The old Fleming Foundry had been abandoned for thirteen years.
Walter showed us photographs.
A massive brick industrial building sat beside railroad tracks east of the river, its windows broken and roof partially collapsed.
“My grandfather started there,” Walter said.
“With what?”
“Metal fabrication.”
“And Red Marsh bought it?”
“Apparently.”
Rebecca sat across from him.
She looked furious rather than frightened.
“We bought the property eighteen months ago.”
“Why?”
“Historical records.”
“What records?”
“Fleming records.”
Walter laughed bitterly.
“You bought a condemned factory to dig through filing cabinets?”
Rebecca ignored him.
“Some early corporate documents were stored there.”
Kenneth asked, “Including legacy trust materials?”
“Yes.”
“Did Thomas know?”
“Yes.”
“Did Claire?”
“Yes.”
“Then Thomas chose the location deliberately.”
Rebecca’s expression hardened.
“Obviously.”
“What is Raymond’s ledger?”
“I don't know.”
I watched her.
“That’s a lie.”
She looked at me.
“You're very confident.”
“Because Thomas has kidnapped three people for it.”
“Two adults and a child,” Walter corrected.
I looked at him.
“That is three people.”
He lowered his eyes.
Rebecca sighed.
“Raymond kept private payment records.”
“Why?”
“Leverage.”
“Who appears in them?”
“Everyone.”
“That isn't useful.”
“Walter. Connor. Ethan. My father. My mother. Board members. Attorneys. Contractors.”
“Red Marsh?”
“Yes.”
“Thomas?”
“Yes.”
“What makes the ledger dangerous enough for this?”
Rebecca looked toward her attorney.
He shook his head.
She ignored him.
“Because some of Raymond’s earliest payments were connected to Michael.”
Walter stiffened.
“What about Michael?”
Rebecca looked directly at him.
“Our father believed the accident involving the cyclist was used to force him out of the company.”
Walter stared.
“That happened years before I removed him.”
“Yes.”
“But it weakened him.”
“He told us someone threatened to expose inconsistencies.”
“Connor believed Michael was driving.”
“Michael was driving.”
Walter looked toward the floor.
Rebecca continued.
“Raymond knew.”
“How?”
“Because Raymond was there afterward.”
Walter looked up.
“What?”
“Not at the accident. At the cleanup.”
The word chilled the room.
“What cleanup?”
“Corporate lawyers. Insurance. Statements. Raymond worked security investigations for Fleming at the time.”
Walter’s face hardened.
“I never hired him.”
“Your father did.”
Walter’s father.
The previous patriarch.
Another generation.
Kenneth asked, “What did Raymond document?”
“We don't know. That’s why we wanted the ledger.”
“So Red Marsh’s entire operation began as an attempt to recover evidence about Michael.”
“Yes.”
“And later expanded to Connor.”
“Because Connor turned out to be Michael’s son.”
Walter flinched.
Rebecca continued.
“If Connor was our half-brother biologically—”
“Cousin legally,” Walter said automatically.
Rebecca looked at him.
“Do you hear yourself?”
Walter stopped.
She continued.
“If Connor was Michael’s biological child, then the old trust dispute changed.”
“How?”
“Our father died believing Walter had stripped his branch of the family of everything.”
“I did not.”
“Perhaps not legally.”
“Then don't say it.”
Rebecca leaned forward.
“But if Connor is Michael’s son, Michael had another descendant occupying Walter’s succession line without anyone knowing.”
Kenneth nodded.
“And that creates overlapping claims.”
“Yes.”
“Which Red Marsh planned to exploit.”
“We planned to correct.”
Walter laughed.
“You planned a takeover.”
Rebecca smiled.
“Those are not mutually exclusive.”
I was tired of their money.
“Where is the ledger?”
Nobody answered.
I looked at Connor, who had been brought under guard into a secure conference room.
His hospital gown had been replaced with gray sweatpants and a sweatshirt. A bandage covered his forehead.
He looked terrible.
“Do you know?”
“No.”
“Thomas thinks you do.”
“I know where Raymond used to keep it.”
“Unit 17.”
“Yes.”
“It wasn't there.”
“Then Raymond moved it.”
Raymond sat in another police interview room.
Morales had spent twenty minutes trying to make him disclose the location.
He refused.
I stared through the video feed.
“Why?”
Morales asked him the same thing.
Raymond leaned back.
“Because if Thomas gets it, people die.”
“People are already in danger.”
“You don't understand.”
“Then make me.”
Raymond stared at the table.
“The ledger isn't only paper.”
“What is it?”
“Keys.”
“Passwords?”
“Yes.”
“To what?”
“Accounts. Archives. Recordings.”
“Blackmail material.”
“Evidence.”
