Chapter 9 - BLOODLINESThe gunshot was deafening inside the unfinished tower.
Sloane fell.
Graham moved before he understood what he was doing.
He dragged her behind a concrete support column as Peter fired again.
The bullet struck concrete.
Dust exploded beside Graham’s head.
“Stay down!” Graham shouted.
Sloane clutched her shoulder.
Blood spread through her shirt.
“That hurts,” she gasped.
“You think?”
Peter’s voice echoed across the floor.
“Graham.”
Graham pressed his hand against Sloane’s wound.
“What?”
“You don’t need to die tonight.”
Graham stared into the darkness.
“You shot someone.”
“She made her choices.”
“You kidnapped my mother.”
Peter laughed.
“No.”
Sloane whispered, “He ordered it.”
Peter heard.
“That woman truly cannot stop talking.”
Sirens approached in the distance.
Peter stepped closer.
“You brought police, nephew.”
“Of course I did.”
“That was disappointing.”
Graham looked toward the stairwell.
Lily should be with officers by now.
He needed time.
“What did my father have to do with Northstar?”
Peter stopped.
Sloane gave Graham a faint approving look.
Keep him talking.
Peter sighed.
“Your father believed troubled children could be helped.”
“By kidnapping them?”
“No.”
“By drugging them?”
“No.”
“Then explain.”
“Northstar didn’t begin like this.”
Peter’s voice moved closer.
“It started with facilities. Your father financed properties. Vale provided clinical services. Families paid privately.”
“And then?”
“Money became easier.”
Sloane whispered, “He means fraud.”
Peter ignored her.
“Your father withdrew years before he died.”
“Why?”
“Because he discovered Vale falsifying diagnoses.”
Graham thought of Rachel.
“She found the same thing.”
“Yes.”
“You knew Rachel was investigating.”
“Eventually.”
“Did you threaten her?”
Peter was silent.
Graham’s chest tightened.
“Did you?”
“I warned her.”
“Sloane said she warned her.”
“They both did.”
“Why?”
“Because Rachel was stubborn.”
“That isn’t a crime.”
“No. But she copied financial records connecting Grant Development to early Northstar properties.”
Graham understood.
“If those records became public…”
“The company would have been destroyed.”
“My father was dead.”
“The company was not.”
Peter’s entire life was tied to Grant Development.
He owned shares.
Sat on the board.
Advised Graham on major deals.
“Did you kill Rachel?”
“No.”
The answer came immediately.
“Then what did Sloane mean?”
Peter paused.
Sloane whispered, “Ask him where Rachel was going the night she died.”
Graham looked down at her.
“What?”
Peter cursed.
Sloane breathed through the pain.
“Rachel wasn’t home when she collapsed.”
Graham remembered.
Rachel had been found unconscious in her car outside a pharmacy.
She died two days later.
Doctors diagnosed a ruptured aneurysm.
“What are you saying?”
“She met Peter that night.”
Graham stared toward the darkness.
“Is that true?”
Peter emerged slowly.
The gun remained raised.
“Yes.”
Rage flooded Graham.
“You never told me.”
“There was nothing to tell.”
“What did you say to her?”
“I asked for the files.”
“Did she give them to you?”
“No.”
“What did you do?”
“Nothing.”
Sloane laughed weakly.
Peter’s eyes flashed.
“She was upset when she left,” Sloane said.
“Shut up.”
“She was terrified.”
“I said shut up.”
Graham understood.
“You threatened her.”
Peter’s jaw tightened.
“I told her if she released those files, Grant Development would collapse.”
“So?”
“So thousands of employees could lose jobs. Projects would stop. Lawsuits would destroy everything your father built.”
“That wasn’t your decision.”
“She refused.”
“What did you threaten?”
Peter’s silence answered.
Graham felt sick.
“Me?”
Peter said nothing.
“Maisie?”
Still nothing.
Sloane whispered, “Both.”
Graham closed his eyes for one second.
Rachel drove away from that meeting frightened.
Stress would not create an aneurysm from nothing.
But severe stress could raise blood pressure.
Could contribute to rupture in someone already vulnerable.
Peter had not poisoned Rachel.
Had not struck her.
Had not technically murdered her.
But he had spent four years hiding the final hours of her life.
“You let me believe she had been running errands.”
“She was.”
“You sat at her funeral.”
“I loved Rachel.”
“Don’t say that.”
“I did.”
“Don’t.”
Peter’s voice became sharp.
“I did not know she would die.”
Graham believed that part.
