Chapter 4 – THE BROKEN CHORD
“Jonathan, look out!” I screamed.
Jonathan turned just as the guard swung the heavy flashlight. He ducked, taking a glancing blow to his shoulder that sent him crashing into a cocktail table.
Maya screamed, dropping to the floor.
I didn’t hesitate. Forty years of tightening piano wire gives a woman incredible grip strength. I gripped the heavy steel tuning hammer in my right hand and swung it hard, catching the guard perfectly on the side of his knee.
He let out a shout of pain and collapsed onto the marble floor, clutching his leg.
I leaped over him, smashing the tuning hammer into the glass of the fire suppression override panel. The glass shattered. I yanked the red lever down.
The hissing stopped. The white gas slowly began to dissipate.
Jonathan struggled to his feet, breathing heavily. He grabbed the guard by the collar of his uniform. “Who gave the order? Was it Arthur?”
The guard spit blood onto the floor. “You’re already dead, Pierce. Both of you.”
I ignored him and used my lock-picking tools to force the electronic deadbolt on the service doors. With a heavy click, the doors swung open, leading to the catering kitchen.
“Come on,” I grabbed Maya’s hand. “To the basement.”
We ran through the abandoned kitchen. The catering staff had completely vanished. Pots of water were still boiling on the stoves.
“They cleared the staff out before the gala even started,” Jonathan realized, pulling his suit jacket off. “This entire night was a setup. They brought us here to die.”
We reached the heavy steel door leading to the sub-basement. It was slightly ajar. The faint smell of burning paper wafted up the concrete stairs.
We moved silently down the steps.
The basement was a massive, cavernous storage space filled with broken chairs, old event banners, and empty instrument cases. At the far end of the room, the heavy iron door of the building’s old incinerator was open. Bright orange flames licked the inside.
Standing in front of the fire was Arthur Pendelton.
He was meticulously feeding stacks of old, yellowed documents into the flames.
“Arthur,” Jonathan said, his voice echoing off the concrete walls.
The older lawyer didn’t flinch. He tossed another file into the fire before turning around. He smoothed his expensive wool tie.
“Jonathan. I’m surprised you made it out of the ballroom. I told Camille the halon system was too slow.”
“You murdered my mother,” Jonathan said, stepping forward. “And you murdered Maya’s mother.”
“Your mother murdered Maya’s mother,” Arthur corrected calmly. “Eleanor’s sister was demanding more money. Your mother poisoned her to protect the estate. But your mother was sloppy. She left a paper trail. I simply cleaned up the mess.”
“By poisoning my mother?”
Arthur smiled a cold, reptilian smile. “She was becoming a liability. She wanted to confess. To clear her conscience. I couldn’t allow that. Not when we were so close.”
“Close to what?” I demanded.
Arthur reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a pristine, white envelope sealed with red wax.
“Your father’s actual will, Jonathan. Not the fake one we filed ten years ago.” Arthur held it up. “Your father knew Camille wasn’t his biological daughter. He knew your mother had an affair. He left the entire foundation, and fifty percent of the company, to his only biological daughter.”
Arthur pointed a finger directly at Maya.
“To her.”
Maya shrank behind my legs.
“And since Camille and I are legally named as the foundation’s trustees,” Arthur smirked, “once you and the girl unfortunately perish in a tragic fire tonight, we control everything.”
Arthur reached into his coat and pulled out a small, silver revolver. He pointed it directly at Jonathan’s chest.
“Put the gun down, Arthur,” a new voice echoed from the top of the stairs.
We all looked up.
Standing on the landing, holding a police-issue firearm, was Camille.
Share
