Chapter 13 - The Fire
Smoke entered the basement first.
Then heat.
“Move!”
Reed grabbed Claire.
Emergency lights flashed red.
Someone had set fire to the upper structure.
The staircase disappeared behind smoke.
An officer found a secondary tunnel on the old architectural plan.
They ran.
Claire coughed until her chest burned.
Behind them, twenty years of evidence began disappearing.
Reed shouted into his radio.
No signal.
They reached a steel hatch.
Locked.
An officer struck it with a pry bar.
Again.
Again.
The hatch opened.
Cold air rushed inside.
They climbed into an alley behind the property.
Fire engines screamed in the distance.
Claire turned.
Flames poured through the remains of the warehouse.
“Evidence.”
“We copied the drive,” Reed said.
The technician held up a hard case.
Claire almost laughed from relief.
Then gunfire cracked.
Concrete exploded beside them.
“DOWN!”
Reed dragged Claire behind a police vehicle.
Another shot shattered a window.
Officers drew weapons.
A black SUV accelerated from the opposite end of the alley.
Police fired.
The SUV disappeared.
Nobody saw the driver.
But Claire saw the passenger.
Daniel.
She was certain.
Reed called it impossible.
Daniel was supposed to be at home under court-ordered monitoring.
Police reached his house twenty minutes later.
His ankle monitor was inside.
Daniel was gone.
So was Peter.
For the first time, investigators officially considered them fugitives.
At 3:40 a.m., Claire received another anonymous message.
The first in almost two days.
DON’T GO TO WISCONSIN.
She replied.
WHO ARE YOU?
No answer.
She tried again.
IS MY FATHER ALIVE?
Three dots appeared.
Disappeared.
Returned.
Finally:
YES.
Claire stared.
WHERE?
A photograph arrived.
A cabin surrounded by pine trees.
Then another message.
DANIEL KNOWS.
Claire called Reed.
“We’re going.”
“Absolutely not.”
“He’s my father.”
“If this is a trap—”
“I’ve spent six years believing he was dead.”
Reed looked at her.
Claire’s voice broke for the first time.
“I’m going.”
They left Chicago before sunrise.
Four police vehicles.
Two federal agents.
Claire.
Reed.
And Michael Trent, who insisted the coordinates matched property purchased through one of Daniel’s shell companies.
The cabin stood seven miles from the nearest paved road.
They arrived at 10:17 a.m.
The front door was open.
Claire entered behind armed officers.
“Dad?”
Nothing.
The cabin smelled like coffee.
Someone had been there recently.
A blanket lay on the couch.
Medication on the counter.
Then Claire saw a photograph.
Her photograph.
Taken last Christmas.
Beside it were dozens more.
Claire leaving her house.
Claire shopping.
Claire at Rebecca’s office.
Someone had been watching her for years.
A floorboard creaked upstairs.
Officers raised their weapons.
A man appeared at the top of the staircase.
Thin.
Gray-haired.
Bearded.
Claire forgot how to breathe.
The man stared at her.
His eyes filled with tears.
“Claire?”
May you like
She whispered:
“Dad?”
