Chapter 4 - The Betrayal Inside My House
The elevator doors opened.
My attorney, Julian Mercer, stepped out.
He stopped when he saw us.
“Adrian.”
Julian had represented me for twelve years.
He knew my businesses.
My properties.
My vulnerabilities.
And apparently my security codes.
I held up the court filing.
“Explain.”
His eyes moved toward Marcus.
“You're alive.”
“Disappointed?” Marcus asked.
Julian slowly set his briefcase down.
“This isn't what you think.”
“Everybody keeps saying that tonight.”
Julian sighed.
“Bellweather contacted me three months ago.”
“Why?”
“They wanted you kept away from the Bennett matter.”
“Then why file the petition?”
“To control where the hearing happened.”
Marcus frowned.
“You requested Judge Halpern.”
“Yes.”
“He's Bellweather.”
“I know.”
I stepped closer.
“You're running out of sentences that improve your situation.”
Julian opened his briefcase.
Inside were documents.
“I needed them to believe I was cooperating.”
He handed me a warrant.
Federal.
Victor Sloane.
Bellweather Foundation.
Conspiracy.
Fraud.
Kidnapping.
Money laundering.
“Where did you get this?”
“Detective Moreno.”
My anger paused.
“You've been working with Rachel?”
“For fourteen months.”
Marcus laughed bitterly.
“Apparently everyone in Chicago has a secret life.”
Julian ignored him.
“Rachel contacted me after Nathan Bennett died. She suspected Bellweather had people inside CPD.”
“So she went outside.”
“Federal task force.”
“Why wasn't Sloane arrested?”
“We needed evidence connecting him directly to the kidnappings and trust scheme.”
I held up the flash drive.
“Now you have it.”
“Maybe.”
“What does that mean?”
“It proves financial crimes. Not where Claire is.”
The captive intruder laughed from the chair.
I looked at him.
He had been listening.
“You know.”
He smiled.
I walked over.
“Tell me.”
“Go to Bellweather.”
“Which building?”
He said nothing.
Emma appeared again.
This time I didn't scold her.
She walked to the table and stared at him.
“I know you.”
His smile vanished.
“Where?”
“He drove the car.”
“What car?”
“The one that followed Mommy.”
The man looked away.
Emma stepped closer.
“You were there when Daddy died.”
Every adult in the room froze.
I crouched beside her.
“Emma, are you sure?”
She nodded.
“I saw him before.”
“Where?”
“Daddy's funeral.”
The captive's breathing changed.
Jonah noticed.
So did I.
I placed Nathan's photograph in front of him.
“You have one chance.”
Silence.
“Where is Claire?”
Nothing.
Then Emma said softly:
“Mommy said bad people stay scary only while everybody is afraid to tell the truth.”
The man looked at her.
Something in his face broke.
Maybe shame.
Maybe exhaustion.
“Old St. Vincent Hospital.”
Marcus frowned.
“It's abandoned.”
“Bellweather owns the redevelopment company.”
“Claire?”
“Basement psychiatric wing.”
“Rachel?”
“Same.”
I stood.
Jonah reached for his coat.
Julian stopped us.
“If you storm the building, Sloane destroys everything.”
“Then what do you suggest?”
“Make him think he's won.”
I looked toward the bedroom where the girls waited.
“No.”
“You don't know what I'm suggesting.”
“If it involves those children, no.”
Emma stepped forward.
“What if we help?”
“No.”
She crossed her arms.
Again.
I was beginning to hate that gesture.
Julian explained.
“The hearing tomorrow is Sloane's endgame. He expects Evelyn to arrive with the girls.”
“So?”
“So we let her.”
I stared at him.
Then I understood.
“Not the real girls.”
Julian smiled.
“Exactly.”
At 7:30 the next morning, federal agents quietly surrounded the courthouse.
At 8:15, Evelyn Ward entered through the underground garage accompanied by four children in pastel coats.
From a distance, they looked convincing.
They were actually small-statured female federal agents.
I would have paid money to see Sloane's face when he learned that later.
Meanwhile, Jonah, Marcus, Julian and I entered old St. Vincent through a service tunnel.
The basement smelled of dust and disinfectant.
Too clean for an abandoned hospital.
We found medical rooms.
Restraints.
Records.
Fake evaluations.
Names of dozens of victims.
Then we found Rachel.
Alive.
Bruised.
Furious.
She looked at me.
“Vale?”
“Detective.”
“You took your time.”
“I stopped for coffee.”
Despite everything, she laughed.
We freed her.
“Claire?”
Rachel pointed down the corridor.
“Last door.”
I reached it.
Locked.
Jonah forced it.
Claire Bennett sat on a narrow bed.
For fifteen years, I had remembered her as twenty-three.
She was thirty-eight now.
Tired.
Thinner.
But when she looked at me, I saw the same woman who had once stitched my shoulder and refused payment.
“Adrian.”
“Your daughters are safe.”
Her entire body sagged.
“Thank God.”
I helped her stand.
“You knew they'd find me?”
“I hoped.”
“Why?”
“Because I told them to find the scariest man in the room.”
Despite myself, I laughed.
Then Claire hugged me.
“Thank you.”
I didn't know what to do with gratitude.
So I said, “We're not finished.”
We weren't.
Rachel found a server room.
Inside were records proving Bellweather's operations.
Enough for prosecutions.
Enough to clear Claire.
Enough to destroy Sloane.
But Sloane wasn't there.
At 8:58, Julian called.
“The hearing is starting.”
“Where's Sloane?”
“Not here.”
My stomach tightened.
“He knows.”
Then my phone rang.
Unknown number.
I answered.
Victor Sloane's voice was calm.
“Adrian.”
“Victor.”
“You've been very busy.”
“Where are you?”
He chuckled.
“You keep assuming Bellweather House is a building.”
I looked at Claire.
She went pale.
“What does he mean?”
Claire whispered, “The house isn't the hospital.”
Sloane continued.
“Tell Claire I finally remembered where she hid the original trust documents.”
Claire's eyes widened.
I covered the phone.
“Where?”
“My house.”
The line disconnected.
Claire grabbed my arm.
“My daughters.”
“They're at my apartment.”
“No.”
Her face emptied.
“Adrian, the bracelet wasn't only a key.”
“What was it?”
“A tracker.”
My phone buzzed.
Security alert.
The apartment cameras had gone offline.
Then Rosa called.
I answered.
May you like
All I heard was Mia screaming.
The line went dead.
