Chapter 15 - THE LAST FIRE AT SAINT AGNES
Z
Saint Agnes no longer existed.
The original building had burned to its brick shell and been demolished sixteen years earlier.
But the basement remained.
Buried beneath an abandoned lot surrounded by chain-link fencing and weeds.
Daniel had chosen the grave.
Gabriel understood why.
Men like Daniel loved symbols when they believed they controlled them.
He arrived at 11:40 p.m.
Alone.
Officially.
Marco was three blocks away.
Rebecca was with him.
Eleanor had been ordered to stay at Lake Forest.
Eleanor had ignored that.
Naturally.
She was in another vehicle two streets east with Maria and Vincent.
Gabriel discovered this five minutes before entering the lot.
He did not have enough time to argue.
“Stay in the car,” he said through the phone.
Eleanor replied, “That sounds familiar.”
“Eleanor.”
“I’m staying in the car.”
“You said that too quickly.”
“Focus on your kidnapped sister.”
Gabriel disconnected before marriage became a tactical disadvantage.
The entrance to the old basement had been uncovered.
A temporary staircase descended into darkness.
Gabriel carried a backpack.
Inside were Lucia’s journals.
Copies.
The originals were in federal custody.
Daniel did not know that.
Gabriel descended.
One bulb hung from a cable.
Emma sat tied to a chair beneath it.
Daniel stood behind her.
No gun visible.
That meant there were others.
Gabriel counted shadows.
Three.
Maybe four.
“Let her go.”
Daniel smiled.
“You people always start there.”
“You people?”
“Morettis.”
“Technically she’s one too.”
Emma rolled her eyes.
“Not helping.”
Gabriel almost smiled.
Daniel did not.
“Backpack.”
Gabriel placed it on the floor.
“Journals.”
“Yes.”
“Kick it.”
Gabriel did.
Daniel opened the bag.
Flipped pages.
Real handwriting.
Real dates.
Lucia’s copied words.
His shoulders loosened.
Mistake.
Gabriel noticed.
“What are you looking for?”
Daniel looked up.
“One entry.”
“Which?”
“My father.”
Gabriel understood.
“This isn’t about Saint Agnes.”
“It is entirely about Saint Agnes.”
“No.”
Gabriel stepped forward.
“Your father confessed. You already knew what he did.”
Daniel’s face changed.
Gabriel continued.
“You’re looking for something Lucia wrote about him personally.”
Emma watched.
Daniel said, “Stop.”
“What?”
“Pretending you understand.”
Gabriel saw it now.
Not money.
Not blackmail.
Shame.
“You think Lucia lied about your father.”
Daniel laughed.
“My father was a city inspector. Weak. Corrupt. Frightened. But Salvatore owned him.”
“So?”
“So after the fire, Lucia needed someone to blame.”
“You said your father admitted it.”
“He admitted starting a fire because Salvatore ordered records destroyed.”
“That killed seven children.”
“He thought the building was empty!”
Gabriel’s voice stayed calm.
“Does that make Grace less dead?”
Daniel struck Emma.
Gabriel moved.
A gun appeared from the shadows.
He stopped.
Emma lifted her head slowly.
Blood at her lip.
“Do that again,” Gabriel said, “and I forget the part where I’m trying to become a better person.”
Emma muttered, “That was almost sweet.”
Daniel grabbed her hair.
“Shut up.”
Gabriel’s eyes became lethal.
Daniel released her.
“There’s an entry dated October 14, 2008.”
Gabriel knew the date.
Night of the fire.
“Lucia wrote that someone locked the rear exit before the fire started.”
Daniel’s voice broke.
“She wrote that my father did it.”
Gabriel stared.
“And you want the journal destroyed.”
“I want the lie destroyed.”
“What makes you think it’s a lie?”
“My father told me.”
Gabriel almost pitied him.
Almost.
“Men like our fathers are safest when we believe the version that hurts least.”
Daniel’s face twisted.
“You think you’re different?”
“No.”
That answer stopped him.
Gabriel stepped closer.
“I think difference requires work.”
Daniel stared.
Gabriel continued.
“My father called extortion protection. He called murder discipline. He called stolen children placements.”
