Police Sirens

Arthur Vance collapsed onto the concrete, the gun slipping from his fingers. The red stain on his shirt spread, vivid and final against the starched white linen. He looked at Mary, his eyes wide with a confusion that was almost childlike.

"Mary?" he gasped, blood bubbling at the corner of his mouth. "But I... I paid you."

"You paid me to disappear," Mary said, stepping out of the shadows. She kept the gun trained on him, her hand steady despite the tremors that shook the rest of her body. "You didn't pay me to let you kill my nephew."

She looked at David.

"Go," she said.

David didn't move. He was staring at Arthur, at the man who had been his father, his tormentor, his creator.

"Why?" David asked. "Why did you do it? All of it?"

Arthur looked up at him. The light in his eyes was fading, dimming like a dying bulb.

"Because I could," he whispered. "Because the world is made for men who take what they want. And I wanted... a legacy."

He coughed, a wet, rattling sound.

"I made you," he said. "I made you strong. I made you a Vance."

"No," David said. "You made me a prisoner."

Sirens wailed in the distance. Real sirens this time. The SWAT team Elena had called.

"We have to go," Claire said, pulling at David's arm. "The police are coming."

"Let them come," David said. "It's over."

"It's not over," Aris said, emerging from the SUV with his laptop. "Arthur is just one man. The Syndicate... the network... it's still out there. And now they know we're dangerous."

He looked at Mary.

"Thank you."

Mary nodded. She lowered the gun.

"Take the children," she said to David. "Take them far away. And don't look back."

"Come with us," David said.

"I can't," Mary said. She looked at Arthur's body. "Someone has to answer for this."

She sat down on a crate, the gun resting on her knee. She looked old, tired, but finally at peace.

"Go," she said.

They got back into the SUV. Claire drove, tearing out of the factory lot just as the first police cruisers screeched into the entrance.

They didn't stop until they hit the bridge.

The city was spread out before them, a grid of lights and shadows. It looked beautiful. It looked like a lie.

"Where do we go?" Elena asked from the back seat. She was typing furiously on her phone, already drafting the story that would end her career or make it.

"We disappear," Claire said. "For real this time."

"We can't disappear," Aris said. "Not with my face on every news channel. Not with the files out there."

"Then we fight," David said.

He looked at Matthew. His brother was asleep, head resting against the window. He looked peaceful. Innocent.

"We fight," David repeated. "But not today."

They drove to a motel in Jersey. A different motel. A different life.

Aris stayed up all night, monitoring the news feeds.

*Arthur Vance Dead.*

*Vance Empire Collapses.*

*Mysterious Whistleblower Leaks Century of Corruption.*

But there was one headline that made Claire's blood run cold.

*Arthur Vance Released on Bail.*

She stared at the screen.

"What?" she whispered.

"It's a mistake," David said. "We saw him die. Mary shot him."

"Read it," Aris said, pointing to the article.

*Arthur Vance, billionaire philanthropist, was arrested late last night in connection with the fire at the Vance estate. However, due to severe health complications, he was granted immediate compassionate release and transferred to a private medical facility.*

"He's not dead," Claire said. "He was wearing a vest. Or Mary missed the heart."

"Or he owns the coroner," Aris said.

"He walked out," Claire said, reading the last line. *"Mr. Vance was seen leaving the 19th Precinct under his own power, accompanied by his legal team."*

She looked at David.

"He's alive. And he's free."

David stood up. He walked to the window and looked out at the parking lot.

"The system," he said, his voice flat. "It was never designed to catch men like him. It was designed to protect them."

He turned back to them.

"We can't run," he said. "If we run, he wins. He'll hunt us down. One by one."

"So what do we do?" Sarah asked. She was sitting on the bed, holding the doll. She looked small, fragile.

"We stop playing by his rules," Claire said.

She picked up the phone. The burner.

"Elena," she said. "Are you still writing?"

"Always," Elena said.

"Good," Claire said. "Because the story isn't over. We need to go live."

"Live?"

"We need to tell the world," Claire said. "Not just about the files. About him. About the man who can walk out of a police station with a bullet in his chest."

She looked at David.

"We need to show them the monster."

An hour later, Arthur Vance walked out of the precinct. The cameras flashed, blinding and relentless. He smiled, a weak, pained smile, leaning heavily on his lawyer.

He got into a waiting limousine.

The door closed. The smile vanished.

"Is it done?" he asked.

"The team is in place," the lawyer said. "They're tracking the SUV."

Arthur nodded. He touched his chest. The bulletproof vest had saved his life, but the bruise was deep. It would ache for weeks.

"Good," he said. "Burn it."

"Burn what, sir?"

"The motel," Arthur said. "Burn it all down."