Marcus's Couch

The Channel 4 van screeched to a halt at the bottom of the ramp, narrowly missing a concrete pillar. The side door slid open before the wheels had even stopped spinning.

"Get in!" a voice shouted.

It wasn't the journalist. It was Marcus.

Elena sprinted, slipping on the wet concrete. Halloway was out of the car now, raising his gun, water from the sprinklers plastering his suit to his frame like a second skin.

"Stop!" he roared.

A shot rang out, echoing like a cannon blast in the enclosed space. The bullet sparked against the asphalt inches from Elena's heel.

She dove into the van. Marcus grabbed her jacket and hauled her inside.

"Go!" Marcus yelled to the driver.

The van lurched forward, tires squealing. Halloway fired again, shattering the rear window. Safety glass rained down on Elena as she scrambled over equipment cases to the front.

"You're late," she gasped, collapsing into the passenger seat.

"Traffic," Marcus said, his hands tight on the wheel. "And we had to pick up a friend."

Elena looked into the back. Sitting amidst the camera gear, looking pale but resolute, was the journalist she had called.

"You have the ledger?" the journalist asked, holding up a voice recorder.

"My brother does," Elena said. "But I have something better."

She pulled the single, torn page from her bra. The contact list.

"This is everyone," she said. "Every judge. Every cop. Every fixer."

The journalist took the paper, her eyes scanning the list. "This brings down the whole administration."

"Where are we going?" Elena asked Marcus.

"My place," he said. "It's not safe, but it's better than here. We need to regroup."

They sped out of the garage, merging into the chaos of the city streets. Sirens were everywhere now, a symphony of panic.

Elena looked out the window. The rain had stopped, but the city felt heavier, burdened by the secrets she was about to unleash.

She thought about Sarah. About Julian. Were they safe? Or had they been swallowed by the same darkness that had consumed her mother?

"Turn on the news," she said.

The journalist flipped a switch on the console. A small screen flickered to life.

*"...breaking news from the Vance Estate. Firefighters are battling a massive blaze that has engulfed the historic mansion. Police are reporting one fatality..."*

Elena's breath caught. One fatality.

Arthur?

Or Sarah?

*"...identified as local attorney Patricia Sterling. Sources say she was found in the study, apparently trapped by the flames..."*

Sterling.

Sarah had left her there. She had left her to burn.

Elena felt a cold knot form in her stomach. Sarah wasn't just a survivor. She was a killer.

"And Arthur?" Elena whispered.

*"...whereabouts of the family patriarch, Arthur Vance, are unknown at this time. However, police are seeking his children for questioning in connection with the arson..."*

He was gone. He had escaped the hotel.

He was still out there.

Marcus parked the van in an alley behind a nondescript apartment building in Queens.

"We have to be fast," he said. "They'll be tracking this vehicle."

They hurried inside, climbing four flights of stairs to a small, cluttered apartment.

"Make yourself at home," Marcus said, locking the deadbolt. "I'll make coffee."

Elena sank onto the couch. It smelled of old fabric and cat hair. It was the most comfortable thing she had ever sat on.

She looked at the journalist. "How long until you can publish?"

"I need to verify the names," the woman said, typing furiously on a laptop. "But with this list... by morning. The morning edition will end his career."

Elena nodded. Morning. Just a few hours.

She closed her eyes.

"Elena."

She opened them. Marcus was standing over her, holding a mug.

"You need to see this."

He pointed to the TV in the corner.

The news was back on. A reporter was standing in front of City Hall.

*"...Governor Halloway has just announced a press conference for 8:00 AM tomorrow. Sources say he plans to address the rumors regarding the Vance family tragedy..."*

Halloway wasn't running. He was attacking.

"He's going to spin it," Elena said. "He's going to blame everything on us."

"We have the proof," Marcus said.

"Proof disappears," Elena said. "Witnesses disappear."

She looked at the phone Marcus had given her.

"I need to call Julian. I need to know he still has the book."

She dialed the number.

It rang. And rang.

Then, a click.

"Hello?"

It wasn't Julian.

It was Sarah.

"Sarah?" Elena sat up. "Where's Julian? Does he have the ledger?"

"Julian is indisposed," Sarah said. Her voice was slurred. Drunk? Or something else?

"Sarah, what did you do?"

"I fixed it, Elena," Sarah said. "I fixed everything."

"What do you mean?"

"I made a trade," Sarah said. "The ledger... for Dad."

Elena stood up, the coffee spilling onto the rug.

"You gave the ledger to Arthur?"

"He promised," Sarah whispered. "He promised he'd take us away. To the island. Just us. A family again."

"Sarah, he's lying! He's going to kill you!"

"No," Sarah said. "He loves me. I'm his favorite. I always was."

A click. The line went dead.

Elena stared at the phone.

Arthur had the ledger. He had Sarah. And he had Julian.

He had won.

"We have to go," Elena said, grabbing her coat.

"Where?" Marcus asked.

"The airfield," Elena said. "He's taking them to the private jet. If that plane takes off... we never see them again."

She looked at the journalist.

"Print it," she said. "Print everything. Now."

"It's not verified—"

"I don't care!" Elena shouted. "Just do it!"

She ran for the door.

Marcus grabbed his keys. "I'm driving."

They ran back down the stairs, into the night.

The game wasn't over.

It was sudden death.