Emma watched silently.
“Your father called locking an exit what?”
Daniel’s face emptied.
“He didn’t.”
“Exactly.”
A sound came from the stairwell.
Small.
Metal.
Daniel turned.
Gabriel moved.
He crossed the distance and hit Daniel once.
Hard.
The hidden gunman fired.
The bulb exploded.
Darkness.
Emma screamed.
Gabriel dropped.
Another shot.
Then Marco’s team entered from the rear access tunnel Vincent had remembered from old building plans.
Flashlights cut through dust.
“Federal agents!”
“Drop it!”
Gunfire.
Short.
Violent.
Then silence.
Gabriel found Emma on the floor.
“Hit?”
“No.”
“Can you move?”
“My hands.”
He cut the rope.
“Where’s Daniel?”
Gone.
Of course.
The man had prepared an exit.
Gabriel’s phone rang.
Eleanor.
He answered.
“Are you safe?”
Her voice came too fast.
“Gabriel, Daniel’s here.”
His blood turned cold.
“What?”
“He came out near the east street.”
“Drive.”
“I can’t.”
“Why?”
Silence.
Then Daniel’s voice came through the phone.
“Because I have her.”
Gabriel stopped breathing.
“Daniel.”
“Bring the journal.”
“You have copies.”
“I need the original.”
“You don’t.”
“I know Rebecca gave it to federal prosecutors.”
Gabriel’s eyes narrowed.
Daniel knew.
A leak.
Again.
“Then what do you want?”
“The one page Lucia removed.”
Gabriel frowned.
“What page?”
Daniel laughed.
“Ask Maria.”
The line switched.
Maria’s trembling voice.
“Gabriel.”
“What page?”
Maria began crying.
“The one Lucia gave me.”
Eleanor whispered in the background.
“Mom, no.”
Gabriel’s heart slammed.
Maria continued.
“It names who ordered Salvatore to keep Saint Agnes open.”
Gabriel froze.
“What?”
“Salvatore wasn’t the top.”
Everything changed.
Daniel came back on the line.
“You have thirty minutes.”
The call ended.
Gabriel turned to Rebecca.
“Who was above my father?”
Rebecca stared.
“I don’t know.”
Vincent’s voice came from behind them.
“I do.”
Everyone turned.
The old lawyer had followed Eleanor despite being told not to.
Of course.
Gabriel was surrounded by people incapable of obeying basic instructions.
Vincent’s face looked sick.
“Salvatore worked for someone.”
“Who?”
Vincent hesitated.
Then said a name Gabriel knew very well.
United States Senator Charles Whitmore.
A man who had built a forty-year career on law, family values and anti-corruption campaigns.
A man Gabriel’s father had called friend.
A man currently expected in Chicago the next morning to announce a charitable initiative for missing children.
Emma whispered, “You’re kidding.”
Vincent shook his head.
“Whitmore funded the adoption network.”
Rebecca stared.
“Why?”
“Not adoption.”
Vincent’s voice dropped.
“Blackmail.”
The room went silent.
He explained.
Wealthy men.
Judges.
Executives.
Politicians.
People who wanted children off the books.
Salvatore supplied illegal placements.
Whitmore kept the records.
Then controlled the adults forever.
Saint Agnes was never simply a criminal enterprise.
It was a vault of secrets.
Seven children died because Salvatore and Whitmore feared those records becoming public.
Gabriel looked toward the stairwell.
Daniel wanted Lucia’s missing page because it named Whitmore.
But Daniel was not protecting Whitmore.
He wanted leverage.
Rebecca understood too.
“He’s going to sell it.”
Vincent nodded.
“To Whitmore.”
Gabriel called Eleanor.
No answer.
Again.
Nothing.
Then a text arrived.
A location.
Chicago River freight terminal.
Below it:
MIDNIGHT.
BRING MARIA’S PAGE.
NO GAMES.
Gabriel looked at Marco.
“Call Rebecca Cole.”
“The prosecutor?”
“Yes.”
Marco nodded.
“And Eleanor?”
Gabriel stared at the time.
May you like
Twenty-four minutes.
“We bring my wife home.”
