The Lowest Point

Harrison dropped the leather book as if the empty pages had burned his skin. The heavy thud against the oak floor sounded like a closing cell door. He didn't look disappointed; he looked enlightened. He traded the mask of the vulnerable addict for a expression of sharp, lethal clarity that made Eleanor’s blood turn to slush.

"Blank, Eleanor?" Harrison’s voice was a low, melodic purr. He stepped over the book, closing the distance between them until she could see the dilated pinpricks of his pupils. "You always were a terrible liar. Meticulous with your columns, but you can’t act for shit."

Eleanor pressed her back against the kitchen island, the granite biting into her spine. She felt for the transmitter, her fingers twitching against the hem of her sweater. *Just a little longer,* she told herself. *Just get them to talk about the brakes.*

"I don't need a ledger to tell me what you did, Harrison," she said, her voice rising to a forced, frantic pitch. "I heard the audio. I know you were under the SUV the night they died."

Arthur Pendelton didn't move from the doorway, but he reached into his charcoal blazer. He didn't pull out a settlement or a fresh NDA. He extracted a small, black plastic device with a dual antenna—a industrial-grade signal jammer. He clicked a switch on the side.

A high-pitched, microscopic whine filled the room, then silence.

Eleanor felt the transmitter beneath her shirt go cold. The steady, reassuring pulse of the live connection was gone. The bridge to the FBI van was a million miles long, and she was on the wrong side of it.

"We swept your car at the precinct, Eleanor," Arthur said, his tone bored, almost academic. "Chief Miller found the federal tracking signature before you were even in the room. You really think we’d let you walk into a private meeting without a deep clean?"

Harrison leaned in, his shadow stretching across the ceiling like a stain. The charming brother was dead. In his place was the psychopath her parents had spent sixty million dollars to hide from the world. He reached into the pocket of his parka, his movements slow and deliberate, enjoying the way Eleanor’s breath hitched.

"The feds are a mile away, El," Harrison smiled, pulling a heavy wrench from his coat. "A lot can happen in a minute."