Chapter 28 - The Woman Behind Blackwell
The archive doors locked automatically.
Nobody could leave.
The lights dimmed.
The woman spoke through the speakers.
“You always thought Samuel was Blackwell.”
My mother whispered:
“He wasn't.”
I looked at her.
“You know her.”
Mom nodded.
“My mother.”
My grandmother.
The woman who had supposedly died when I was eight.
The woman whose funeral I barely remembered.
The woman whose face existed only in faded photographs.
She was alive.
And she controlled the archive.
“How?”
Mom shook her head.
“I thought she was dead.”
The voice laughed.
“Your mother always believed what she wanted to believe.”
I looked at the speaker.
“Who are you?”
“My name doesn't matter.”
“It matters to me.”
“Then call me Eleanor.”
The name struck my mother like a blow.
“Eleanor.”
She sat down.
“My mother.”
Eleanor continued.
“You've inherited your father's stubbornness.”
“Where are you?”
“Close.”
“Show yourself.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because you are not ready.”
“I've spent four years believing my father was dead.”
A pause.
“I know.”
“I found out my mother lied.”
“I know.”
“My husband isn't who he said he was.”
“I know.”
“My sister is my twin.”
“I know.”
“My child was created from stolen genetic material.”
Silence.
Then Eleanor said:
“And now you understand.”
I felt sick.
“You knew all of this.”
“I designed some of it.”
My mother covered her mouth.
“Why?”
“For control.”
“Over what?”
“People.”
“Money?”
“No.”
“Then what?”
“Fear.”
The archive screen changed.
A list of names appeared.
Judges.
Prosecutors.
Hospital administrators.
Bank presidents.
Politicians.
Police officers.
Corporate executives.
Thousands.
Next to each name was a status.
ACTIVE.
COMPROMISED.
DECEASED.
MISSING.
My stomach turned.
“This is your network.”
Eleanor laughed.
“My network?”
She corrected herself.
“Our family network.”
I stared.
“You used our family.”
“We built it.”
“Why?”
“Because the world was never fair.”
I shook my head.
“You hurt people.”
“Yes.”
“You destroyed lives.”
“Yes.”
“You murdered people.”
“Yes.”
The calmness in her voice terrified me more than anger would have.
“You admit it.”
“I have nothing to fear from you.”
“Why?”
“Because you still believe the truth saves people.”
I looked at Arthur.
He seemed exhausted.
Eleanor continued.
“Your father thought evidence could destroy me.”
“He was right.”
“No.”
She laughed softly.
“Evidence only matters when people are willing to believe it.”
Bennett stepped forward.
“What do you want?”
“You.”
“Why?”
“The archive.”
“Why not destroy it?”
“Because it is more valuable than money.”
“What is it worth?”
“Everything.”
The archive screen changed again.
A succession document appeared.
At the bottom were three signatures.
Arthur Williams.
Margaret Williams.
Eleanor Williams.
Then one final signature.
Claire Williams.
My signature.
Or something almost identical.
I stared.
“I never signed this.”
“You will.”
“What is it?”
“Succession.”
I looked at Daniel.
“Why is his name there?”
“Because you cannot inherit alone.”
“What does that mean?”
“You were born as one half of a pair.”
“Natalie.”
“Yes.”
“But Daniel is listed too.”
“Because he is the missing son.”
I frowned.
“He's my brother.”
“Yes.”
“Then how can he be a beneficiary with us?”
“Bloodlines aren't always simple.”
The screen shifted.
A genetic chart appeared.
Claire.
Natalie.
Daniel.
Then beneath them:
HEIR ONE.
HEIR TWO.
HEIR THREE.
My stomach tightened.
“Three heirs.”
“Yes.”
“Then why did you separate us?”
“To prevent you from joining forces.”
“Why?”
“Because together you can destroy everything I built.”
I looked at my family.
Arthur.
Margaret.
Natalie.
Daniel.
Ethan's missing place.
Bennett.
Every person had been moving around this secret.
Then the archive screen displayed a live video.
Ethan.
His face bruised.
He was still alive.
I nearly cried from relief.
Eleanor spoke.
“Claire.”
“What?”
“One choice.”
“What?”
“Open the archive.”
“And then?”
“I release Ethan.”
“And Daniel?”
“I release him too.”
“My son?”
“You get him.”
I stared at the screen.
“And what do you want in return?”
“You.”
My blood froze.
“What do you mean?”
“You will become the legal trustee.”
“For your network?”
“For the Williams trust.”
“No.”
“You will inherit everything.”
“I don't want it.”
“You will.”
“Why?”
“Because only your signature can transfer the archive.”
I stared at my name.
Bennett whispered:
“Don't sign.”
Eleanor laughed.
“Of course he says that.”
I looked at Bennett.
“Why?”
He didn't answer.
“Why?”
Then he finally said:
“Because if you sign, the trust becomes legally yours.”
“Yes.”
“And that would make you responsible for every liability attached to it.”
I turned.
“What liabilities?”
“Thousands.”
Eleanor interrupted.
“He knows what he's talking about.”
My stomach dropped.
“You want to make me responsible.”
“Yes.”
“For all of Blackwell.”
“Yes.”
“So you can disappear.”
“Yes.”
I shook my head.
“You want me to inherit the crime.”
Eleanor smiled through the speaker.
“Now you're thinking.”
I looked at the monitor.
Ethan stared back at me.
His lips moved.
I couldn't hear him.
Then he mouthed one word.
May you like
RUN.
The archive exploded into darkness.
