Chapter 7 - Beneath Courtroom Three
The courthouse had been evacuated by noon.
Keller had taken my father through a maintenance entrance and barricaded himself inside.
Charles Mercer was believed to be with him.
Naomi wanted tactical officers to enter.
I stopped her.
“They want the microfilm.”
“We’re not giving it to them.”
“We don’t need to.”
I held up an empty evidence envelope.
“They only need to believe we are.”
At 12:42 p.m., I entered the courthouse.
Alone.
Or apparently alone.
A transmitter was sewn into my jacket.
The building felt different empty.
Every footstep echoed.
“Raymond!”
A speaker crackled.
“Courtroom Three.”
I walked upstairs.
The doors were open.
Dad sat in the witness chair, wrists tied.
Keller stood behind him.
Charles Mercer sat at the judge’s bench.
The symbolism was deliberate.
Charles smiled.
“The auditor arrives.”
“Let him go.”
“Microfilm.”
I held up the envelope.
Charles nodded toward the counsel table.
“Put it there.”
I did.
Keller retrieved it.
Before opening it, Charles looked at my father.
“William, would you like to tell her?”
Dad said nothing.
Charles smiled.
“Your father knew about Thomas Reed.”
I looked at Dad.
“Dad?”
“He disappeared.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
Dad’s voice cracked.
“I saw him that night.”
My heart sank.
“He came to my chambers. He was terrified. I told him to wait while I called Raymond.”
Keller laughed.
Dad closed his eyes.
“When I returned, Thomas was gone.”
“You never told anyone?”
“I told Raymond.”
“Only Raymond?”
“Yes.”
Charles leaned back.
“That decision protected me for twenty-three years.”
I stared at my father.
He had made mistakes.
Terrible ones.
But suddenly I saw the difference between him and Grant.
Dad carried guilt because he cared about what his mistakes had cost other people.
Grant had carried resentment because consequences inconvenienced him.
Charles pointed toward the floor.
“Thomas is beneath us.”
Dad looked sick.
Charles had killed him.
Keller helped hide the body during courthouse renovations.
The original crime had never been financial.
The money was simply how Charles purchased silence afterward.
I looked at Keller.
“You became chief justice because he owned you.”
Keller’s face hardened.
“I became chief justice because I was better than William.”
There it was.
Not money.
Jealousy.
Twenty-three years of it.
He had hated my father.
Charles had merely given that hatred somewhere to go.
Keller opened my envelope.
Empty.
His face changed.
Charles stood.
“You stupid girl.”
“No.”
I looked toward the courtroom cameras.
“I’m an auditor.”
Naomi had restored the courthouse recording system remotely.
Everything had been transmitted.
Every confession.
Every word.
Sirens approached.
Keller panicked.
Charles didn’t.
He pulled a gun.
Dad shouted:
“Caroline!”
Charles aimed at me.
Then a side door burst open.
Grant entered.
Hospital gown beneath a stolen coat.
Shoulder bandaged.
“What the hell?” Charles shouted.
Grant stood between us.
“Enough.”
Charles laughed.
“You pathetic boy.”
“I said enough.”
“You couldn’t control your wife.”
“No.”
Grant looked at me.
“She was never mine to control.”
For once, he had said something true.
Charles fired.
Grant moved.
The bullet struck the wooden railing.
Agents stormed the courtroom.
Keller surrendered.
Charles ran toward the judge’s chambers.
I untied Dad.
Naomi pursued Charles.
Then we heard a crash.
The old courtroom floor gave way.
Charles had stepped onto weakened boards covering the sealed renovation cavity.
He fell.
Not far enough to kill him.
Far enough to trap him.
And beneath the broken floor, agents found human remains.
Thomas Reed.
Twenty-three years of lies ended in daylight.
Charles Mercer was pulled out in handcuffs.
Keller followed.
Dad stood beside me.
“It’s over.”
I wanted to believe him.
Then Naomi approached.
Her expression told me otherwise.
“What?”
She held out her phone.
“There’s been another transfer.”
“How much?”
“Eighteen million.”
“From where?”
“The Foundation account.”
“To?”
She hesitated.
“An account in Switzerland.”
“Who authorized it?”
Naomi showed me.
Not Grant.
Not Margaret.
Not Charles.
Eleanor Vale.
I turned.
May you like
Eleanor was gone.
And so was the microfilm.