Which somehow made everything worse.
Peter did not see himself as a murderer.
He saw himself as unlucky.
“What happened after Rachel died?”
Peter exhaled.
“Vale wanted the files.”
“And you?”
“I wanted the past buried.”
“So you sent Sloane?”
“No.”
For the first time, Peter sounded genuinely angry.
“Catherine decided you were an opportunity.”
Sloane smiled faintly.
“You approved.”
“I tolerated it.”
Graham looked down at her.
“You targeted me anyway.”
“Yes.”
“After knowing Rachel.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Sloane’s eyes filled with something difficult to name.
“Because I needed money.”
At least that answer was honest.
“And Maisie?”
“I was supposed to get her into Blackwood.”
“Why?”
“Once she was admitted, treatment fees could be billed against the trust.”
“How much?”
“As much as Vale could move before anyone challenged it.”
“Millions?”
“Eventually.”
“And me?”
Sloane looked away.
“You were supposed to become medically unreliable.”
“Drugged.”
“Yes.”
“So you could take control.”
“Yes.”
Every answer cut.
Graham forced himself to ask the final question.
“Were you going to kill me?”
Sloane looked directly at him.
“No.”
Peter laughed.
Sloane’s face changed.
Graham looked toward his uncle.
“What does that mean?”
Peter smiled.
“Catherine was never told the whole plan.”
Sloane went pale.
“You said no one gets hurt.”
Peter raised the gun.
“Plans evolve.”
Police shouted from below.
Peter glanced toward the stairwell.
Time was disappearing.
He aimed at Graham.
“Step away from her.”
Graham remained still.
“Why?”
“Because only one of you needs to leave.”
Sloane whispered, “Run.”
Graham ignored her.
Peter’s hand tightened around the gun.
Then a small voice screamed from behind him.
“STOP!”
Every adult froze.
Maisie stood near the stairwell.
Graham’s heart stopped.
“Maisie?”
Paige appeared behind her, breathless.
“She slipped away when they brought Lily down—I’m sorry—”
Peter swung the gun.
Graham lunged.
The next seconds became chaos.
Graham hit Peter at the waist.
The gun fired.
Paige screamed.
Maisie dropped to the ground.
Peter slammed Graham against concrete.
Graham punched him.
Peter struck back.
The gun skidded across the floor.
Sloane crawled toward it.
Peter kicked Graham aside and turned.
Sloane grabbed the weapon first.
Her hands shook.
Peter stared at her.
“You won’t.”
Sloane raised the gun.
“You’re right.”
She slid it across the floor toward Graham.
Peter charged.
Federal agents flooded the stairwell.
“DOWN!”
Peter stopped.
Red laser sights covered his chest.
For several seconds, nobody moved.
Then Peter slowly raised his hands.
Graham ran to Maisie.
She collided with him.
He lifted her so tightly she squeaked.
“You weren’t supposed to come here.”
“I thought you were hurt.”
“I’m okay.”
She touched his face.
There was blood near his eyebrow.
“You are hurt.”
“Little bit.”
Paige reached them.
“I am so sorry.”
Graham shook his head.
Later.
Everything else could happen later.
Paramedics carried Sloane out.
As she passed Graham, their eyes met.
For a moment he saw the woman he had almost married.
Then that illusion vanished.
She looked tired.
Small.
Human.
Not innocent.
Not monstrous.
Just responsible.
“Graham.”
He almost ignored her.
Then stopped.
“What?”
“Rachel’s drive isn’t everything.”
His stomach tightened.
“What does that mean?”
“There’s another copy.”
“Where?”
Sloane looked toward Peter being handcuffed.
“He kept records too.”
“Where?”
“He won’t tell you.”
Graham stepped closer.
“Then you tell me.”
Sloane’s lips trembled from pain.
“Your father’s lake house.”
Graham froze.
The lake house had been locked since his father died.
Nobody used it.
Sloane continued.
“Under the floor in his study.”
“What’s there?”
“I don’t know everything.”
“What do you know?”
Her eyes shifted toward Maisie.
“Enough to know Peter wasn’t the only Grant involved.”
Graham stared.
“My father?”
Sloane shook her head.
“No.”
“Then who?”
Paramedics began moving her.
Graham followed.
“Sloane.”
She looked back.
“There was a woman.”
“What woman?”
“One Rachel trusted.”
“Who?”
The ambulance doors began closing.
Sloane spoke one name.
Graham heard it clearly.
May you like
And wished he hadn’t.
“Lorraine.”
