The Note

My pen hovered over the paper, my hand trembling so hard the ink bled into a small, dark pool.

*What baby?*

I wrote the question. Then I crossed it out. It was too dangerous. If this note was intercepted, it would give Arthur everything. It would tell him exactly what we knew.

I needed to be vague. I needed to give Margaret hope without giving her away.

I tore the page off the notepad and crumpled it up. I started again.

*I know about the tower. I know about the baby. We are coming for you on Friday. Be ready.*

It was short. It was brutal. But it was the truth.

I folded the note into a tiny square. I wrapped it around the photo of the emerald ring. I sealed it with a piece of tape.

My hands were shaking. Not from fear, but from a cold, hard rage that was slowly replacing the panic.

Arthur Hawthorne had built his empire on bodies. He had silenced his wife. He had corrupted his son.

And he had hidden a child.

Whose child?

Margaret was too old. Corinne wasn't around then.

Was it a mistress? A worker?

I thought about the young women Arthur liked to hire for the "executive assistant" program. The ones who disappeared after a year or two with generous severance packages.

I looked at the clock on the microwave. 1:00 AM.

Sarah’s shift started in an hour.

I went to the garage. I didn't take the Ducati this time. It was too loud.

I took Julian’s bicycle. A carbon-fiber racing bike that hung on the wall like a trophy.

I rode through the silent streets of Northwood. The wind bit at my face, but I didn't feel it. I was burning up from the inside.

I reached the woods near the facility. I hid the bike in the brush.

I walked to the service yard.

I waited by the dumpster. The smell of rot was stronger tonight.

A light flashed in the break room window. Once. Twice.

I crept to the door.

It opened. Sarah was there. She looked pale, her eyes darting nervously.

I pressed the note into her hand.

"The baby," I whispered. "Who is the baby?"

Sarah shook her head. "I don't know. She just talks about it when she's... confused. She says, 'He took the baby. He put it in the wall.'"

I felt the bile rise in my throat.

"In the wall?"

"Of the tower," Sarah said. "She says he buried it in the tower."

I stared at her.

"Go," she hissed. "Before the guard comes back."

She closed the door.

I stood there in the darkness.

The Millennium Tower. The jewel of the Hawthorne skyline.

It wasn't just a mass grave for the victims of Arthur's greed.

It was a tomb for a child.

I turned and ran back to the woods.

I had to get to the library. I had to find the floor safe.

Because the ledger wouldn't just have numbers.

It would have names.

And I had a feeling one of those names was going to break my heart.

But first, I had to survive the wait.

It was Wednesday morning.

Margaret was scheduled to die on Friday.

It was the first communication Margaret would have from the outside world in ten years.