The Enemy of My Enemy

The phone rang four times. Elena counted them, each buzz vibrating against the plastic dashboard of the stolen tow truck.

"She's not going to answer," Marcus said, steering around a pothole that threatened to swallow the wheel. "You left her to the wolves, Elena."

"I didn't have a choice," Elena said, pressing the phone to her ear. "Vane would have killed her. This was the only way."

"He might have killed her anyway," Julian said from the back seat. He was holding Leo’s hand, checking his pulse every thirty seconds.

The line clicked.

"Elena?"

Beatrice’s voice was thin, reedy, stripped of its usual aristocratic arrogance.

"I'm here," Elena said. "Are you safe?"

"Safe?" Beatrice let out a harsh, jagged laugh. "I'm freezing. I'm bleeding. And I'm currently sitting in an alley behind a warehouse that smells like rat poison. But yes, I'm alive. No thanks to you."

"Vane let you go?"

"He threw me out," Beatrice said. "Like trash. He said I was a liability. He said my loyalty was worth fourteen dollars and fifty cents."

Elena closed her eyes. Vane had made a mistake. A fatal one. He had humiliated a Hawthorne.

"Beatrice, listen to me," Elena said. "We have the antidote. Leo is stable. But we need to stop the auction."

"Why should I help you?" Beatrice snapped. "You ran. You left me."

"Because Vane stole your money too," Elena said. "He emptied the accounts, Beatrice. The trust fund, the offshore holdings, the liquid assets. It's all gone. He's not just selling the estate. He's cashing out."

Silence on the line. Then, the sound of Beatrice shifting on the pavement.

"Everything?" she whispered.

"Everything," Elena said. "If he leaves tonight, you get nothing. No inheritance. No payout. Just a criminal record and a drug habit."

Beatrice took a breath. It rattled in her chest.

"He's at the warehouse," she said. "The old distribution center by the docks. That's where the auction is happening."

"I know," Elena said. "We're five minutes out."

"There's security," Beatrice said. "Veritas mercenaries. They have the perimeter locked down. You can't just drive in."

"We're not driving in," Elena said. "We're breaking in."

"How?"

"Do you still have your key?" Elena asked.

"What key?"

"The one to the service tunnels," Elena said. "The one Arthur gave you when you were sixteen. So you could sneak out to meet boys."

Beatrice paused. "I haven't used that in twenty years."

"Do you have it?"

"It's on my keychain," Beatrice said. "Vane didn't take my keys. He just took my dignity."

"Meet us at the north grate," Elena said. "Under the pier. We're going to take back what's ours."

"Elena," Beatrice said.

"What?"

"I want to kill him," Beatrice said. Her voice was cold, deadly calm. "I want to be the one who pulls the trigger."

"Get in line," Elena said.

She hung up.

"She's in?" Marcus asked.

"She's in," Elena said. "And she's pissed."

They reached the docks. The warehouse was a fortress of corrugated steel and floodlights. Armed guards patrolled the fence line. A helicopter sat on the roof, blades idling.

"He's planning to fly out," Julian said. "As soon as the auction closes."

"Then we have to close it early," Elena said.

They parked the truck in the shadows of a shipping container. They moved toward the pier, slipping under the wooden walkway where the tide lapped against the pilings.

Beatrice was waiting.

She looked like a wreck. Her coat was torn, her hair matted, her face bruised. But her eyes were burning.

She held up a rusted iron key.

"This better work," she said.

"It will," Julian said. "Arthur built these tunnels to last."

Beatrice looked at him. She looked at Leo, who was leaning against Marcus, weak but awake.

"You look like hell, brother," she said.

"You don't look much better, Bea," Julian said.

She smirked. It was a ghost of her old smile. "Let's go steal a fortune."

She unlocked the grate. It groaned open.

They slipped into the tunnel. It was damp, smelling of seawater and rust. They moved quickly, guided by Beatrice’s memory and Elena’s determination.

They reached the end of the tunnel. A ladder led up to a manhole cover.

"This comes up in the boiler room," Beatrice whispered. "Right behind the main stage."

Elena climbed the ladder. She pushed the cover up. Steam hissed.

She climbed out. The boiler room was hot, noisy. Through a vent in the wall, she could see the main floor of the warehouse.

Rows of chairs. Paddles. A podium.

And Silas Vane.

He was standing on the stage, microphone in hand. He looked immaculate, untouchable.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he boomed, his voice amplified by the speakers. "Welcome to the final chapter of the Hawthorne legacy."

The crowd applauded.

Elena looked at the vent. She looked at Beatrice.

"We need a distraction," she said. "Something big."

Beatrice pointed to the main steam valve on the boiler. It was labeled *Emergency Release*.

"Big enough?" she asked.

"Perfect," Elena said.

She turned to Julian.

"Get Leo to the truck. Keep him safe."

"I'm staying," Julian said.

"No," Elena said. "This is my fight. You take our son. And you wait for me."

Julian hesitated. He kissed her forehead. "Come back."

He took Leo and disappeared back down the ladder.

Elena looked at Marcus and Beatrice.

"Ready?"

Beatrice grabbed the valve wheel. Marcus grabbed the fire axe from the wall.

"Let's crash the party," Beatrice said.

She spun the wheel.

Steam screamed.

The pipe burst.