Chapter 7 - They Took the Wrong SisterMaeve did not scream.
That surprised the man on the phone.
She heard it in his silence.
“Put Chloe on.”
“You’re not in a position to make demands.”
“Then why did you call me?”
Roman moved toward her.
Maeve raised one hand.
Stop.
He stopped.
“Because,” the man said, “you have something I need.”
“Who are you?”
“Ask Roman about Victor Sloane.”
Roman’s face changed.
That was enough.
Maeve looked at him.
“You know him.”
Roman whispered:
“My father’s attorney.”
The voice laughed.
“Very good.”
Maeve’s grip tightened around the phone.
“What do you want?”
“The archive.”
“We don’t have it.”
“You will find it.”
Chloe cried somewhere in the background.
Maeve closed her eyes.
Every instinct screamed.
Run.
Beg.
Trade anything.
But poverty had trained Maeve in negotiation long before organized crime ever entered her life.
Landlords.
Debt collectors.
Hospital billing departments.
They all relied on panic.
Maeve had learned to make panic wait.
“How long?”
“Twelve hours.”
“That’s stupid.”
Silence.
Declan stared at her.
Gabriel almost smiled.
“What did you say?”
“You spent months looking for this thing. If I could find it in twelve hours, you wouldn’t need me.”
Another silence.
Maeve pressed.
“Twenty-four.”
“Eighteen.”
“Twenty-four, or kill her now and lose your leverage.”
Roman looked horrified.
Maeve felt sick saying it.
But the man on the phone understood leverage.
Finally:
“Twenty hours.”
“Proof she’s alive every two.”
“Agreed.”
The call ended.
Maeve lowered the phone.
Then she collapsed.
Not physically.
Something behind her eyes broke.
Roman caught her.
For once, she did not fight him.
“She’s going to die.”
“No.”
“She’s sick, Roman.”
“We will find her.”
“She needs medication.”
“We will find her.”
Maeve pushed away.
“Stop saying that like saying it makes it true!”
The room froze.
Roman absorbed the blow.
Maeve paced.
Her breathing became shallow.
Declan moved toward her.
Stopped.
Waited.
Maeve saw him.
Nodded.
He pulled her against his chest.
Hard.
Solid.
Maeve buried her face against him for five seconds.
Exactly five.
Then she stepped back.
“Okay.”
Gabriel stared.
“Okay?”
“We find the archive.”
Maeve wiped her face.
“And then we find Chloe.”
The manor became a machine.
Every room was searched.
Walls scanned.
Safes opened.
Floorboards removed.
Roman examined his father’s records.
Gabriel contacted former associates.
Declan hunted addresses connected to Sloane.
Maeve returned to Mrs. Hess’s box.
She read every page.
At 3:00 a.m., she found it.
Not the archive.
A grocery list.
Eggs.
Butter.
Coffee.
Potatoes.
Salt.
Laundry powder.
Beneath it:
Sunday mornings are where they were happiest.
Maeve stared.
Mrs. Hess knew the brothers as children.
She knew the archive.
She had hidden clues.
Sunday mornings.
Breakfast.
Maeve stood.
“The kitchen.”
Roman looked up.
“What?”
“Your childhood kitchen.”
Falcone Manor had been renovated after their father died.
But part of the original kitchen remained.
The old pantry.
They tore through it.
Nothing.
Maeve stood in the center.
Think.
Sunday morning.
Their mother cooking.
Three boys waiting.
Where would a frightened woman hide something she wanted the brothers to find?
Maeve looked at the floor.
An old cast-iron stove had once stood there.
The new marble covered the location.
“Break it.”
Roman blinked.
“The marble?”
“Break it.”
Declan smiled.
“With pleasure.”
Under the marble they found a steel box.
Inside:
A hard drive.
Letters.
And a photograph of the three brothers as children.
Roman was perhaps eight.
Declan and Gabriel beside him.
Their mother stood behind them.
Everyone smiling.
Maeve turned it over.
One sentence had been written by Mrs. Hess.
You were good boys before they taught you not to be.
Nobody spoke.
Gabriel walked away.
Declan stared at the photograph.
Roman closed his eyes.
Maeve placed the photograph beside the hard drive.
“We have what Sloane wants.”
Roman looked at her.
