car turned into the driveway. Adrian's gaze flicked toward it. He retreated without another word.
We spent the night in a hotel under names arranged by Elena, not by Adrian's network. Vincent's medical evaluation had shown inflammation and injury that required follow-up care. The independent specialists could not promise his hearing would return. He accepted that news more calmly than I expected.
"Doesn't it make you angry?" I asked, typing the question.
He answered: IT MAKES ME ANGRY THAT I LET HIM SPEAK FOR ME. NOT THAT I AM DEAF.
He showed me a list of changes he wanted: independent medical care, trained interpreters at business meetings, an audit of every foundation account, and cooperation with investigators about crimes committed under his authority.
"You know some of that could expose your own mistakes," I said.
YES. I AM NOT ASKING TO BE INNOCENT. I AM ASKING TO STOP HIDING.
We sat beside the hotel window while Chicago's lights trembled in the river. He didn't touch me until I leaned against his shoulder.
My phone vibrated with a message from Tyler.
DAD IS MISSING. ADRIAN TOOK HIM.
May you like
Then another message arrived, this one from my father's number.
COME ALONE OR YOU'LL NEVER SEE HIM AGAIN.
