Chapter 100: The Power Shift

Bullets shredded the stacks of newspapers above us, sending a blizzard of gray confetti into the crawlspace. Subject 12 moved before the first casing hit the dirt, his body a blur of engineered instinct. He shoved me flat against the damp earth, his weight a shield, while Ben rolled behind the concrete pier, return fire echoing like thunder in the confined space.

"They want the vellum!" Ben yelled over the deafening cracks of the silencers. "They don't care about the house!"

I clutched the affidavit against my chest, the ancient paper crinkling under my fingers. It was the only thing that made me a mother instead of a thief. It was the only thing that made Leo a Sterling instead of an experiment.

"Get to the car!" Subject 12 commanded. He didn't have a weapon, but he had a piece of rebar he’d snatched from the rubble. He swung it with a sickening whistle, catching a shadowed figure in the shins. The man went down with a muffled cry, and Subject 12 was on him, a wolf protecting the pack.

"Go, Sarah!" Ben grabbed my belt, hauling me toward the small, rectangular window at the rear of the foundation.

We scrambled through the opening, the cold night air hitting my face like a slap. Ben threw me toward the SUV, but a figure stepped from behind the rotting oak tree. It was the Chairwoman’s lead security detail, his pistol leveled at my head.

"The paper, Sarah," he said, his voice terrifyingly calm. "Or we start the termination protocol on the boy remotely."

I froze, the affidavit shaking in my hand. He wasn't bluffing. They had the hospital codes. They had the power.

"Let her go."

The voice came from the porch above us.

Edith stood there, her stolen nurse's scrubs stained with blood, the bolt cutters still swinging from her hand. She looked like a ghost that had refused to stay buried. The security guard didn't turn, but his aim wavered.

"She has the affidavit, Mrs. Sterling," the guard said. "It's over."

"It's only over when I say so," Edith rasped. She stepped off the porch, her movements stiff, her good eye fixed on me with a hunger that surpassed greed. It was a need for existence. "Give it to me, Sarah. I raised you. I gave you the Sterling name. Without me, you are nothing but a hoarder's mistake."

"Without you," I said, my voice finding a cold, hard edge, "I am the rightful head of the Trust."

I held up the judicial order from Judge Harper, then the vellum affidavit.

"The police are three minutes away, Edith. And I'm not the one in handcuffs."

"I own the police!" she screamed, lunging forward.

The guard fired, but not at me. He fired at the tires of Ben's truck, a warning shot that sparked off the rim. In the momentary distraction, Subject 12 burst from the crawlspace like a demon from the earth. He tackled the guard, the two of them crashing into the bushes in a tangle of limbs.

I didn't run for the car. I ran for the front door of the house. I had to get to a phone. I had to call the hospital.

I burst into the foyer, the familiar smell of dust and lavender choking me. I didn't see the figure in the rocking chair until I was halfway to the kitchen.

Clara was there.

She was sitting in the bluebell chair, her eyes open, her hand resting on the silver key. She wasn't a corpse. She was a witness.

"The numbers, Sarah," she whispered, her voice a dry rasp. "They're coming."

I didn't understand until I heard the heavy boots on the porch. Not the police. The Board.

I looked at the affidavit. The slope of my grandfather's signature. The truth of my birth.

The door flew open. Edith stood there, her face a mask of rage and ruin. Behind her, the flashing blue lights of the actual NYPD finally hit the glass of the front windows.

I held the paper up so the officers could see it.

"Her name is Clara Sterling," I shouted, pointing to my mother. "And she owns this house. She owns the Trust. And she wants this woman removed."

Two officers burst in, guns drawn, their eyes darting between the burned woman in scrubs and the professional organizer holding a piece of history.

Edith tried to reach for the paper, her fingers clawing the air.

"That's my property!" she shrieked. "She's a mental patient! I have power of attorney!"

"Not anymore," I said, stepping between her and Clara.

I handed the affidavit to the lead sergeant. He scanned the seal, the signature, and the bold, underlined text that stripped Edith of her name.

He looked at Edith, then back at me.

"Mrs. Sterling?" the sergeant asked, turning toward Edith.

"Yes?" she snapped, preening for a second, her ego rising like a flare.

"You are no longer the decision maker, Mrs. Sterling."