“We’re not giving it to him.”
Maeve stared.
“He has Chloe.”
“And once he has this, he kills both of you.”
“Then we make sure he can’t.”
Roman shook his head.
“No.”
Maeve slammed her palm onto the counter.
“This is my sister!”
“And you are—”
Roman stopped.
Maeve’s eyes burned.
“I am what?”
His voice softened.
“You are mine to protect.”
Wrong words.
He knew immediately.
Maeve stepped backward.
“I am not yours.”
Roman’s face changed.
“I didn't mean—”
“Yes, you did.”
Declan stepped between them.
“Enough.”
Roman looked at him.
Declan rarely challenged Roman.
Tonight he did.
“She decides.”
Roman’s jaw tightened.
Gabriel returned.
“He’s right.”
Roman stared at both brothers.
Then Maeve.
Something inside him surrendered.
Not authority.
Fear.
“What do you want to do?”
Maeve breathed.
Finally.
A question.
Not an order.
“We copy the archive.”
Gabriel nodded.
“Continue.”
“We send encrypted copies to people Sloane cannot control. If anything happens to Chloe or me, everything becomes public.”
Roman slowly understood.
“Dead-man switch.”
“Yes.”
“And the original?”
Maeve looked at the hard drive.
“We bring it.”
Roman’s expression hardened.
“But we make it worthless.”
Six hours later, Sloane sent the location.
An abandoned shipping terminal.
Maeve almost laughed.
Everything in Falcone life eventually returned to the docks.
Roman wanted Maeve in body armor.
She accepted.
Declan wanted a tracker sewn into her coat.
She accepted.
Gabriel wanted a microphone.
She accepted.
Then Roman handed her a pistol.
Maeve stared at it.
“No.”
“You may need it.”
“I don’t know how to use it.”
“I can teach you.”
“In twenty minutes?”
Roman did not answer.
Maeve pushed it back.
“I’m not pretending competence I don’t have.”
Roman looked almost proud.
“Fine.”
Maeve picked up a can of pepper spray.
Gabriel stared.
“You’re going against armed kidnappers with pepper spray?”
“I also have three psychopaths.”
Declan smiled.
“Best answer.”
At sunset, Maeve entered the warehouse alone.
Victor Sloane waited.
He was not what she expected.
No scars.
No black suit.
No visible weapon.
Just a sixty-something man in a camel coat.
Chloe sat behind him.
Alive.
Pale.
Terrified.
“Maeve.”
Chloe started crying.
Maeve’s entire body wanted to run toward her.
She did not.
Sloane held out his hand.
“The drive.”
Maeve held it up.
“Chloe first.”
Sloane smiled.
“You really did teach the Falcones manners.”
“You have no idea.”
“Drive.”
“Chloe.”
They stared at each other.
Finally Sloane gestured.
A guard cut Chloe’s restraints.
She ran.
Maeve caught her.
For one second, they were children again.
Two sisters holding each other because nobody else would.
Then Maeve pushed Chloe behind her.
“Walk.”
“What about you?”
“Walk.”
Chloe obeyed.
She reached the warehouse door.
Then Sloane smiled.
“Now the drive.”
Maeve tossed it.
He caught it.
Connected it to a laptop.
His smile vanished.
“What did you do?”
Maeve’s heart pounded.
“Insurance.”
Sloane looked up.
“You copied it.”
“Yes.”
“You stupid little—”
The warehouse lights died.
Declan’s voice came through the darkness.
“She’s not little.”
Chaos erupted.
Maeve dropped.
Gunfire cracked overhead.
Gabriel pulled Chloe behind a concrete barrier.
Roman appeared beside Maeve.
“Are you hit?”
“No.”
“Stay down.”
Sloane ran.
Declan pursued.
Roman started after him.
Maeve grabbed Roman’s sleeve.
“No.”
“He gets away—”
“Let him.”
Roman stared.
Maeve looked at the hard drive lying beside the laptop.
“We have everything.”
Sloane escaped into the night.
Declan returned furious.
“I lost him.”
Maeve shook her head.
“No.”
She looked at Chloe.
Alive.
Safe.
Then at the brothers.
“We won.”
But Roman knew better.
May you like
Victor Sloane was still alive.
And men like Victor Sloane did not forgive humiliation.
