Chapter 10
Principal Hayes stood six floors above the courtyard.
Police blocked every entrance.
Firefighters moved away from the building.
News helicopters circled overhead.
I could hear them from inside the SUV.
Thump.
Thump.
Thump.
Like a giant heartbeat above the school.
Detective Morales ordered everyone back.
My father agreed.
That surprised me.
Then Hayes demanded to speak with me.
My father stopped agreeing.
“Absolutely not.”
Morales said, “We’re not sending her up.”
“Good.”
“He has a phone.”
My skin prickled.
“What?”
“He’s asking officers to call Emma.”
My father said, “No.”
I held out my hand.
“Give me my phone.”
“No.”
“Dad.”
“He is unstable.”
“He knows something.”
“I don’t care.”
“I do.”
His voice cracked.
“You are sixteen.”
“And Mom was seventeen.”
The words silenced him.
I hated using her like a weapon.
But I also knew exactly why he was afraid.
I softened my voice.
“I’m not going to the roof.”
“No.”
“I’ll talk to him from here.”
“No.”
“Morales can listen.”
“No.”
Mrs. Adler touched my father’s arm.
“Anthony.”
He snapped, “Do not.”
She let go.
Then she said quietly, “Isabella would have taken the call.”
“That is exactly what I am afraid of.”
I almost smiled.
Even now, my mother was winning arguments from beyond the grave.
Detective Morales finally said, “We can put it on speaker. My negotiator will remain on the line.”
My father cursed.
Then he handed me my phone.
“If he threatens you, you hang up.”
“Okay.”
“If he tells you to go anywhere—”
“I know.”
“If—”
“Dad.”
He stopped.
“I know.”
The call connected.
For several seconds, I heard only wind.
Then Principal Hayes spoke.
“Emma.”
His voice was different.
Gone was the polished authority.
He sounded exhausted.
“Mr. Hayes.”
“I’m sorry.”
I gripped the phone.
“For what?”
Silence.
“Be specific.”
He laughed softly.
“You really are Isabella’s daughter.”
“Everyone keeps telling me that.”
“She used to do that too.”
“What?”
“Refuse broad apologies.”
My stomach twisted.
“So you did know her.”
“Yes.”
“You lied.”
“Yes.”
My father made a furious sound beside me.
I continued.
“Did you watch Victor push her?”
Wind filled the line.
Then Hayes whispered, “Yes.”
My father stood so fast the SUV shifted.
I held up one hand.
He stayed silent.
“Why did you lie?”
Hayes breathed shakily.
“Because I was twenty-two years old.”
“That isn’t a reason.”
“No.”
He sighed.
“It is an excuse.”
I tightened my grip on the phone.
“The Whitmores paid for my graduate degree.”
My stomach turned.
“Victor’s father?”
“Yes.”
“They bought you.”
Another long silence.
“Yes.”
Sophie whispered something furious under her breath.
I continued.
“Did you tell Victor private information about my mother?”
“Some.”
My blood went cold.
“What information?”
“Her family’s financial problems.”
“And her mother’s treatment?”
“No.”
“Who did?”
“I don’t know.”
“Do you expect me to believe that?”
“No.”
At least he understood.
“What happened to Ethan Reynolds?”
Hayes began crying.
I could hear it beneath the wind.
“I failed him.”
“That is not an answer.”
“I convinced his parents that public action would make everything worse.”
“You silenced them.”
“Yes.”
“Did you leak information about Sophie’s mother?”
“No.”
“Did Brandon?”
Hayes stopped crying.
The silence changed.
“Mr. Hayes?”
“My son became fascinated by the old system.”
My stomach tightened.
“What does that mean?”
“When he was fifteen, he found records I had kept.”
“What records?”
“Copies.”
“Of the Legacy files?”
“Yes.”
My father muttered, “Jesus.”
Hayes continued.
“I should have destroyed them.”
“You should have turned them over to police.”
“I know.”
“But you didn’t.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because they contained names.”
“What names?”
