Chapter 58: The Admission

"To the Hoard," Mark repeated, staring at the empty space where the wall had been.

"She built the house on top of the original foundation," I said, my mind racing. "The old storm cellar. The root cellar. It's a labyrinth down there."

"And if she gets to the main breaker," Ben said, "she can kill the power to the perimeter fence. She can walk right out."

I grabbed the flashlight from Mark's hand.

"Not if I get there first."

I squeezed into the narrow gap behind the panel. The air was cold, smelling of earth and damp stone. A metal ladder was bolted to the wall, disappearing into the dark.

"Sarah, wait," Ben called.

"There's no time," I said, already climbing down.

The shaft was tight, claustrophobic. I could feel the weight of the house pressing in on me, sixty years of secrets threatening to crush my chest.

I hit the bottom. My flashlight beam cut through the gloom, revealing a long, brick-lined tunnel. It wasn't like the service tunnel we had used. This was older. Rougher.

I ran.

The tunnel twisted and turned, following the logic of a century ago. I passed alcoves filled with rotting crates, old wine racks, forgotten furniture. The detritus of a family that never threw anything away.

Up ahead, I saw a light.

Not a flashlight. A lantern. An old kerosene lantern, sitting on a wooden crate.

And next to it was Edith.

She was kneeling on the dirt floor, digging.

Not with a shovel. With her hands.

"Edith!" I shouted.

She looked up. Her face was streaked with dirt, her eyes wild. She didn't look like the matriarch of the Sterling dynasty. She looked like a ghoul.

"You," she hissed.

"It's over," I said, stepping into the circle of light. "The police are upstairs. Thorne confessed. It's done."

"It's not done until I say it's done," she said, scrabbling in the dirt.

"What are you doing?" I asked. "There's no money down here. No bonds."

"Not money," she whispered. "Proof."

She pulled something out of the hole. A metal box. Rusted. Dentted.

"The original deed," she said, clutching it to her chest. "The one Archibald signed before he died. Before he changed his mind."

"It doesn't matter," I said. "You're going to prison. For murder. For kidnapping."

"Prison?" Edith laughed. "I own the judges. I own the DA. I'll be out on bail by morning. And then... then I'll ruin you. I'll ruin all of you."

She stood up, the box in one hand, a small silver pistol in the other. The one I thought I had taken.

"I have spares," she said, aiming at me.

"You won't shoot," I said, though my heart was hammering against my ribs. "You need me. To sign the papers."

"I don't need you," she said. "I need your silence."

She cocked the hammer.

"Goodbye, Sarah."

"Wait!" I yelled. "Leo."

Edith paused. "What about him?"

"He's not sick," I said. "He has Von Willebrand's. Type 2N. Just like his grandfather."

Edith frowned. "So?"

"So if you kill me," I said, "you kill the only person who knows where the medication is. The real medication. Not the poison you've been giving him."

"I don't care," Edith said. "He's weak. Like his mother."

"He's your son," I said. "Your biological son. Archibald's son."

Edith froze. The gun wavered.

"How... how do you know that?"

"Elaine told me," I lied. "Before she died."

Edith stared at me. Her eyes flickered with something—doubt? Regret?

"He was perfect," she whispered. "When he was born. He looked just like Archibald. But then he started to bleed. And I knew... I knew he was flawed."

"He's not flawed," I said. "He's human."

"He's an abomination," Edith spat. "Just like you."

She raised the gun again. Her finger tightened on the trigger.

"Go ahead," I said. "Shoot me. Tell the world you killed your own daughter to hide your incestuous son. And watch me cut off Leo's insurance in five minutes."

"What?" Edith asked.

"I set up a dead man's switch," I lied. "If I don't check in every hour, an email goes out. To the *Times*. To the FBI. To the insurance company. With the DNA results. With the recordings. With everything."

I took a step forward.

"Shoot me, and you lose everything. The money. The house. The name. You'll be nothing but a monster in a history book."

Edith lowered the gun. She looked at the box in her arms. Then at me.

"You're bluffing," she said.

"Try me," I said.

She stared at me for a long, agonizing second. Then she smiled. A cold, thin smile.

"You really are a Sterling," she said.

She turned and ran.

Not toward me. Away from me. Toward the far end of the tunnel.

Toward the river.

"Edith!" I yelled, chasing after her.

But she was fast. Faster than I expected. She disappeared into the darkness.

I reached the end of the tunnel. It opened out onto the riverbank, a sheer drop to the water below.

The river was swollen, raging with the spring melt.

And Edith was gone.

There were footprints in the mud at the edge of the cliff. But no body.

Just the rusted metal box, lying open on the ground.

Empty.

I looked down at the churning water.

"She jumped," Ben said, coming up behind me.

"Or she fell," Mark said.

"Or she swam," I said.

I picked up the box. Inside, there was nothing but a single, folded piece of paper.

I opened it.

It wasn't a deed. It wasn't a will.

It was a receipt.

*One-way ticket. Buenos Aires. 1988.*

And on the back, scribbled in pencil:

*If I have to burn it down to save it, I will.*

I looked at the river.

She wasn't dead.

She was just starting over.