Chapter 8 - Saint Cecilia’s
The convent stood on a hill above the river.
Its chapel had no cross. The foundation removed it when the property was deconsecrated, but a pale outline remained in the stone.
Agent Bell’s team stopped two miles away.
Claire and I changed into plain clothes. Each of us wore a transmitter beneath our collars.
The tracking drive rested in my pocket.
A fabricated trust waiver was folded inside Claire’s purse.
“You do not attempt to rescue Evan yourselves,” Agent Bell said. “You keep Grant talking and remain in the chapel.”
“What if he takes us somewhere else?” Claire asked.
“Say the waiver must be notarized in front of witnesses.”
“He’ll know that isn’t true.”
“He’s an attorney. Appeal to his arrogance. Make him explain why it isn’t true.”
Claire nodded.
Agent Bell turned to me.
“If the signal disappears, use the phrase ‘Riley needs her bottle.’ That tells us you are being moved under threat.”
“What is the phrase for entering?”
“Tell Grant the blue folder is closed.”
I looked toward the convent.
“What if Dr. Vale gives Evan the injection before we reach him?”
“The assault team will enter as soon as we confirm Evan’s location.”
We drove the final distance in Claire’s car.
Rain began again.
The same kind of rain that had fallen when Elena died.
Claire gripped the steering wheel.
“I used to envy you,” she said.
I stared at her.
“For what?”
“You never cared whether Mom approved of you.”
“I cared every day.”
“You still did what you wanted.”
“I did what I had to.”
“She displayed my pictures because she needed me to look successful. Every mistake felt like a threat.”
“You had money and support.”
“I had conditions.”
“So did I. Mine included hunger.”
Claire flinched.
“I know.”
“No. You’re beginning to know.”
The convent gates opened automatically.
Grant waited inside the chapel.
He wore a dark coat over a white shirt. His hair was neatly combed, but a cut marked his jaw.
Dr. Vale stood beside the altar.
He was nearly eighty and used an oxygen tube beneath his nose. His age did not make him look harmless.
Evan sat in a wheelchair between them.
His wrists were tied.
His face was bruised, and his head hung forward.
I took one step.
Grant raised a gun.
“That’s close enough.”
“Is he alive?”
Evan lifted his head.
“Val.”
His voice was barely audible.
I wanted to run to him.
Instead, I held my position.
“Where is the drive?” Grant asked.
“Where is the antidote?”
Dr. Vale smiled.
“There is no antidote because he has not been poisoned.”
“Teresa heard you planning an overdose.”
“Teresa hears whatever excuses her conscience.”
Claire took the waiver from her purse.
“Release him first.”
Grant looked at her.
“You disappoint me.”
“You kidnapped me.”
“I protected you from an investigation you were too foolish to survive.”
“You told me Valerie wanted to destroy us.”
“She does.”
I looked at Claire.
“No. I want the truth.”
Grant laughed.
“The truth is simply the version supported by the strongest institution.”
“Not anymore.”
“Because strangers applauded you at graduation?”
“Because your records are in federal custody.”
His smile disappeared.
“Not the encrypted records.”
I removed the drive.
Evan tried to sit upright.
“Don’t.”
Dr. Vale pressed a syringe against his neck.
“Give it to him,” Evan whispered.
Grant extended his hand.
“The waiver first,” I said.
Claire placed it on a table.
Grant read the opening page.
“This document is useless.”
“It transfers my claim,” I said.
“It lacks independent counsel certification.”
“I was told it could be witnessed here.”
“By whom?”
“You.”
His expression changed exactly as Agent Bell predicted.
“I represent the foundation. I cannot serve as independent counsel.”
“Then explain what we need.”
“I need you to sign a declaration denying Michael’s paternity, surrender all trust claims, and acknowledge that the documents were altered by Evan.”
“I won’t call him a criminal.”
“Then he dies as one.”
Grant looked toward Dr. Vale.
The syringe touched Evan’s skin.
I raised the drive.
“The blue folder is closed.”
The chapel doors exploded inward.
Federal agents flooded the room.
Grant fired toward the entrance.
Claire screamed and dropped behind a pew.
Dr. Vale pushed the syringe into Evan’s neck.
I ran.
Gunshots struck the stone altar.
Grant grabbed Claire by the hair and pulled her upward, placing the weapon beneath her chin.
“Back away!” he shouted.
Agents surrounded him.
I reached Evan.
Dr. Vale attempted to escape through a side door, but Agent Bell tackled him.
Evan’s eyes rolled backward.
