Aris's Choice

"...has been blackmailing them both."

Aris shut the laptop, the screen going black, leaving them in the dim glow of the shipyard's security lights. The rain drummed against the roof of the cab, a relentless rhythm of anxiety.

"Silas isn't just a hitman," Aris said, turning to look at David. "He's the architect. He built the cage Arthur lived in."

"And now he has my daughters," David said. His voice was steady, but his hands were clenched into fists so tight his knuckles were white. "He's not going to negotiate, Aris. He doesn't need the money. He already has it. He wants the loose ends tied up."

"He wants the ledger," Claire said. "It's the only thing that connects him to the murders. Without it, he's just a rich man with a fake identity."

She looked at the bag on the floor. The ledger was inside, wrapped in plastic. A small, unassuming book that held the weight of three decades of crime.

"We give it to him," David said.

"No," Claire said. "If we give him the ledger, he kills us. We're the only ones who can interpret it. We're the only ones who know the context."

"So what do we do?" Aris asked. "Walk in there empty-handed?"

"We walk in with a bomb," Claire said.

She reached into the bag and pulled out the flare gun Silas had given her on the boat.

"It's not much," she said. "But it's loud. And it burns hot."

"A flare gun against a professional killer?" Aris asked, skeptical.

"It's a distraction," Claire said. "We need to separate him from the girls. Once they're clear... we take him."

"We?" David asked.

"You and me," Claire said. She looked at him. "We started this together. We finish it together."

She turned to Aris.

"You stay here. Keep the engine running. If things go wrong... you get the girls and you go. Don't wait for us."

"Claire—"

"Promise me," she said.

Aris looked at her, then at David. He nodded.

"I promise."

They got out of the cab. The rain was cold, soaking through their clothes instantly. The shipyard was a maze of shipping containers and cranes, shadows stretching long and distorted in the floodlights.

Pier 4 was at the far end, a desolate stretch of concrete jutting out into the black water.

A single light illuminated a small warehouse at the end of the pier. The door was open.

They walked toward it, side by side. Claire held the ledger in one hand, the flare gun hidden in the pocket of her coat. David walked with his hands visible, empty.

They stepped into the warehouse.

It was a cavernous space, smelling of rust and oil. In the center, under a hanging bulb, sat Silas.

He was sitting on a crate, relaxed, a gun resting on his knee.

Behind him, tied to a support beam, were Sarah, Lily, and Rose.

"Mommy!" Lily screamed.

"Quiet," Silas said, without turning around.

He looked at Claire. He smiled. It was the smile of a man who had won a game no one else knew they were playing.

"You brought friends," he said. "I asked for the ledger."

"I have it," Claire said, holding up the book.

"Good," Silas said. "Bring it here."

"Let them go first," David said.

Silas looked at David. His expression softened, just for a moment. A flicker of something that might have been pride, or perhaps just recognition.

"You look like her," Silas said. "Sarah. You have her eyes."

"Don't talk about her," David said. "You helped kill her."

"I helped her survive," Silas said. "For a while. Arthur wanted to dispose of her in '92. I convinced him she was useful. I bought her five years."

"Five years in a cage," David spat.

"Better than a grave," Silas shrugged. He stood up. "The book, Claire. Or I start with the youngest."

He pointed the gun at Rose.

Claire stepped forward. "Here," she said. "Take it."

She tossed the ledger. It landed at his feet.

Silas looked down. He bent to pick it up.

"Now!" Claire screamed.

She pulled the flare gun and fired.

The flare hit a stack of oil drums behind Silas. It exploded in a blinding flash of red light and smoke.

Silas flinched, shielding his eyes.

David lunged.

He hit Silas hard, tackling him to the ground. The gun skittered across the concrete.

Claire ran to the girls. She pulled a knife from her boot—a kitchen knife she had swiped from the hotel—and slashed the ropes binding Sarah.

"Get them out!" she shouted.

Sarah grabbed the girls. They ran for the door.

Claire turned back to the fight.

David and Silas were rolling on the floor, trading blows. Silas was older, but he was trained. He landed a punch to David's gut, doubling him over.

He scrambled for his gun.

He grabbed it.

He aimed at David's head.

"Goodbye, son," he whispered.

A shot rang out.

Silas jerked. He looked down at his chest.

There was no blood.

He looked up.

Aris was standing in the doorway. He wasn't holding a gun.

He was holding a phone.

"Smile," Aris said. "You're live."

Silas looked confused.

Then, from the shadows of the containers outside, a voice amplified by a megaphone cut through the noise of the rain.

"Federal Agents! Drop the weapon!"

Silas looked at the door. Then at the ledger.

He laughed. A dry, bitter sound.

"You didn't bring a bomb," he said to Claire. "You brought the cavalry."

He raised the gun to his own temple.

"No!" David shouted.

But it was too late.

Silas pulled the trigger.

The sound was final. The architect of their misery was gone.

Claire walked to David. She helped him up. He was bleeding, bruised, shaking.

"It's over," she said.

David looked at the body of his father. Then he looked at the door, where his daughters were waiting.

He took Claire's hand.

"Not yet," he said. "We still have one more person to find."

"Who?"

"Thomas," David said. "My brother."

He looked at the ledger, lying in a puddle of water and oil.

"He's the only one left."