Chapter 6 - The House Sterling Wanted
The mansion was burning when we reached the gates.
Not the whole structure.
The west wing.
Everett’s study.
Room after room containing family records, financial documents, photographs, and whatever Sterling believed could still destroy him.
Firefighters were already there.
Marcus had alerted police.
Sterling was nowhere visible.
Everett stood beside me wearing a sling.
He should not have been outside a hospital.
Again.
But nobody could stop him.
“You know he wants you inside,” I said.
“Yes.”
“Then don’t give him what he wants.”
“He’s destroying evidence.”
“We have Room 317.”
“We have some of it.”
Smoke rolled from a shattered window.
Rosa was safe.
All staff accounted for.
Then Marcus approached.
“One guard is missing.”
“Who?”
“Daniel.”
Everett’s expression changed.
Daniel had worked for him for fourteen years.
“He wouldn’t help Sterling.”
Marcus said nothing.
That silence meant he wasn’t sure.
My phone rang.
Unknown number.
I answered.
Sterling.
“Beautiful wedding gift, isn’t it?”
“Where are you?”
“Ask your husband.”
I looked at Everett.
Sterling continued.
“You still think Everett is the innocent man in this story?”
“I never said innocent.”
Everett heard.
A faint smile touched his mouth despite everything.
Sterling’s voice hardened.
“Go to the chapel.”
The line died.
The chapel where we had married was separate from the house.
Untouched by fire.
We entered with Marcus.
Candles had been lit.
Hundreds of them.
Just like the wedding.
Sterling stood beneath the marble cross.
Daniel was beside him.
Alive.
Not restrained.
My stomach dropped.
“You.”
Daniel looked ashamed.
Sterling smiled.
“Everyone has a price.”
Everett stepped forward.
“Yours was low.”
Daniel raised a gun.
Marcus moved.
Everett lifted one hand.
“Wait.”
Sterling held a folder.
“The final version of your will.”
Everett’s expression remained blank.
Sterling laughed.
“You always thought you were smarter.”
“I was unconscious eight months and you still couldn’t steal my money.”
That wiped away Sterling’s smile.
“You think this was about money?”
“What else?”
Sterling looked at me.
“Her.”
I froze.
Everett’s jaw tightened.
Sterling opened the folder.
“Claire Bennett was never random. Everett had been watching her case for years.”
“I know.”
“You know part of it.”
“Sterling.”
Everett’s warning was quiet.
Sterling enjoyed that.
“Oh, she doesn’t know.”
“Know what?”
Everett looked at me.
“Claire.”
Sterling spoke first.
“The patient who died under Whitfield’s care was Eleanor Webb.”
“I know her name.”
“Do you know who she was?”
I shook my head.
Sterling smiled.
“Everett’s godmother.”
Silence.
I looked at Everett.
“You knew her?”
“Yes.”
“That’s why you investigated.”
“Yes.”
Sterling continued.
“He blamed Whitfield. He blamed the hospital. And for a while, Claire, he blamed you.”
Everett’s face tightened.
“Until I found evidence.”
“How long?”
“Three weeks.”
“Did you come to my hearing because you thought I killed her?”
“At first.”
The admission hurt more than I expected.
Then he said, “I stayed because I realized you didn’t.”
Sterling tossed the folder onto the altar.
“Touching.”
Daniel’s gun remained aimed at us.
Marcus shifted slightly.
Daniel saw.
“Don’t.”
Sterling stepped toward Everett.
“You took everything.”
Everett frowned.
“What are you talking about?”
“My father built Kane Holdings.”
“Our fathers built it.”
“Your father left control to you.”
“Because yours stole from the company.”
“You destroyed him.”
“He destroyed himself.”
Sterling’s calm finally broke.
“You were always chosen.”
There it was.
Not money.
Not even power.
Resentment.
Decades of it.
Everett looked tired.
“You tried to kill me because you lost a family argument thirty years ago?”
“I tried to kill you because as long as you lived, nobody saw me.”
“That sounds like your problem.”
Sterling’s face twisted.
Daniel’s gun moved toward Everett.
I saw it before anyone else.
I stepped between them.
Everett grabbed my arm.
Gunfire erupted.
Marcus shot Daniel’s weapon from his hand.
Sterling ran toward the side door.
Everett went after him.
I followed.
They reached the courtyard.
Sterling turned with a gun.
Everett stopped.
I was six feet behind him.
Sterling aimed.
“You should have died in the car.”
Everett said, “Probably.”
“You should have died in that bed.”
“Probably.”
“You don’t even care?”
Everett glanced back at me.
“I do now.”
Sterling fired.
Nothing happened.
The gun clicked.
Empty.
His face collapsed.
Police flooded the courtyard.
Sterling was arrested.
This time, there would be no friendly transfer.
No private guard.
No escape.
As officers took him away, he looked at me.
“You think you saved him?”
I said nothing.
“You have no idea what he’ll become when he gets his empire back.”
Everett stood beside me.
Weak.
Wounded.
Alive.
He looked at Sterling.
“Neither do I.”
Months passed.
Whitfield pleaded guilty.
Sterling went to trial.
St. Matthew’s publicly acknowledged the falsified evidence in my case.
The nursing board restored my license.
I received a letter with my old credential number.
I stared at it for ten minutes before opening it.
Everett found me crying in the kitchen.
He did not say anything.
He just sat beside me.
I handed him the letter.
“You’re officially dangerous again,” he said.
“I can legally tell you to stop ignoring doctors.”
“I preferred you disgraced.”
I elbowed him.
He smiled.
Physical therapy changed him.
At first he needed assistance standing.
Then a cane.
Then nothing.
His strength returned slowly.
His temper returned faster.
The criminal investigations surrounding Kane Holdings were harder.
Everett cooperated with federal prosecutors on businesses tied to Sterling and Whitfield.
He closed illegal operations.
Sold others.
Men who once feared him began calling him weak.
Some disappeared.
Some challenged him.
Everett survived them all without becoming the man Sterling predicted.
At least, not around me.
Our marriage remained legally intact.
Neither of us discussed that.
Until one evening when an attorney arrived with annulment papers.
I stared at them.
Everett stood across the library.
“I had them prepared.”
I swallowed.
“Okay.”
“You were forced into this.”
“Yes.”
“You should be free.”
“Yes.”
Neither of us moved.
The papers lay between us.
He looked at me.
“Sign whenever you want.”
Then he walked out.
I picked up the pen.
My hand hovered above the signature line.
My phone buzzed.
A message from an unknown number.
DON’T SIGN YET.
Attached was a photograph.
Everett entering Room 317 three years ago.
May you like
Beside him stood a woman I recognized instantly.
My mother.
