Mrs. Gable's Stand

Mrs. Gable’s hand was remarkably steady as she held the brass candlestick, the weight of forty years of loyalty shifting in a single, silent moment. She didn't look like a housekeeper anymore. She looked like a sentry.

"I won't let him do it," she said, her voice low. "I won't let him erase the baby."

Elena looked at the key in the wooden box. It was tarnished silver, heavy with history.

"You knew," Elena said. "All this time. You knew about the tunnel. About the second fortune."

"I knew Arthur didn't trust Silas," Gable said. "He told me, just before the end. He said, 'If the wolf ever comes for the sheep, give this to the shepherd.'"

She looked at Elena.

"You're the shepherd now."

Sirens wailed, a chaotic chorus that was getting louder, closer. But they weren't the only sound.

From inside the manor, above the crackle of the fire in the library, came a scream.

Not of pain. Of rage.

"Beatrice," Elena said.

"She went after him," Julian said, looking back at the house. "She went after Vane."

"We have to go," Marcus said, limping toward the ambulance, one arm around Leo. "The police will secure the scene. They'll find Vane."

"No," Elena said. "They won't. Vane has a helicopter. And Beatrice..."

She looked at Julian.

"Beatrice is going to get herself killed."

"She made her choice," Julian said, his voice hard. But his eyes betrayed him. He was looking at the burning library window.

"She's your sister," Elena said. "Even if she isn't really... she's the only one left."

She put the silver key in her pocket.

"Take Leo," she told Julian. "Take Marcus. Go to the hospital. Get him checked out. Properly."

"Where are you going?"

"I'm going to finish the tour," Elena said.

She turned back to the house.

"Elena, don't!" Julian grabbed her arm. "It's burning!"

"The library is burning," she said. "The rest of the house is stone. It will hold."

"Why?"

"Because if Vane gets on that helicopter," Elena said, "he wins. He escapes with the accounts he didn't burn. He starts over somewhere else. And he hunts us for the rest of our lives."

She pulled away.

"I'm not going to be hunted anymore."

She ran back toward the manor.

The front door was blocked by police. They were setting up a perimeter, shouting orders.

Elena didn't go to the front. She went to the side. To the coal chute.

The grate was still open.

She slid down into the darkness for the second time that night. The air was thicker now, acrid with smoke. She pulled her shirt over her nose.

She climbed the service stairs.

The hallway was filled with gray haze. The party guests were gone, evacuated. The house was empty.

Except for the hunter and the prey.

She heard footsteps above her. On the roof access stairs.

She ran.

She reached the third floor. The door to the attic stairs was open.

She climbed.

The attic was untouched by the fire, but the smoke was rising, pooling against the ceiling.

She reached the roof access door. It was a heavy steel hatch.

It was open.

The sound of the helicopter was deafening now. The rotors were spinning, whipping the smoke into a frenzy.

Elena climbed out onto the roof.

The wind hit her, cold and violent.

Vane was there. He was near the helipad, clutching a briefcase. He was shouting at the pilot.

And Beatrice was there.

She was standing between Vane and the helicopter. She still had the axe.

"Move!" Vane screamed, his voice barely audible over the rotors.

"Make me," Beatrice shouted.

Vane pulled a gun. A backup. A small, silver revolver.

He aimed at Beatrice.

"No!" Elena screamed.

She ran across the slate tiles.

Vane fired.

Beatrice stumbled. She dropped to one knee. She clutched her shoulder, blood blooming against her torn coat.

Vane stepped over her. He walked toward the helicopter.

Elena didn't stop. She didn't think.

She tackled him.

She hit him from the side, driving her shoulder into his ribs. They fell onto the hard slate, rolling toward the edge of the roof.

The briefcase flew from his hand. It slid across the tiles. It hit the gutter.

And it opened.

Papers flew out. Not documents. Not deeds.

Cash.

Stacks and stacks of cash.

And passports. Dozens of them.

Vane scrambled up. He kicked Elena in the stomach.

"You stupid girl!" he screamed. "You ruined everything!"

He lunged for the passports. They were blowing away, fluttering down into the smoke like dead birds.

Elena gasped for air. She tried to stand.

Vane grabbed her by the throat. He slammed her against the chimney stack.

"I should have killed you in the attic twenty years ago," he hissed. "I should have buried you with the rest of the trash."

He squeezed.

Black spots danced in Elena’s vision.

"But you didn't," she choked out.

She reached into her pocket. She grabbed the tension wrench. The lockpick.

She jammed it into his hand.

Vane screamed. He let go.

Elena fell to the ground.

Vane looked at his hand. Blood was welling up.

He looked at Elena. His eyes were wild.

He raised his foot to stomp on her.

*Thwack.*

A sound like a melon hitting pavement.

Vane froze.

He looked down.

The blade of the fire axe was buried in his calf.

Beatrice was on the ground behind him, dragging herself forward. She held the handle of the axe with both hands.

"I told you," she wheezed. "My loyalty has a price."

Vane screamed. He fell.

He crawled toward the edge of the roof, trying to get away from the woman he had discarded.

He reached the gutter.

He looked back.

Elena stood up. Beatrice struggled to her knees.

"Help me," Vane whispered.

He slipped.

His hand scrabbled for purchase on the wet slate.

He found only the empty velvet pouch of the stolen emeralds, caught in the gutter.

The fabric tore.

Vane fell.

He didn't scream. He just disappeared into the smoke.

A second later, there was a dull thud from the courtyard below.

Elena walked to the edge. She looked down.

Silas Vane lay on the cobblestones. Broken. Still.

And around him, fluttering down from the roof, fell the passports of the men he would never be.

Elena looked at Beatrice.

"Are you okay?"

Beatrice looked at the axe. She looked at her shoulder.

"No," she said. "But I'm expensive."

The helicopter pilot saw Vane fall. He didn't wait. He lifted off, the machine banking away into the night, leaving them alone on the roof of the burning house.

Elena sat down next to Beatrice. She pulled the silver key from her pocket.

"We have a plane to catch," she said.

"What plane?"

"The one to Zurich," Elena said. "We have a deposit to make."