“What did he give you?”
He could not answer.
I pulled the syringe from his neck and held it up.
“Medic!”
Two tactical medics rushed forward.
One checked the syringe while the other lowered Evan to the floor.
“Possible opioid and sedative,” the medic said. “Administer naloxone.”
They injected him.
Nothing happened.
“Again.”
Grant dragged Claire toward the altar.
“You created this,” he told her.
Claire was shaking.
“I signed the documents because I trusted you.”
“You signed because you wanted Valerie’s money.”
He was not wrong.
The honesty seemed to change Claire.
She stopped struggling.
Then she drove her heel backward into Grant’s knee.
He stumbled.
The gun fired into the ceiling.
Agent Bell shot him in the shoulder.
Grant fell.
Claire crawled away as agents restrained him.
Beside me, the medic administered another injection.
Evan remained still.
“No pulse,” someone said.
They began chest compressions.
I could not move.
Every sound became separate.
The medic counting.
Claire crying.
Grant cursing as agents tightened restraints.
Rain striking broken windows.
“Come on,” the medic said. “Come on.”
Evan’s body lifted beneath each compression.
I held his hand.
“You do not get to leave again.”
No response.
“You hear me? You have a daughter.”
The monitor emitted a long tone.
Then a rhythm appeared.
“We have a pulse.”
My lungs released.
They placed Evan on a stretcher and rushed him outside.
I followed until Agent Bell stopped me.
“You cannot ride in the ambulance. They need space.”
“I’m going to the hospital.”
“We’ll take you.”
Claire stood beneath the chapel doorway with a blanket around her shoulders.
Grant was carried past on another stretcher, conscious and furious.
His eyes met mine.
“You think this ends with me?” he said.
Agent Bell walked beside him.
“It ends with you answering questions in federal custody.”
Grant smiled through the pain.
“Ask Silas who drove the black car.”
Then paramedics loaded him into the ambulance.
Teresa had said Silas did not kill Elena.
Silas claimed the crash was Elena’s fault.
Grant implied someone else drove the car.
At Hawthorne Medical Center, doctors placed Evan on a ventilator.
The emergency physician explained that the injection contained fentanyl, a sedative, and a medication designed to create a false cardiac history.
Dr. Vale had prepared a death certificate before administering it.
Cause of death: accidental overdose.
The same story used for Michael.
I sat beside Evan in intensive care.
Riley slept in my arms.
Dr. Cole had brought her as soon as the hospital was secure.
I placed Riley’s hand over Evan’s.
“This is your father,” I whispered.
Her fingers closed around his thumb.
Evan did not wake.
Claire waited outside the room.
Teresa remained in custody.
Silas had been transferred to a federal detention center.
Dr. Vale requested an attorney.
Grant refused to speak.
At midnight, Agent Bell entered carrying a clear evidence sleeve.
“We searched Saint Cecilia’s basement,” she said. “We found human remains.”
I looked up.
“Who?”
“We don’t know yet.”
“They aren’t Michael?”
“Michael’s body was buried in the family cemetery.”
“Then who?”
She placed a ring on the table.
A silver band engraved with initials.
T.M.H.
“Thomas Matthew Holloway,” Agent Bell said. “Grant’s father.”
The police supervisor who had closed Elena’s crash investigation.
He had disappeared nine years earlier. Grant told people he moved overseas.
“What does that have to do with Elena?”
“A digital recorder was buried beside him.”
“Did it work?”
“Forensics recovered part of the audio.”
Agent Bell played the recording.
Grant’s father spoke first.
“I hit her car because Silas ordered me to stop her. I did not know the impact would kill her.”
Another voice answered.
Male.
Older.
“You knew exactly what could happen.”
Thomas Holloway sounded frightened.
“I kept quiet for thirteen years. I changed the report. I destroyed the paint sample. I deserve payment, not threats.”
The other man said, “You deserve the same peace Elena received.”
A gunshot ended the recording.
I recognized the second voice.
Malcolm Baines.
The dean arrested on my graduation stage had murdered the man who helped kill my mother.
Agent Bell stopped the audio.
“Baines is negotiating a statement.”
“What does he want?”
“A reduced sentence.”
“For telling the truth?”
“For naming the person who ordered the crash.”
“Silas.”
Agent Bell hesitated.
“No.”
I stared at her.
“Then who?”
The intensive-care monitor continued beeping beside us.
May you like
Agent Bell lowered her voice.
“Baines claims Teresa ordered Holloway to stop Elena.”
