Chapter 9 - SEVENTEEN MINUTES UNTIL MIDNIGHT
Isabella moved first.
She slammed her heel backward into the gunman’s shin.
He cursed.
She twisted away.
Sophia ran toward her.
The gun fired.
The shot exploded through the house.
Wood splintered beside Isabella’s head.
Everyone screamed.
Arthur tackled the gunman.
Charles stumbled backward.
Thomas shouted:
“Stop!”
Sophia reached Isabella and dragged her behind the staircase.
Another shot.
Then silence.
Arthur lay on the floor gripping the gunman’s wrist.
Eleanor grabbed a brass lamp and struck the man across the head.
He collapsed.
For one impossible second, everyone froze.
Then Isabella started laughing.
Not because anything was funny.
Because adrenaline had nowhere else to go.
Sophia stared at her.
“You’re insane.”
Isabella looked at Sophia’s red cheek.
“You already knew that.”
The strange joke lasted half a second.
Then Thomas pulled another gun.
“Enough.”
Everyone stopped.
He pointed it toward Charles.
“Open the basement.”
Charles stared.
“No.”
Thomas cocked the weapon.
“You think I won’t?”
Elizabeth stepped between them.
“Thomas.”
His face changed.
“Move.”
“No.”
“You left me.”
“You became someone I was afraid of.”
“I became what Charles created.”
Charles laughed bitterly.
“You always blame richer men for your crimes.”
Thomas swung the gun toward him.
Sophia shouted:
“Stop!”
She stepped into view.
“You want the archive?”
“Yes.”
“Then nobody else gets hurt.”
Thomas stared at her.
“You sound like Jonathan.”
Sophia swallowed.
“Was he really my brother?”
Thomas’s eyes flickered.
“Yes.”
“Did you kill him?”
“No.”
“Who did?”
Thomas looked toward the clock.
11:47.
“Open the archive and you’ll hear it yourself.”
Charles finally pulled a key from beneath his shirt.
Sophia stared.
Another key.
This family seemed built from locked doors.
He inserted it into the basement door.
The lock clicked.
Cold air rose from below.
Thomas ordered everyone down.
The basement was not abandoned.
Lights turned on automatically.
Modern steel walls sat hidden beneath the old stone foundation.
At the far end stood a vault.
Two palm scanners.
Two circular key slots.
A digital timer glowed above them.
00:12:14.
Twelve minutes.
Arthur stared.
“This was built twenty years ago?”
Charles nodded.
“Jonathan planned for the trust deadline.”
Sophia turned.
“How could he know we would both be here tonight?”
“He didn’t.”
Charles looked ashamed.
“He hoped.”
Thomas gestured.
“Hands on the scanners.”
Sophia and Isabella approached.
Nothing happened.
A screen requested:
BENEFICIARY VERIFICATION.
Sophia placed her palm.
Isabella did the same.
Green light.
Then:
VOICE CONFIRMATION.
Two names appeared.
SOPHIA ELIZABETH VALE.
ISABELLA JONATHAN HAWTHORNE.
Sophia stared at her legal name.
Vale.
Not Hawthorne.
Thomas smiled.
“Now you know.”
Sophia ignored him.
Both women spoke their names.
The vault clicked.
Inside were shelves of files.
Hard drives.
Photographs.
Audio tapes.
And one old video recorder.
A monitor turned on automatically.
Jonathan Hawthorne appeared on-screen.
Young.
Exhausted.
Alive.
Sophia’s breath caught.
She had never seen him move before.
Jonathan looked directly into the camera.
“If both girls are watching this, then at least one thing went right.”
Isabella began crying.
Sophia felt tears rise too.
Jonathan continued.
“Sophia, I’m sorry you were born into a family that made your existence dangerous.”
“Isabella, I’m sorry I could not guarantee you a childhood without lies.”
He looked away briefly.
Then back.
“Someone has been stealing from our company for years.”
Thomas watched silently.
Jonathan continued.
“I originally believed Thomas Vale was responsible.”
Thomas’s jaw tightened.
“But I was wrong.”
Everyone froze.
Jonathan leaned closer to the camera.
“Thomas discovered the theft too.”
Charles slowly turned toward him.
Jonathan said:
“The person taking the money had access before Thomas ever entered the company.”
Sophia looked at Charles.
So did Isabella.
Charles went pale.
Jonathan continued.
“I confronted my father.”
Charles whispered:
“No.”
The video went on.
“He denied it.”
“He said the transfers were authorized.”
“They were not.”
Charles shouted:
“This is edited!”
Thomas laughed.
“Of course.”
Jonathan lifted a document toward the camera.
“Charles Hawthorne moved more than sixty million dollars into accounts connected to private clinics, judges, police officials, and shell companies.”
Eleanor stared at her father.
“What did you do?”
Charles backed toward the stairs.
Jonathan’s recording continued.
“But Charles wasn’t stealing the money for himself.”
Everyone stopped.
Charles closed his eyes.
“He was paying someone.”
Sophia felt cold.
Jonathan spoke one final sentence before the video glitched.
“He was paying my mother.”
Elizabeth stopped breathing.
The screen went black.
Then another file automatically loaded.
A date appeared.
October seventeenth.
The night Jonathan died.
Audio only.
First, Jonathan’s voice.
Then Charles.
Then Eleanor.
Then Elizabeth.
Then a fifth voice.
A woman none of them immediately recognized.
Jonathan shouted:
“You cannot keep doing this!”
The unknown woman answered:
“You should have left the girls out of it.”
Sophia looked around.
“Who is that?”
Charles whispered:
“No.”
Elizabeth backed away.
Isabella turned toward her.
“You know her.”
Elizabeth’s face had gone white.
Then Sophia noticed the basement stairs.
Someone stood at the top.
A woman.
The same woman who had been watching from the hotel corridor earlier.
Except now Sophia could see her clearly.
She was not Elizabeth.
She only looked like her.
Same age.
Same face.
Almost identical.
Elizabeth whispered:
“Rebecca.”
Sophia stared.
“Who is Rebecca?”
The woman smiled.
Elizabeth answered without looking away.
“My twin sister.”
May you like
Rebecca raised a gun.
“And the woman who actually gave birth to Sophia.”
