The sirens grew louder.
Vivian's heart hammered against her ribs. Derek stood by the plane, his smile wide and bloody, his phone still in his hand.
"You have maybe three minutes," he said. "Long enough to run. Long enough to hide. But not long enough to fix what's coming."
Lucian didn't move. His fists were still clenched, his body still angled between Vivian and Derek.
"You planted evidence in my car," he said.
"Of course I did. I've been planning this for weeks." Derek wiped blood from his lip. "You think I didn't know you were investigating me? You think I didn't have someone watching you?"
"Karen."
"Karen is loyal. She told me everything. The files. The secretary. The little trip to the FBI." He laughed. "Did you really think they would help you? I own half the agents in that office."
Lucian's jaw tightened. "We'll see."
"You'll see nothing. You'll be in custody before sunrise. And by the time you get out—if you get out—I'll be on a beach in a country without extradition." He picked up his suitcase. "Goodbye, nephew."
He turned and walked up the steps of the plane.
Lucian started after him.
Vivian grabbed his arm. "No. He wants you to follow. He wants you to make it worse."
"He's getting away."
"He's not going anywhere." She pulled him back. "The police are coming. If you're on that plane when they arrive, they'll have a reason to shoot."
Lucian looked at her. Then at the plane. Then back at her.
"We need to leave," she said. "Now."
They ran.
Not toward the car—toward the fence, through the gap in the chain-link, into the dark lot where Lucian had parked.
"They'll be looking for the Mercedes," he said, breathless. "We need another vehicle."
Vivian looked around. A row of rental cars. A delivery truck. A motorcycle.
"There." She pointed to a sedan with keys visible through the window. "That one."
Lucian didn't hesitate. He broke the window with his elbow, unlocked the door, and hotwired the engine in under thirty seconds.
"Get in."
She got in.
They sped out of the lot just as the first police cruiser turned onto the tarmac.
The drive was silent.
Lucian's hands were white on the steering wheel. Vivian watched the side mirror, waiting for flashing lights that didn't come.
"They're not following," she said.
"They will be. Once they realize we're not in the Mercedes."
"Where are we going?"
"Back to the cabin. It's the only place Derek doesn't know about."
"He knows about everything."
"Not that cabin." Lucian glanced at her. "There's another one. Deeper in the woods. No road. No address. My father built it when he first started investigating Derek. He never told anyone."
"Not even your mother?"
"Especially not her."
They drove for two hours.
The roads narrowed from highway to county road to dirt path. Lucian killed the headlights as they turned onto a track that wasn't marked on any map.
"We walk from here."
They left the stolen car behind a thicket of bushes and followed a trail that was barely visible in the moonlight. The woods were dark and cold. Vivian stumbled twice. The second time, Lucian caught her wrist and didn't let go.
"Almost there," he said.
The cabin was smaller than the first. One room, no windows, a metal door that looked like it belonged on a bunker. Lucian punched a code into a keypad hidden behind a loose board.
The door swung open.
Inside was dark and smelled of dust. He found a flashlight and turned it on.
"This was my father's panic room. He had it built after Derek made his first threat." He walked to a metal cabinet and opened it. Inside were weapons. Guns, knives, ammunition. "He knew Derek would come for him eventually."
"He was right."
"He was." Lucian closed the cabinet. "But he didn't prepare for what came after."
"What do you mean?"
He turned to look at her. The flashlight cast shadows across his face.
"He left me a letter. Before he died. He said if anything happened to him, I should run. Take the evidence and disappear." He set the flashlight on the table. "I didn't listen."
"You stayed."
"I stayed. And I've been fighting ever since." He sat down on the edge of the cot. "I'm tired, Vivian. I'm so tired."
She sat beside him. "Then rest."
"I can't. Not until this is over."
"It won't be over if you burn out." She took his hand. "Rest. Just for a few hours. I'll watch."
He looked at her. His eyes were red-rimmed, exhausted.
"You should sleep too."
"Someone needs to keep watch."
"Then we'll take turns." He lay back on the cot, pulling her down beside him. "Wake me in three hours."
Vivian lay in the dark, her head on his shoulder, her hand still in his. She listened to his breathing slow. She listened to the wind outside.
She didn't sleep.
