Bail

The hard drive on the table was a black monolith, small but heavy with the weight of thirty years of corruption. The detective stared at it, then at Aris.

"You're offering me the keys to the kingdom," the detective said slowly. "In exchange for what?"

"My client's immediate release," Aris said. "And bail for myself."

"You're a flight risk."

"I just handed you evidence that implicates half the judiciary in this state," Aris said calmly. "If I wanted to run, I wouldn't be here. I'm staying to watch them burn."

The detective looked at Claire. She sat motionless, her face a mask of exhaustion. She hadn't spoken since Aris entered.

"And her?" the detective asked. "She's facing arson, kidnapping, grand larceny."

"The arson was Arthur Vance covering his tracks," Aris said. "The kidnapping was a rescue operation. And the larceny... well, that money is currently sitting in a holding account controlled by the FBI, waiting to be returned to the victims of the Vance Foundation fraud scheme."

He slid a paper across the table. A transfer receipt.

"She didn't steal it," Aris said. "She recovered it."

The detective picked up the paper. He looked at the amount. Fifty million dollars.

He looked at Claire with a new expression. Not suspicion. Respect.

"Fine," he said. "Bail is set at five hundred thousand. Each."

"Done," Aris said.

He pulled a checkbook from his jacket pocket.

"You have that kind of money?" Claire whispered, speaking for the first time.

"No," Aris said, signing the check with a flourish. "But Silas did."

He tore the check out and handed it to the detective.

"It's from the estate of Silas Thorne," Aris said. "I'm the sole beneficiary."

He looked at Claire.

"Consider it a down payment on his debt."

They walked out of the precinct two hours later. The sun was rising, painting the dirty snow of the city streets in shades of pink and gold. It was a beautiful, freezing morning.

David was waiting on the steps. He looked like he had aged ten years in a single night. Sarah stood beside him, holding the girls.

Claire ran to them. She didn't care about the cold. She didn't care about the reporters gathering at the bottom of the steps. She just needed to touch them, to make sure they were real.

"We're okay," David said, burying his face in her neck. "We're okay."

"Thomas?" Claire asked, looking around.

"He's gone," David said. "The explosion... there was nothing left."

Claire closed her eyes. Thomas had burned the prison that held him. He had taken his freedom in the only way he knew how.

"What do we do now?" Sarah asked. She looked lost, a woman without a script for the first time in her life.

"We go home," Claire said.

"We don't have a home," David said. "The estate is a crime scene. The accounts are frozen."

"We go to Ohio," Claire said.

"Ohio?"

"To the house," Claire said. "The one in the photo. The one where Sarah Kovac lived."

"Why?"

"Because we need to find the body," Aris said, coming up behind them. "The real one."

"What are you talking about?" David asked. "We found Evelyn's grave."

"We found a grave with Evelyn's name on it," Aris said. "But the letter... the letter said she tried to take you. She tried to meet Sarah at the bridge."

He looked at Claire.

"If Evelyn died in 1992... and Sarah Kovac took her place... where is Sarah Kovac?"

"She's dead," Sarah—Arthur's daughter—said. "Mary said she died."

"Mary said she died of a broken heart," Claire said. "She said it was pills."

"But there's no death certificate," Aris said. "I checked the database while you were being processed. There is no record of a Sarah Kovac dying in Ohio in the 90s."

Claire felt a chill that had nothing to do with the wind.

"You think she's alive?"

"I think Arthur was a collector," Aris said. "He kept Thomas. He kept you. Why would he throw away the prize?"

He looked at the photo of the three women on the porch. Mary. Lena. Sarah.

"We need to go back to the beginning," Aris said. "We need to find the body. Or the woman."