Chapter 8 - THE UNFINISHED TOWERRiverside Tower was supposed to become twenty-two floors of glass offices overlooking the river.
At midnight, it was a concrete skeleton.
No walls on the upper floors.
Temporary lighting.
Plastic sheeting snapping in the September wind.
Graham had walked the site hundreds of times.
He knew every stairwell.
Every elevator shaft.
Every unfinished corridor.
Which was why Jonah hated Sloane’s choice.
“She picked your territory because she assumes you’ll feel confident.”
“I do.”
“That’s the problem.”
Graham wore a wire.
Police stayed several blocks away.
The USB drive in his pocket was a copy.
Rachel’s original remained secured as evidence.
At 12:18 a.m., Graham entered the building.
His footsteps echoed.
“Sloane?”
Nothing.
He climbed.
Second floor.
Third.
Fourth.
His phone vibrated.
Keep going.
He climbed to eight.
Another message.
Alone?
He typed:
Yes.
A response arrived.
You always were easy to control when you thought you were protecting someone.
Graham ignored it.
At the tenth floor, he saw Lily.
She sat in a folding chair near the center of the concrete slab.
Hands free.
No visible restraints.
Sloane stood behind her.
For the first time since the wedding, Graham saw the woman he had nearly married.
She looked exhausted.
No makeup.
Hair pulled back.
Her beautiful wedding-day image had disappeared.
But her eyes were steady.
“Stop there.”
Graham stopped.
Lily looked at him.
“You’re Maisie’s dad.”
His chest tightened.
“Yes.”
“Sloane said you would help me.”
“I will.”
Sloane smiled faintly.
“See? I’m not always a liar.”
“Let Lily go.”
“USB first.”
“Let her walk toward me.”
“No.”
“She has nothing to do with Rachel.”
“She has everything to do with leverage.”
Graham stared.
“There you are.”
Sloane’s smile disappeared.
“What does that mean?”
“The real you.”
“You think this is the real me?”
“I think the woman I loved never existed.”
Something flickered in her expression.
Pain?
Maybe.
Or pride.
“You did love me.”
“I loved a character you created.”
“That sounds convenient.”
“You targeted my family before Rachel died.”
Sloane’s eyes shifted.
“Rachel targeted me.”
“She investigated criminals.”
“She destroyed lives.”
Graham almost laughed.
“You drug children.”
“I never hurt Maisie.”
“You chained her to a bench.”
“She would not stop running.”
“You arranged to have her transported under a fake name.”
“For protection.”
“Protection from who?”
Sloane glanced at Lily.
“Not here.”
Graham understood something.
“She doesn’t know everything.”
“No child should.”
“That didn’t stop you from involving them.”
Sloane’s jaw tightened.
“You want Lily? Give me the drive.”
“Why?”
“Because Rachel stole information that doesn’t belong to her.”
“Rachel is dead.”
Sloane flinched.
A tiny reaction.
Graham saw it.
“You knew her.”
Sloane said nothing.
“You met her.”
Still nothing.
“She warned me about you.”
“That sounds like Rachel.”
“You hated her.”
Sloane laughed quietly.
“No.”
The answer surprised him.
“I respected her.”
“You stalked her.”
“I warned her.”
“About what?”
Sloane glanced toward the darkness beyond Graham.
“I told her to stop investigating Vale.”
“Why?”
“Because Vale wasn’t the person she needed to fear.”
Graham’s heart began beating harder.
“Who was?”
Sloane smiled sadly.
“You still think Vale created Northstar.”
“Didn’t he?”
“No.”
“Then who did?”
She looked at him.
“Your father.”
Graham stared.
“My father died twelve years ago.”
“Yes.”
“He had nothing to do with youth programs.”
“You sure?”
“My father built commercial properties.”
“So does Blackwood.”
Graham said nothing.
Sloane continued.
“Who do you think financed the first Ridgeway property?”
“That proves nothing.”
“Who do you think introduced Vale to wealthy families?”
“You’re lying.”
“Ask Lorraine.”
Graham’s jaw tightened.
“My mother was kidnapped by your people.”
“Not my people.”
“You were there.”
“I delivered her.”
“Why?”
“To keep her alive.”
Graham stared.
Sloane’s voice became urgent.
“You think I’m the center of this because that makes everything simple.”
“You kidnapped children.”
“I moved children.”
“That is kidnapping.”
“Sometimes.”
Lily began crying quietly.
Graham forced himself to remain calm.
“Lily leaves now.”
Sloane looked down at the girl.
For the first time, something resembling shame appeared.
“Go.”
Lily stood.
Graham almost moved.
Sloane raised one hand.
“Walk slowly.”
Lily crossed the concrete.
When she reached Graham, he placed her behind him.
“Keep walking toward the stairs.”
“I’m scared.”
“I know.”
“Are police there?”
Sloane laughed once.
Graham’s pulse jumped.
Lily looked at him.
He whispered, “Go.”
She ran.
Sloane did not stop her.
Graham waited until footsteps disappeared.
Then he faced Sloane.
“Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why let her go?”
“Because I’m not who you think.”
“You’re worse.”
“Maybe.”
Wind whipped plastic across the open floor.
Sloane held out her hand.
“The drive.”
“No.”
Her expression hardened.
“Graham.”
“You tell me everything.”
“You don’t have enough time.”
“Make time.”
Sloane glanced toward the edge of the building.
Then toward the stairwell.
She suddenly looked afraid.
Not of Graham.
Of someone else.
The wire beneath Graham’s shirt crackled faintly.
Sloane heard it.
Her eyes dropped.
“You brought them.”
Graham tensed.
She stepped closer.
“You idiot.”
“Police are the reason Lily is going home.”
“No.”
Sloane looked toward the darkness.
“They followed you too.”
A sound came from the far stairwell.
Metal scraping concrete.
Someone approaching.
Sloane backed away.
“Who?” Graham whispered.
She ignored the question.
“Give me the drive.”
“No.”
“If they get it, Rachel died for nothing.”
Graham froze.
“You said Rachel died naturally.”
“I didn’t say anything about Rachel’s death.”
Footsteps grew louder.
Graham’s pulse thundered.
“Did they kill her?”
Sloane stared at him.
Then whispered:
“Not the way you think.”
A man stepped from behind a concrete pillar.
Graham recognized him immediately.
He had seen the face at Thanksgiving dinners.
Birthday parties.
Business meetings.
The man raised a pistol.
Graham could not move.
“Uncle Peter?”
Peter Grant smiled.
His father’s younger brother.
A man Graham had trusted since childhood.
A man who sat beside him at Rachel’s funeral.
A man who had hugged Maisie yesterday before the wedding.
Peter pointed the gun at Sloane.
“You really do talk too much, Catherine.”
Sloane looked at Graham.
May you like
“Now do you understand?”
Peter fired.