“Your word choice doesn't change what you did.”
Raymond smiled weakly.
“No.”
“Where is it?”
“I'll tell Connor.”
Morales’s expression hardened.
“No.”
“He’s the only one.”
“Why?”
“Because Thomas expects him.”
“That’s exactly why he isn't going.”
Raymond looked toward the camera.
“He will.”
Connor, watching from our room, whispered, “He’s right.”
I turned.
“No.”
“Kirsten.”
“Stop.”
“Noah is there.”
“Police are handling it.”
“Thomas asked for me.”
“Thomas also shot at you.”
“Then he’ll focus on me.”
“You have three fractured ribs.”
“I can walk.”
“That isn't the qualification required for hostage negotiation.”
Connor almost smiled.
Then his expression collapsed.
“I cannot sit here.”
“You can.”
“He calls me Da.”
The sentence hurt.
Not because it changed the facts.
Because it explained him.
Connor had lied about biology.
But Noah’s attachment to him was real.
“You want to help Noah?”
“Yes.”
“Then do exactly what police tell you.”
He looked away.
“That is not your natural talent,” I added.
A weak laugh escaped him.
“No.”
Morales entered.
“Raymond gave us something.”
“What?”
“Not the ledger location. A retrieval code.”
“For where?”
“Safe-deposit service.”
Kenneth frowned.
“Bank?”
“Private vault company.”
“Local?”
“Yes.”
“Can you access it?”
“Warrant in progress.”
Connor asked, “What code?”
Morales read it.
Connor’s face changed.
“I know that number.”
“How?”
“It’s my birthday.”
Walter looked at him.
Not the birthday.
The significance.
“Raymond registered it to you?”
“Maybe.”
“Why?”
Connor shook his head.
“I don't know.”
The warrant arrived shortly before nine.
Inside the private vault were no cash and no jewels.
Only a sealed metal case.
Police opened it under video.
Inside sat a handwritten ledger.
Three encrypted drives.
Several passports.
Photographs.
And a small envelope marked MICHAEL FLEMING.
Walter stood when he saw it.
Rebecca stopped breathing.
The envelope contained a copy of a signed statement dated twenty-one years earlier.
Michael Fleming admitted he had been driving during the cyclist accident.
The statement had never been filed.
Beneath it was another document.
A payment authorization.
Walter’s father had paid Raymond Vale seventy-five thousand dollars.
Purpose: confidential resolution.
Walter stared at it.
“My father knew.”
Rebecca whispered, “Yes.”
Connor looked at Walter.
For twenty years, Walter had believed Connor caused the accident.
His own father had known otherwise.
“Why would Grandfather let me take the blame?” Connor asked.
Walter looked sick.
Rebecca answered.
“Because Michael was useful.”
“And I wasn't.”
“You were twenty-one.”
Connor laughed bitterly.
“So I was disposable.”
Walter stepped toward him.
“No.”
Connor turned away.
“No?”
“I didn't know.”
“But you believed it.”
“I believed Ethan.”
“You believed everyone except me.”
Walter stopped.
No defense existed.
Morales continued cataloguing the ledger.
Then he froze.
“What?”
He turned several pages.
“Payments to Thomas.”
“From Red Marsh?” Kenneth asked.
“Some.”
“And others?”
Morales looked toward Rebecca.
“An account linked to Claire Fleming.”
Rebecca stared.
“That’s impossible.”
“Repeated payments.”
“For what?”
“Descriptions are coded.”
“Dates?”
Morales read them.
The first was six months earlier.
The second shortly before Gabriel filed.
The third two days before Gabriel was assaulted.
Rebecca stood.
“Claire paid Thomas separately?”
“Yes.”
“Without Red Marsh?”
“Apparently.”
Her face drained.
I thought of Claire in the video.
Blood at her mouth.
Fear in her eyes.
Maybe Claire had not merely been dragged into Thomas’s plan.
Maybe she had helped begin it.
“What was she paying him to do?”
Morales turned another page.
“One entry has a note.”
“What?”
He read it.
“Pressure C.F. until succession fails.”
Connor went still.
“C.F.”
“Connor Fleming,” Walter whispered.
Probably.
Rebecca shook her head.
“No. Claire wouldn't.”
I looked at her.
“You said information was leverage.”
“Yes.”
“You built a company to break Walter’s control.”
“Yes.”
“You brought Thomas back into Claire’s life.”
“Yes.”
“And you assumed you controlled both of them.”
Rebecca did not answer.
That was answer enough.
Morales’s phone rang.
He listened.
Then turned toward me.
“Thomas is calling.”
My stomach tightened.
“Who?”
“You.”
The call came through a moment later.
Video.
Morales nodded.
I answered.
