Chapter 37: Building the Team

The drive back to Ben’s apartment was silent, the kind of silence that feels like holding your breath underwater. I sat in the passenger seat, my mind replaying Elena Russo’s words over and over. *Maria was a surrogate. Clara's eggs. Thorne's sperm.*

I wasn't just related to Clara. I was her daughter. Her biological daughter.

And Leo—the boy I had raised, the boy dying in the hospital—was my brother's son. My blood. My family.

We pulled up to Ben's building. The street was quiet, the 3:00 a.m. stillness broken only by the hum of the streetlights.

"We need a plan," Ben said, cutting the engine. "We can't just storm the hospital again. Edith has the police in her pocket."

"We don't need the police," I said. "We need the public."

I pulled out my phone. The screen was cracked from when I dropped it earlier, but it still worked. I opened my contacts.

"Who are you calling?" Ben asked.

"A journalist," I said. "A woman I organized for last year. She works for the *Times*. She specializes in corruption."

"Sarah, if you go public with this... Edith will destroy you. She'll release everything. The 'kidnapping'. The 'arson'. She'll make you look like a monster."

"Let her try," I said. "I have the receipts. I have the DNA. And I have the victims."

I looked at Leo—my brother—in the back seat. He was asleep, his head resting against the window. He looked so much like the boy in the hospital bed. The boy Edith was killing.

"I'm not letting her win," I said. "Not this time."

We went inside. Ben’s apartment was small, cluttered with tools and architectural drawings. It felt safe. Grounded.

I made the call. The journalist, a woman named Maya, answered on the third ring. She sounded groggy, then alert, then horrified as I told her the story.

"I need proof," she said. "Documents. Photos. Witness statements."

"I have them," I said. "All of them. Meet me at the library in two hours."

I hung up. Ben was watching me, his expression unreadable.

"You're really doing this," he said.

"I have to. Leo doesn't have time for a court battle. He needs a donor now. And if the world knows who he really is... if they know he's the Sterling heir..."

"Edith won't be able to touch him," Ben finished.

He walked over to his desk and picked up a roll of blueprints. He unrolled them, weighing the corners down with a stapler and a hammer.

"If we're going to war," he said, "we need to know the battlefield."

He pointed to the blueprints. They were old, yellowed with age.

"These are the original plans for the Sterling Estate," he said. "My grandfather kept copies of everything he worked on."

I looked at the drawings. The main house. The carriage house. The greenhouse.

And something else.

A tunnel.

It ran from the main house, under the garden, to the greenhouse.

"The trenches," I whispered. "Mark said she made him dig trenches for an irrigation system."

"She was digging access," Ben said. "Or expanding what was already there."

He traced the line of the tunnel with his finger.

"If Edith is hiding something... if she buried Alice in the greenhouse..."

"Then the proof is still there," I said. "Alice's body. The ultimate evidence."

I looked at Ben. His jaw was set, his eyes hard. He wasn't just helping me anymore. He was avenging his sister.

"We need to get into that tunnel," I said.

"It's risky," Ben said. "If Edith is still at the estate... if she has security..."

"She's at the hospital," I said. "She's watching Leo die. The estate is empty."

"Are you sure?"

"No," I admitted. "But it's the only play we have."

I looked at the clock. 4:00 a.m. The sun would be up in two hours.

"We split up," I said. "I'll go to the library and meet Maya. You go to the estate and find the tunnel."

"And Leo?" Ben asked, nodding toward the sleeping man on the couch.

"He stays here," I said. "He's safe here."

Ben looked at me. "You're trusting me with a lot, Sarah."

"I trust you," I said. And I realized it was true.

He reached out and took my hand. His palm was rough, calloused.

"Okay," he said. "Let's burn them down."

I left the apartment, the cool night air hitting my face. I got into the rental car and drove toward the library. The streets were empty, the city asleep.

But I was wide awake.

I parked in the library lot and waited. Ten minutes later, a Prius pulled up next to me. Maya got out, carrying a laptop bag and a coffee.

We sat on a bench under a streetlight. I handed her the black box. The birth certificates. The ledger. The photos.

She went through them silently, her face illuminated by the glow of her laptop screen.

"This is..." she started, then stopped. "This is a dynasty built on corpses."

"Can you run it?" I asked.

"I can run it," she said. "But I need a quote. From you. On the record."

I took a deep breath.

"My name is Sofia Thorne," I said. "And I am the daughter of the woman Edith Sterling murdered."

Maya typed, her fingers flying across the keyboard.

"And one more thing," I said. "I need you to look into a trust."

"Which one?"

"The one set up for Alice Miller's son," I said. "Mark."

Maya frowned. "I thought you said Mark was part of the family."

"He is," I said. "But not the way Edith thinks."

I pulled out the last piece of evidence I had found in the black box. A letter, folded into a tiny square. It was addressed to Alice Miller.

*My Dearest Alice,*

*I know you're scared. But we'll figure this out. I love you.*

*Yours,*
*Michael Sterling.*

Michael Sterling. Edith's husband. The man who died in '95.

Mark wasn't just Alice's son. He was Michael's son.

He wasn't a prop. He was a legitimate heir.

And Edith had raised her husband's bastard child as her own, knowing exactly who he was.

"Print it," I said. "Print it all."