“Trustees.”
“Parents?”
“Yes.”
“Politicians?”
“Yes.”
“Who else?”
His breathing changed.
“Anthony Moretti’s father.”
My father froze beside me.
I turned toward him even though I couldn’t see him.
“My grandfather?”
Hayes continued.
“Salvatore was not part of the Legacy Council.”
My father exhaled.
“But his name appeared because he tried to expose it.”
I gripped the phone.
“Then why didn’t he?”
“He made a deal.”
My father grabbed the phone.
“What deal?”
Morales touched his shoulder.
My father handed it back to me reluctantly.
Hayes said, “Salvatore threatened to release the ledger after Isabella was pushed.”
I asked, “What did they give him?”
“Nothing.”
“Then what stopped him?”
“They threatened Anthony.”
My father went silent.
Hayes continued.
“More specifically, they threatened Isabella.”
My pulse raced.
“She had already been pushed.”
“They said next time she would not survive.”
I felt sick.
“So Grandpa hid the ledger.”
“Yes.”
“Did my mother know?”
“Eventually.”
“Is that why she stayed quiet?”
“For a while.”
“But then I was born.”
Hayes started crying again.
“The contamination changed everything.”
My father leaned closer to the phone.
“Who did it?”
Hayes whispered, “I don’t know.”
“Liar,” my father said.
“I swear.”
I asked, “Who sent the flowers?”
Hayes stopped breathing.
There.
That tiny hesitation.
He knew.
“Who sent them?”
He whispered, “Daniel Whitmore.”
My father swore.
My stomach dropped.
“Carter’s father?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“He said it was a peace offering.”
“A card saying ‘a beautiful second generation’ was a peace offering?”
“I didn’t see the card.”
“Did he know about the contamination?”
“I don’t know.”
“You say that a lot.”
“I know.”
“Did Daniel send the messages to me?”
“No.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I did.”
The entire SUV went silent.
My father lunged for the phone.
Morales stopped him.
I could barely speak.
“You sent the texts?”
“Yes.”
“The photo of my mother’s grave?”
“Yes.”
“The threats?”
“I was trying to scare you away.”
Anger exploded through me.
“You thought threatening a blind sixteen-year-old girl would fix this?”
“No.”
“Then why?”
“Because Brandon had gone too far.”
“What did he do?”
“He restarted Legacy.”
My breathing quickened.
“With Carter?”
“With Carter and others.”
“Why?”
“At first they thought it was a game.”
My stomach turned.
“Collecting secrets about students was a game?”
“Yes.”
“And then?”
“Daniel found out.”
My father asked sharply, “Daniel Whitmore?”
“Yes.”
“What did he do?”
“He encouraged it.”
Sophie gasped.
Hayes continued.
“He wanted access to information about families connected to school donors.”
“Blackmail?” I asked.
“Leverage.”
“That’s a nice word.”
“I know.”
“Why target me?”
“You weren’t supposed to be targeted.”
I laughed bitterly.
“Interesting way to show it.”
“Brandon discovered who you were.”
“When?”
“Two months before you started.”
The parking garage photograph.
Principal Hayes and Daniel.
My school schedule.
Everything connected.
I asked, “Why give Carter my schedule?”
“I didn’t.”
“Brandon did.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“He wanted to see what Daniel would do when he realized Isabella Grant’s daughter was coming to Westbridge.”
My skin went cold.
“So I was bait.”
Hayes started crying again.
“I tried to stop him.”
“You sent threatening messages.”
“I thought if you left, it would end.”
“No.”
I squeezed the phone.
“You thought if I left, you could bury it again.”
He said nothing.
“That’s what you did to Mom.”
Silence.
“That’s what you did to Ethan.”
Silence.
“And when Carter took my cane, you called it a misunderstanding.”
Hayes whispered, “I’m sorry.”
“No.”
My voice shook.
“You’re sorry because the truth survived you.”
For several seconds, the only sound was wind.
Then Hayes said, “Emma.”
“What?”