Thomas Vale appeared.
The resemblance to Raymond was stronger close up.
Same gray-blue eyes.
Same narrow jaw.
But Thomas’s expression was different.
Raymond watched people.
Thomas challenged them.
“Kirsten.”
“Where are Melinda and Noah?”
“Safe.”
“Claire?”
A pause.
“Safe enough.”
Behind him I heard machinery moving in the wind.
Metal knocking against metal.
The foundry.
“You want Connor.”
“Yes.”
“He's here.”
“Put him on.”
Morales shook his head.
I ignored Thomas’s demand.
“What do you want from the ledger?”
His face changed.
“So you found it.”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
“What do you want?”
“The drives.”
“Why?”
“They belong to me.”
“Raymond disagrees.”
“My father stole my life.”
That sounded less like evidence and more like grievance.
“What is on the drives?”
“Truth.”
“About?”
“Everyone.”
“Then why kidnap a child?”
Thomas’s jaw tightened.
“Because Connor only understands losing things.”
I felt anger rise.
“Noah is not a thing.”
“Tell Connor that.”
“I am telling you.”
Thomas stared.
“You think you're different from them.”
“I think a one-year-old has nothing to do with your revenge.”
“He is the reason Connor gets everything.”
“No. He isn't.”
“He gets Walter. He gets the money. He gets Ethan’s son. He gets to destroy Claire and walk away.”
“You're not making Connor pay.”
“What?”
“You're becoming him.”
The words hit.
Thomas’s face changed.
I continued before Morales could stop me.
“You say Connor manipulated people into solving his fear. You're doing the same thing.”
“Shut up.”
“You say he treated Noah like proof. You're treating Noah like leverage.”
“Shut up.”
“You say he destroyed Claire.”
Thomas moved closer to the camera.
“You know nothing about Claire.”
“Then let her speak.”
Silence.
“Put Claire on.”
“No.”
“Because she doesn't agree with you anymore.”
His expression changed.
There.
I had found something.
“Claire wanted Connor pressured,” I said. “She paid you.”
Thomas stared.
“But she didn't want this.”
No answer.
“She tried to stop you.”
“Claire doesn't know what she wants.”
“That sounds familiar.”
Thomas’s face hardened.
“You have one hour.”
“For what?”
“Connor and the drives.”
“Where?”
“You know.”
“The foundry.”
“Yes.”
“And Melinda and Noah walk out first.”
Thomas laughed.
“No.”
“Then there is no exchange.”
His eyes narrowed.
“You don't make the rules.”
“No. But you called me.”
That stopped him.
“You need me for something.”
Thomas said nothing.
“What?”
His expression changed.
Then he smiled.
“I need you to bring Connor.”
The call ended.
Morales took the phone.
“No one is bringing Connor anywhere.”
Connor stood.
“Yes, you are.”
“No.”
“You can track me.”
“No.”
“Wire me.”
“No.”
“Surround the building.”
“No.”
Connor stepped closer.
“He won't release Noah for police.”
Morales stared at him.
“And I will not send a civilian fugitive into an armed hostage situation.”
Connor looked at me.
Not Morales.
Me.
“Kirsten.”
“No.”
“I have to.”
“No.”
“Then what would you do?”
I hated the question.
Because he knew the answer.
If someone had taken a child I loved and demanded me, I would want to go too.
Wanting was not the same as wisdom.
“I would want to go.”
Connor nodded.
“And?”
“I would trust the people trained to keep my panic from making things worse.”
He looked down.
That was the difference he had never learned.
Then Morales’s phone rang.
His face changed as he listened.
“What?”
He ended the call.
“Patrol found a vehicle leaving the foundry.”
“Who?”
“Female driver.”
“Claire?”
“Possibly.”
“And?”
“A baby car seat in the rear.”
Connor stopped breathing.
“Did they stop it?”
“They’re trying.”
Another call.
Morales answered.
Listened.
Then looked directly at Connor.
“They have the vehicle.”
“Is Noah there?”
“Yes.”
Connor grabbed the table.
“Alive?”
“Yes.”
His knees nearly gave way.
“Melinda?”
“No.”
“Claire?”
Morales paused.
“The driver is Claire.”
Connor closed his eyes.
“Then Thomas still has Melinda.”
“Yes.”
“And Claire got Noah out.”
“Yes.”
For the first time that night, something had gone right.
Then Morales added:
“Claire says Thomas has explosives inside the foundry.”
Click here to continue reading: PART 23: Claire Escaped With Noah and Exposed Thomas’s Final Plan, but Melinda Had One Secret Left That Could Stop Him
The Morning My Ex-Husband Tried to Humiliate Me in a Hospital Hallway and Misread the Calm on My Face
Part 22 of 35
