Chapter 53: The Invitation

I called Edith. It was a reflex, an old habit of seeking permission before doing something reckless. But this time, I wasn't asking for permission. I was setting the bait.

"Sarah?" Her voice was tight, clipped. "I'm busy."

"I know," I said, leaning against the cold stone of the carriage house. "You're busy trying to find a way out. But the police are already at the gate, Edith. They're cutting the locks."

"You're lying."

"Am I?" I asked. "Listen."

I held the phone up. In the distance, the wail of sirens was getting louder, closer. It wasn't a bluff. Vance had called them.

"They're coming for you, Edith. For kidnapping. For attempted murder. For arson."

There was a silence on the line. A heavy, breathing silence.

"What do you want?" she asked finally.

"I want to make a deal," I said. "I have something you need. Something Mark didn't burn."

"The ledger is ash," Edith spat. "I saw it."

"Not the ledger," I said. "The bonds. Grandfather's bearer bonds. The ones he hid in the floorboards of the nursery."

It was a lie. A glorious, desperate lie. But bearer bonds were untraceable. They were liquid. They were freedom. And to a woman who had just lost her accounts, they were irresistible.

"There were no bonds," Edith said, but her voice wavered.

"There were," I said. "Two million dollars worth. Clara hid them. She told me where they were before she... before the sedation kicked in."

I looked at Ben. He was watching me, his eyes wide. He knew there were no bonds.

"I have them," I lied. "And I'm willing to trade. The bonds for Leo. And safe passage for all of us."

"Where are you?" Edith asked.

"I'm at the house," I said. "In the nursery. Meet me there. Alone."

"If this is a trap..."

"It's not a trap," I said. "It's a liquidation sale. I just want my son back."

I hung up.

"There are no bonds," Mark whispered, stepping out of the shadows.

"She doesn't know that," I said. "She's desperate. Greed makes people stupid."

"She's not stupid," Lucia said, checking the charge on her taser. "She's cautious. She won't come alone."

"I know," I said. "That's why we need to be ready."

We moved quickly. We knew the terrain. Edith had lived in this house for sixty years, but she had never really *seen* it. She saw it as a stage set, a backdrop for her performance. We saw the bones.

Ben and Mark took the service stairs to the second floor. Lucia and I went to the nursery.

The room was still exactly as I had left it weeks ago. The crib. The rocking chair. The dust.

"This is where it started," I said, touching the crib rail. "This is where she stole us."

"And this is where it ends," Lucia said.

She climbed into the closet, leaving the door cracked open. I stood in the center of the room, holding the black metal box. It was heavy, a prop in my own performance.

I waited.

Ten minutes passed. Then twenty. The sirens were deafening now, a cacophony of judgment surrounding the estate. But they hadn't breached the perimeter yet. The gates were reinforced steel. They would hold for a little while longer.

Then, I heard it.

Footsteps in the hallway.

Not the heavy tread of guards. The click of heels.

Edith appeared in the doorway. She was alone. Or so it seemed.

She looked wrecked. Her coat was torn, her face smeared with soot. But her eyes were bright, feverish with the prospect of escape.

"Show me," she said, extending her hand.

"Where is he?" I asked. "Where is Leo?"

"He's safe," Edith said. "My men have him in the tunnels. If I don't call them in five minutes, they have orders to collapse the entrance."

My stomach dropped. "You'd kill him?"

"I'd kill anyone," Edith said. "Now. The bonds."

I held up the box.

"They're in here," I said.

Edith took a step forward. "Give it to me."

"Open it," I said. "See for yourself."

She hesitated. Her eyes darted around the room. Checking for traps.

But she didn't see Lucia in the closet. She didn't see the camera lens glinting in the gap of the air vent—the one Ben had set up weeks ago.

She reached for the box.

I let her take it.

She flipped the latch. She opened the lid.

It wasn't empty. I had filled it with paper. Shredded paper from the recycling bin.

Edith stared at the trash. Her face went blank.

"What is this?" she whispered.

"It's garbage," I said. "Just like your legacy."

Edith looked up. Her expression wasn't anger. It was pure, unadulterated hatred.

"You little bitch," she hissed.

She reached into her coat.

"Don't," a voice said from the closet.

Lucia stepped out, the taser raised.

Edith spun around. "Who are you?"

"I'm the spare," Lucia said.

Edith's eyes widened. She looked from Lucia to me. The resemblance was undeniable. The mirror image of her sins.

"Two of you," she whispered. "Thorne said one died."

"Thorne lied," Lucia said. "He saved me. He sent me away to keep me safe from you."

"Safe?" Edith laughed. It was a jagged, broken sound. "There is no safe. Not from me."

She pulled the gun. Not the small silver pistol. A heavy, black revolver. The one Mark had lost.

She aimed at Lucia.

"Drop it," Edith ordered.

Lucia hesitated. The taser had a range of fifteen feet. Edith was twenty feet away.

"Drop it!" Edith screamed.

Lucia dropped the taser.

Edith smiled. She turned the gun on me.

"You should have taken the money, Sarah. You should have gone to Europe."

"It's over, Edith," I said. "The police are outside. The press has the story. You can kill us, but you can't kill the truth."

"Watch me," she said.

She cocked the hammer.

But she had forgotten one thing.

She was standing on the rug. The rug that covered the hatch.

The hatch to the void space.

The one I had loosened with the sledgehammer weeks ago.

I looked at Ben, who was watching from the vent.

He pressed a button on his phone.

A solenoid clicked.

The floor beneath Edith gave way.