The Ambush

Did you bring the fire?

Thomas Vance looked at them with eyes that were too old for his face and too sharp for a madman. He wasn't the broken creature Sarah had described, huddled and weeping. He was coiled, a spring compressed for thirty years, waiting for the latch to break.

"Thomas," Sarah said, stepping into the room. She kept her hands visible, palms open. "I'm Sarah. Your sister."

Thomas laughed. It wasn't a pleasant sound. It was dry, like leaves scraping on stone.

"I know who you are," he said. "You're the replacement. The upgraded model. Less crying, more smiling."

He looked at David.

"And you must be the golden boy. Michael. The one who got the penthouse."

"I didn't know," David said, his voice thick with emotion. "I didn't know you existed."

"Ignorance is a luxury," Thomas said. He stood up. He was thin, painfully so, his hospital clothes hanging off his frame like a shroud. But he moved with a fluid grace. "I didn't have that luxury. I knew everything. Arthur made sure of it."

He walked to the small slot in the door.

"He used to come here, you know. Once a year. On my birthday. He'd sit in that chair and tell me about your life. Your schools. Your awards. Your perfect, stolen life."

Thomas turned back to them. His eyes locked onto Claire.

"But he never mentioned you," he said. "The accountant. The one who counts the cost."

"I'm Claire," she said. "I'm David's wife."

"You're the one who burned it down," Thomas said, a smile ghosting his lips. "I saw it on the news. Before they cut the feed. The fire at the estate. Beautiful."

"We're here to get you out," Aris said from the doorway. He was watching the corridor, gun in hand. "But we have to move. Now."

Thomas didn't move. He looked at the open door, then back at his cell.

"Out there?" he said. "Out there is where people lie. In here... in here, the truth is the only thing we have."

"Arthur is dead," Sarah said. "He can't hurt you anymore."

Thomas tilted his head. "Dead? How?"

"Silas killed him," David said. "And then Silas killed himself."

For a moment, Thomas looked genuinely surprised. Then, he nodded slowly.

"Fitting," he said. "The dog bites the master."

He walked to the bed and reached under the mattress. He pulled out a small, metal object.

A lighter.

"I've been waiting for this," he said. "For the fire."

He looked at Claire.

"You brought the money?"

"Yes," Claire said, lifting the bag. "Enough to disappear."

"I don't want to disappear," Thomas said. "I want to be seen."

He walked past them, out into the hallway. He didn't run. He walked with the deliberate pace of a man who owned the building.

They followed him down the stairs. The warden was waiting in the lobby, arms crossed, two orderlies behind him.

"You can't just leave," the warden said. "There are protocols. Paperwork."

Thomas stopped. He looked at the warden.

"Open the gate," Thomas said.

"Or what?" the warden sneered. "You're a patient, Vance. You have no rights."

Thomas looked at Claire.

"Give him a bar."

Claire hesitated, then unzipped the bag. She took out a gold bar and tossed it to the warden.

He caught it, his eyes widening at the weight.

"That's for the rent," Thomas said. "Now open the gate."

The warden looked at the gold. Then at the gun in Aris's hand.

He buzzed the gate open.

They walked out into the snow. The storm had broken, leaving the world silent and white.

Thomas stopped at the edge of the road. He took a deep breath, the cold air filling his lungs for the first time in decades.

"Where are we going?" Sarah asked.

"New York," Thomas said. "To the tower."

"Why?" David asked. "There's nothing left there."

"There's everything left there," Thomas said. "The records. The originals. Silas kept his copies, but Arthur... Arthur kept the masters. In the vault beneath the foundation."

"The foundation?" Claire asked.

"The Vance Foundation," Thomas said. "The charity. The front for the laundering operation. It's built on top of the old bank. The vault is still there."

"And what's in the vault?" Aris asked.

Thomas turned to them. His eyes were cold, hard diamonds.

"The list," he said. "Not just the payments. The names. The judges. The senators. The people who let him keep me here."

He flicked the lighter open. A small flame danced in the wind.

"We're going to burn them all."

A siren wailed in the distance. Not police.

Claire looked down the road.

A convoy of black SUVs was approaching, moving fast against the snow.

"Arthur's men?" Sarah asked, terrified.

"No," Aris said, squinting. "Those aren't security vehicles. Those are government plates."

The FBI.

"We have to go," David said. "Now."

But Thomas didn't move. He stood in the middle of the road, watching the lights approach.

"Run," he said to them.

"What?" Claire asked.

"Run," Thomas repeated. "I'll hold them off."

"You can't," David said. "They'll arrest you."

"I'm already a prisoner," Thomas said. "But you... you have a chance."

He looked at David.

"Go be Michael," he said. "Go be the brother I never had."

He turned and walked toward the SUVs, the lighter held high like a beacon.

Claire grabbed David's hand.

"We have to go," she said.

They ran into the woods, leaving Thomas behind.

As they reached the cover of the trees, Claire looked back.

She saw Thomas standing in the road. She saw the SUVs screech to a halt.

And she saw Thomas drop the lighter.

Not onto the ground.

But into the open gas tank of the warden's car, parked by the gate.

The explosion turned the night into day.