The Discharge

Sarah’s gun was leveled at Arthur’s chest. Her hand was steady, unshakeable. She wasn't the hysterical daughter who had smothered him with a pillow anymore. She was something else. Something cold and hollowed out by years of lies.

"I found it in the crypt," she said. "The one place you thought I'd never look. Because I was too weak. Too sentimental."

Arthur didn't flinch. He just looked at her, his eyes assessing, calculating. "You were always weak, Sarah. That's why I chose you."

"Chose me for what?" she asked. "To be your shield? Your scapegoat?"

"To be my daughter," Arthur said. "Elena was too wild. Julian was too greedy. But you... you just wanted to be loved. And that made you useful."

Sarah’s finger tightened on the trigger. "Useful is over. I'm taking the file. And the ledger."

"You don't have the ledger," Arthur said. "Elena does."

Sarah looked at Elena. "Give it to me."

Elena held the ledger tight. "Sarah, listen to me. He's not our father. Look at the photo."

She pointed to the wastebasket where the burning picture was curling into ash.

"That was Halloway. With Mom. We're his daughters, Sarah. Not Arthur's."

Sarah’s gaze flickered to the fire. "I don't care who my father is. I care about who pays for my therapy. And Halloway has deep pockets."

She advanced into the room, the gun never wavering.

"The book, Elena. Or I shoot him. And then I shoot you."

"You won't shoot," Elena said.

"Try me."

Sarah fired.

The bullet hit the vase on the desk, shattering it. Water and flowers sprayed across Arthur’s suit.

He didn't move. He just smiled.

"Excellent aim," he said. "Just like I taught you."

"Shut up!" Sarah screamed.

"You're not going to kill me," Arthur said. "Because you need me. You need the codes to the offshore accounts. The ones I didn't write in the ledger."

Sarah hesitated. "You're lying."

"Am I? Go ahead. Check the book. See if you can find the Cayman numbers."

Elena looked at the ledger. She flipped through the pages.

He was right. The Cayman accounts were listed, but the account numbers were redacted. Replaced with asterisks.

*Code known only to A.V.*

"You bastard," Elena whispered.

"I'm a businessman," Arthur said. "I always keep a percentage for myself."

He looked at Sarah.

"Put the gun down, Sarah. We can still fix this. We can take Halloway down together. Split the trust. You, me, and Elena. A family again."

Sarah’s gun lowered slightly. The promise of money, of belonging, was a powerful drug. Even after everything.

"Don't listen to him," Elena said. "He'll kill us the second he gets what he wants."

"And what do you offer?" Sarah asked. "Prison? Poverty? I'm tired of being poor, Elena. I'm tired of being good."

She looked at Arthur.

"Tell me the codes."

"Give me the gun," Arthur said.

Sarah walked toward him. She held out the weapon.

Elena lunged.

She didn't go for Sarah. She went for Arthur.

She tackled him into the chair, her hands going for his throat. He was weak, frail, but he fought back with surprising strength. He clawed at her face, his nails digging in.

"Stop it!" Sarah screamed.

The gun went off again.

The bullet hit the ceiling. Plaster rained down on them.

Elena punched Arthur in the jaw. His head snapped back. She grabbed the file from the desk—the Halloway evidence—and rolled away.

"I have the file!" she shouted. "And I have the ledger! If you want them, come and get them!"

She ran for the door.

Sarah turned, aiming the gun.

"Elena, stop!"

Elena burst into the hallway. She didn't head for the elevator. She headed for the stairs.

She could hear them behind her. Sarah’s heels clicking. Arthur’s heavy, dragging footsteps.

They were coming.

She ran down the stairs, taking them two at a time. Fourth floor. Third floor.

She reached the lobby.

It was chaos. Guests were screaming, pointing at the ceiling where the gunshot had echoed. Security guards were running toward the elevators.

Elena pushed through the crowd. She made it to the revolving doors.

She spun out into the street.

The black SUV was there. Waiting.

But Julian wasn't driving.

The driver’s side window rolled down.

It was Marcus.

"Get in!" he shouted.

Elena didn't ask questions. She dove into the passenger seat.

Marcus floored it. The SUV screeched away from the curb, leaving the hotel—and her family—behind.

"How did you find me?" Elena asked, clutching the ledger and the file.

"I tracked your phone," Marcus said. "Before you lost it."

He looked at her, his face grim.

"We have a problem, Elena."

"What?"

"The Governor knows you have the book. And he's not sending cops anymore."

Elena looked in the side mirror.

Three black sedans were weaving through traffic behind them. No sirens. No lights.

Just men with guns.

"Hold on," Marcus said.

He swerved into oncoming traffic.