“The body in the archive.”
My heart stopped.
“You know who it is?”
“Yes.”
“Who?”
He whispered, “Brandon’s friend.”
Morales leaned closer.
“What friend?”
“Lucas Crane.”
Dr. Shaw inhaled sharply.
I recognized the surname.
Crane.
One of Westbridge’s oldest donor families.
Hayes continued.
“Lucas helped Brandon start the fire.”
My stomach twisted.
“Then why is he dead?”
Hayes sobbed.
“Because Brandon locked him inside.”
Sophie gasped.
My father muttered a curse.
“Why?”
“They fought.”
“About what?”
“The files.”
“What files?”
“Brandon found Isabella’s copies behind the plaque.”
Everything inside me froze.
“He found them before the fire?”
“Yes.”
“Where are they now?”
Hayes began breathing faster.
“Emma.”
“Where are they?”
“I told Brandon to destroy them.”
My anger surged.
“Of course you did.”
“But he didn’t.”
“How do you know?”
“Because he called me after the fire started.”
“What did he say?”
Hayes whispered, “He said the documents were worth more alive than dead.”
My father said, “Blackmail.”
“Yes.”
“Where is Brandon now?”
“I don’t know.”
Detective Morales stepped outside and immediately started issuing orders.
I stayed on the phone.
“Mr. Hayes.”
“Yes?”
“Come down.”
Silence.
“You need to tell police everything.”
“I can’t.”
“You already have.”
“You don’t understand.”
“Then explain it.”
“My life is over.”
I tightened my grip on the phone.
“Lucas Crane’s life is over.”
He stopped breathing.
“My mother spent twenty years carrying what you did.”
Silence.
“Ethan lost years of his life.”
Silence.
“Carter turned into someone who thought cruelty was tradition.”
I swallowed.
“You don’t get to make yourself the biggest victim now.”
Hayes began sobbing.
I continued.
“You come down.”
Wind filled the line.
“You answer every question.”
Another pause.
“And then you live with what you did.”
For almost a minute, he said nothing.
Then I heard movement.
A metallic door opened faintly through the phone.
Voices shouted in the distance.
Hayes whispered, “Tell your father I’m sorry.”
My father leaned toward the phone.
“Tell me yourself.”
Hayes cried harder.
Then the line went dead.
I panicked.
“What happened?”
Morales’s radio crackled.
Then his shoulders lowered.
“He’s coming down.”
Everyone exhaled.
My father pulled me into his arms.
For one second, it felt like the story might finally be ending.
Then Morales’s phone rang.
He answered.
His expression changed immediately.
“What?”
He listened.
Then looked toward my father.
“What happened?” I asked.
Morales ended the call.
“Brandon Hayes escaped the hospital.”
My father went rigid.
“He was under police watch.”
“He assaulted an orderly and left through a service exit.”
My pulse accelerated.
“Does he have the files?”
“We don’t know.”
My phone buzzed.
I stopped breathing.
My father whispered, “Don’t.”
But I already knew.
Another message.
This one included an audio file.
Morales played it.
Brandon Hayes’s voice came through the speaker.
“Emma Moretti.”
He sounded calm.
Almost amused.
“You wanted the truth.”
Paper rustled in the recording.
“I have it.”
My father’s arm tightened around me.
Brandon continued.
“And if your father wants Isabella’s files to stay out of the wrong hands, he knows exactly what he has to do.”
The recording paused.
Then came five final words.
“Ask him about St. Anthony’s.”
My father went completely still.
I turned toward him.
“The church.”
He didn’t answer.
“Dad?”
His voice came out hollow.
“I know where the ledger is.”
Detective Morales stepped closer.
“Where?”
My father took my hand.
For the first time all day, he sounded truly afraid.
“Inside the chapel my father built.”
My phone buzzed one final time.
A text from Brandon.
I had Morales read it.
He did.
“Come before midnight.”
Another line.
“Come alone.”
May you like
Then the last sentence.
“Or your mother’s truth burns with the rest.”
