Chapter 43: Tracking Thorne

We knew Thorne wasn't at the clinic. He wasn't at the hospital. He had disappeared the moment the plane exploded, vanishing into the smoke like a magician's trick. But Ben had a lead.

"The golf bag," Ben said, staring at the surveillance photo he'd pulled from the hangar's security feed. "Look at the logo."

It wasn't a standard brand. It was a crest. A lion holding a key.

"The Sterling Country Club," I said. "Edith's father founded it."

"Thorne has been a member since 1988," Ben said. "The same year everything started. If he's hiding, he's hiding in plain sight."

We drove to the club in Ben's battered truck, parking in the employee lot. The sun was setting, casting long, golden shadows across the manicured greens. It looked peaceful. Expensive. Corrupt.

"How do we get in?" I asked. "It's members only."

Ben reached into the back seat and pulled out two uniforms. White polo shirts, khaki pants.

"I kept these from the renovation job I did last summer," he said. "Put this on. We're catering staff."

We changed in the truck. The shirt smelled like old laundry detergent and fear. I pulled my hair back into a tight bun and grabbed a tray of empty glasses Ben had snagged from a busboy cart on the way in.

We walked through the service entrance, heads down. The kitchen was chaos—chefs shouting, waiters rushing—and nobody looked twice at two more bodies in white.

We made our way to the member's lounge. It was quieter here, the air thick with cigar smoke and the clink of ice in crystal.

I scanned the room. Old men in armchairs. Young men in polos.

And there, in the corner booth, was Dr. Aris Thorne.

He wasn't playing golf. He was drinking. A bottle of whiskey sat on the table in front of him, half empty.

And he wasn't alone.

Sitting across from him, looking like a vulture in a bespoke suit, was Lawyer Vance.

Vance was the family attorney. The one who had handled the trust. The one who had told me, years ago, that I had no claim to the estate.

I nudged Ben. "Vance."

"I see him," Ben whispered. "What are they doing together?"

We moved closer, pretending to clear a nearby table.

"...too risky," Vance was saying, his voice low but sharp. "Edith is out of control. The fire, the plane... she's drawing too much attention."

"She paid me to disappear," Thorne slurred. "I'm disappearing."

"You're drinking," Vance snapped. "And you're loud. If the police connect you to the hangar..."

"They won't," Thorne said. "I burned the records. Just like you told me to."

"Not all of them," Vance said. "The girl found something. In the wall."

"The birth certificate?" Thorne laughed. "A forgery. I made it myself. It won't hold up in court."

"It doesn't have to hold up in court," Vance hissed. "It just has to hold up in the press. If the public finds out we've been laundering babies through the hospital..."

"We?" Thorne asked. "You signed the papers, Vance. You stamped the seals. You're just as deep in the grave as I am."

Vance stood up. He smoothed his tie.

"I'm leaving," he said. "And if you're smart, you'll do the same. Edith isn't going to let any loose ends dangle. Not even you."

Vance walked away, leaving Thorne alone with his bottle.

I looked at Ben. This was it. The connection between the medical fraud and the legal cover-up.

"We need him," I whispered. "We need Thorne to talk."

"He's drunk," Ben said. "He won't make sense."

"Drunk men tell the truth," I said.

I walked over to the table. Thorne didn't look up. He was staring into his glass like it held the secrets of the universe.

"Refill, sir?" I asked.

He nodded absently. "Keep it coming."

I poured him a glass of water from my pitcher. He frowned.

"I ordered whiskey."

"You ordered a confession," I said, dropping the act. "Hello, Father."

Thorne looked up. His eyes widened. He tried to stand, but his legs wouldn't cooperate.

"Sarah," he whispered. "You're... you're supposed to be dead."

"Edith tried," I said. "She missed."

I sat down in Vance's chair.

"We heard everything," I said. "Vance. The forgery. The laundering."

Thorne slumped back. "It doesn't matter. Edith wins. She always wins."

"Not this time," I said. "We have the DNA. We have Leo. And now we have you."

"I won't testify," Thorne said. "She'll kill me."

"She's already trying to kill you," Ben said, stepping out of the shadows. "Why do you think Vance was here? He was warning you. You're a liability."

Thorne looked at Ben. Then at me.

"She paid me," he whispered. "Five million. To switch the babies. To make sure Clara's son... disappeared."

"And what about me?" I asked. "What did she pay for me?"

Thorne closed his eyes.

"You were free," he said. "A bonus. Buy one heir, get one spare."

I felt sick. But I pushed it down.

"Where is she?" I asked. "Where is Edith?"

Thorne opened his eyes. They were wet.

"She's not in Paris," he said. "She's at the lake house. The old cabin. She took the boy there."

"Leo?"

"No," Thorne said. "Not Leo."

He looked at me with a terrified clarity.

"She took Mark."