"Detective Calloway," she said, approaching him with a slight smile. "Thank you for being so reasonable. Your cooperation will save several lives today."
"Where are Agent Chen and Annie Whitaker?" Jack demanded.
"Safe, for the moment. They're in the vault level with Some of my associates, examining what I'm told are Some very interesting historical documents." Sarah's smile sharpened. "Documents that belong to my family, by the way. Documents that were stolen from us nearly a century ago by a disturbed woman who couldn't accept that her husband's business dealings were perfectly legal."
Jack almost laughed at the audacity of the lie. "You really believe that, don't you? You really think Eleanor Blackwood was the criminal in this situation."
"I think Eleanor Blackwood was an unstable woman who fabricated evidence to cover her own tracks when she abandoned her family," Sarah replied coolly. "And I think you and Ms. Whitaker have been duped by a very sophisticated hoax."
"Then why are you so desperate to get the evidence back? If it's fake, why not let it become public and expose the hoax?"
For the first time, Sarah's composure cracked slightly. "Because even fake evidence can be damaging when it's presented convincingly. Because there are people who would use fabricated documents to make frivolous legal claims against my family's assets. Because Sometimes, Detective, the truth matters less than public perception."
Jack studied her face, looking for any sign of genuine belief in what she was saying. But what he saw instead was the calculating expression of Someone who knew exactly what crimes her family had committed and was willing to do anything to protect the fortune those crimes had built.
"You know Eleanor was telling the truth," he said quietly. "You know your great-grandfather murdered her and her infant son. You know your family's entire fortune is built on inheritance fraud. And you know that eventually, the truth is going to come out."
"The truth, Detective, is whatever people choose to believe. And dead people don't testify in court."
The threat was unmistakable, and Jack felt a chill of fear that had nothing to do with his own safety. Sarah Mitchell wasn't just planning to kill him—she was planning to eliminate everyone who'd seen Eleanor's evidence.
But as he looked around the bank at the electronic equipment and the coordinated positioning of her mercenaries, Jack realized that Something about the situation didn't feel right. It was too organized, too professional, too elaborate for what should have been a simple evidence-retrieval operation.
Unless retrieving the evidence isn't the real goal, he thought. Unless this whole hostage situation is a distraction from Something else.
"Sarah," he said, using her first name deliberately. "What's your exit strategy? You've got federal agents, local police, probably SWAT teams surrounding this building. How exactly do you plan to get out of here alive?"
Her smile was cold and confident. "Who says we're planning to get out, Detective? Sometimes the most effective way to end a problem is to make sure there's no evidence left to examine."
Jack's blood turned to ice as he understood her implication. Sarah Mitchell wasn't planning to escape with Eleanor's evidence.
She was planning to destroy the entire bank, along with everyone inside it.
Chapter 17
Annie crawled through the maintenance tunnel on her hands and knees, the narrow metal passage scraping her back and shoulders with every inch she moved forward. The air was stale and carried the faint tang of rust and old oil, and the darkness was so complete she could not see her own hands in front of her face.
Behind her, Agent Chen and Mr. Henderson followed in single file, their breathing loud in the confined space, every sound magnified by the hollow walls. The leather portfolio containing Eleanor’s evidence was secured against Annie’s back with a strap taken from Henderson’s tool kit, its weight steady and insistent, like a physical reminder of the truth she carried and the lives already lost to protect it.
“Not much farther,” Henderson whispered from somewhere behind her. “The tunnel curves around the foundation and opens into the parking garage utility room. Fifty yards. Maybe less.”
Annie nodded, even though he couldn’t see her. Each movement sent a dull ache through her wrists and knees, and she had to force herself not to think about the mountain of concrete and steel above them. The tunnel had not been built for comfort. It had been built to hide pipes, wiring, and emergency systems no one wanted to see. She focused instead on the slow rhythm of her breathing and the scrape of fabric against metal, counting each movement as proof that she was still moving forward.
Jack is walking into that building right now, she thought. He’s stepping straight into her hands so we can get out.
The knowledge tightened her chest and drove her on. Jack hadn’t hesitated. He hadn’t bargained. He had made the decision the way Eleanor must have once made hers—with a terrible calm that came from knowing the cost and accepting it anyway.
“Wait,” Agent Chen murmured suddenly.
Annie froze, heart hammering, as Chen shifted behind her and brought her radio closer. A wash of static filled the narrow space, punctuated by broken fragments of urgent voices.
“—signal interference—can’t get clean telemetry—”
“—thermal anomalies in the basement—multiple concentrated heat points—”
“—possible jamming equipment in operation—”
Annie’s breath caught. A cold, unwelcome clarity began assembling itself in her mind, piece by piece, as the words threaded together.
