Chapter 22 - The Sins of the Patriarch
The sirens weren't rushing to save a victim; they were coming to apprehend a murderer.
The cold realization struck me harder than any physical blow. Evelyn hadn't just organized a mob of self-righteous church hypocrites to humiliate me; she had crafted a foolproof contingency plan. If intimidation failed, if legal forgery collapsed, she would use Kenneth's body as the final lever to strip me of my freedom and my grandmother’s sanctuary.
Robert didn't stay to fight. Despite the deep puncture wound in his thigh, he moved with the ruthless efficiency of a hunted predator. He backed down the shadowy basement stairs, vanishing into the subterranean gloom. A heavy splash echoed from the flooded foundation, followed by the metallic screech of the exterior storm cellar doors being forced open from the inside. He was escaping into the swampy underbrush behind the property, leaving me holding the smoking gun.
"Riley..." a weak, gurgling voice called out from the bottom of the landing.
I racked another shell into the chamber of the shotgun, the mechanical click grounding my racing pulse. I pulled a high-powered tactical flashlight from the hall drawer and stepped cautiously down the cellar stairs, my boots squelching in the encroaching muddy runoff.
Kenneth lay half-submerged near the rusted furnace, his tailored suit ruined by oily water and scarlet stains. His skull was badly fractured where Robert’s crowbar had clipped him, and his breath rattled in his chest like loose ball bearings in a tin can.
"Don't move, Kenneth," I ordered, keeping the light pinned on his pale, blood-spattered face while scanning the shadows for Robert. "The paramedics will be here in minutes."
"No... no paramedics..." Kenneth sputtered, coughing up pink foam. His trembling hand reached out, water cascading from his designer cufflinks, and grabbed the cuff of my jeans with surprising strength. "You don't understand... the sheriff... Sheriff Miller is Evelyn’s cousin. He’s... he’s in on the Baja syndicate."
My blood ran cold. Sheriff Miller had been the one who signed the incident report when Evelyn brought the moving truck earlier that morning. He was the one who had tipped his hat to her, treating her like royalty while eyeing me like a delinquent squatter.
"Where is it, Kenneth?" I demanded, kneeling beside him in the freezing water. "The original ledger. The one Grandma hid."
Kenneth’s eyes rolled back slightly, fighting the creeping darkness of shock. He reached inside his saturated suit jacket, his trembling fingers fumbling with a waterproof hunting pouch sewn into the lining. He ripped it free and thrust it toward me.
"Robert... Robert made me forge the bank signatures ten years ago..." Kenneth whispered, his voice fading to a ghost of a sound. "Helen knew. She caught us. She kept the master hard drive and the land deeds... behind the third joist... above the wine rack. Take it, Riley... Evelyn promised to liquidate the church trust to pay off my gambling debts in Reno... she lied to me... she lied to all of us..."
His hand slipped from my pant leg, splashing limply into the dark water. His eyes remained half-open, staring blankly at the exposed water pipes overhead. His pulse was thready, barely a flutter beneath the clammy skin of his neck, but he was still breathing.
"Stay alive, you bastard," I muttered through gritted teeth. "You’re going to testify."
I waded through the knee-deep water toward the back corner of the cellar where Grandma Helen’s antique wine rack stood anchored to the limestone foundation. Reaching up behind the third ceiling joist, my fingers found a hollow recess packed with fiberglass insulation. Pushing it aside, my hand closed around a heavy, steel lockbox coated in cosmoline.
I dragged it out. It was intact.
Upstairs, the screech of tires skidding across the wet gravel of the driveway tore through the storm.
High-intensity headlights flashed through the fractured kitchen windows, sweeping violent blades of white light across the ceiling. Heavy car doors slammed in rapid succession.
"Riley Vance! This is the Crawford County Sheriff's Department!" a voice bellowed through an external bullhorn, distorted by the torrential rain. "Drop your weapons and come out with your hands above your head! The premises are surrounded! Step out immediately!"
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Through the basement window wells, I saw the silhouettes of three cruisers parked bumper-to-bumper, their red and blue strobe lights painting the falling rain in shades of violence. And stepping out from the front passenger seat of the lead cruiser, wrapped in a plush cashmere coat with an umbrella held over her head by a uniformed deputy, was my mother.
Evelyn had arrived to claim her inheritance over my dead body.