At dawn, her phone buzzed.
She had almost no signal—just one bar, flickering in and out. But the message came through.
A text from an unknown number.
Derek's plane never took off. The FAA grounded all flights out of Teterboro after an anonymous tip. He's still in the city.
Vivian's heart leaped.
Who is this? she typed.
Someone who wants him to pay.
Why are you helping us?
Because I was there. The night your father died. I saw what happened.
Vivian sat up, her hands shaking.
Who are you?
I can't tell you. Not yet. But I have evidence. Real evidence. Meet me at the old warehouse on Pier 17. Tomorrow night. 8:00. Come alone.
How do I know this isn't a trap?
You don't. But you don't have a choice.
The message ended.
Vivian stared at the screen.
"What is it?" Lucian's voice was rough with sleep.
She handed him the phone.
He read the messages, his expression darkening. "This could be Derek."
"It could be. Or it could be someone who actually wants to help."
"Or it could be someone who wants to finish what Derek started."
Vivian took the phone back. "We have to go."
"We have to be smart." He sat up. "If we walk into a trap, we lose everything. The evidence. The case. Our lives."
"And if we don't go, we lose the chance to finally end this."
He was silent for a long moment.
Then he nodded. "We go. But we prepare. We bring backup. We don't trust anyone."
"Agreed."
He stood up and walked to the metal cabinet. He pulled out a gun and held it out to her.
"Do you know how to use this?"
"My father taught me. When I was fifteen." She took it. It was cold and heavy in her hands. "He said the world was dangerous."
"He was right."
They spent the day planning.
Lucian made calls—quiet, careful calls to people he trusted. A former FBI agent who had retired after refusing to take a bribe from Derek. A journalist who had been investigating the Sterling family for years. A hacker who owed Lucian a favor.
By nightfall, they had a plan.
Vivian would go to the warehouse alone, as the text instructed. But Lucian and his team would be watching from the shadows. If anything went wrong, they would move in.
"You don't have to do this," Lucian said as they drove toward the city.
"Yes, I do."
"You could stay here. Let me handle it."
"This is my fight." She looked at him. "My father. My mother. My life. I'm not sitting on the sidelines anymore."
He reached over and took her hand. "Then we do it together."
The warehouse was on the Hudson River, a rusted relic from a time when shipping was king. Vivian parked the stolen car two blocks away and walked the rest of the way.
The door was unlocked.
She stepped inside.
The air was cold and damp. Moonlight filtered through broken windows, casting pale shapes on the concrete floor.
"I'm here," she called out.
A figure emerged from the shadows.
It was a woman. Older, maybe sixty, with gray hair and a face that had seen too much.
"You came," the woman said.
"Who are you?"
"My name is Eleanor. I was Derek Sterling's assistant. Before Margaret. Before all of them." She stepped closer. "I was there the night your father died."
Vivian's heart stopped. "What do you mean, you were there?"
"I was driving the car that followed him to the bridge." Eleanor's voice was steady, but her eyes were wet. "Derek told me to make sure he went through with it. To make sure he didn't change his mind."
"You watched him jump?"
"I watched him stand on the edge for twenty minutes. I watched him cry. I watched him call your mother. And then I watched him step off." She pulled an envelope from her coat. "I recorded everything. The call. The threats Derek made. The payments he sent afterward."
Vivian's hands shook as she took the envelope. "Why are you giving me this now?"
"Because I'm dying. Cancer. And I can't die with this on my conscience." Eleanor wiped her eyes. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
Vivian stared at the envelope. At the woman who had watched her father die.
"You could have stopped him."
"I could have. But I was scared. Derek would have killed me." She looked down. "He would have killed my family."
Vivian wanted to scream. She wanted to cry. She wanted to throw the envelope in Eleanor's face.
But she didn't.
She opened the envelope.
Inside was a USB drive. And a photograph.
Her father. Standing on the bridge. His face turned toward the camera, as if he knew someone was watching.
"This is enough to put Derek away forever," Eleanor said. "Use it well."
She turned and walked away.
Vivian stood alone in the dark warehouse, the evidence in her hands, her father's last moments preserved in pixels and paper.
She didn't cry.
She would cry later.
Now, she had work to do.
End of Chapter Ten