Chapter 16 - ROOM 317
Jonathan took me below the building.
Three floors.
Then a private elevator.
He took my phone.
My transmitter.
Everything.
The underground corridor had no windows.
Door numbers appeared.
311.
313.
315.
317.
My father’s signal.
Jonathan opened it.
Robert Bennett sat inside.
Alive.
For one second, all the conspiracies disappeared.
He was just my father.
Older.
Thinner.
Broken.
But his eyes were the same.
“Gracie.”
I crossed the room before Jonathan could stop me.
My father wrapped his arms around me.
I became twenty-one again.
Then nine.
Then a child younger than memory.
I cried against his shoulder.
He whispered, “I’m sorry.”
I pulled back and slapped him.
Weakly.
He laughed.
“I deserved that.”
“More than once.”
“Probably.”
Jonathan closed the door.
“Beautiful.”
I turned.
“What do you actually want?”
He sat.
“The photograph.”
I had hidden it beneath my waistband.
“What photograph?”
“Robert taught you badly.”
My father smiled faintly.
“She lies better than I do.”
Jonathan ignored him.
“The photograph you took at Hawthorne shows Arthur, Charles, my father, Robert, and Senator Bell.”
“So?”
“Bell is still alive.”
“He became a Supreme Court justice.”
My father nodded.
Now I understood.
The photograph didn’t only expose dead men.
It implicated one living man with immense power.
Jonathan’s network survived because someone at the top still protected it.
Justice William Bell.
Jonathan wanted the photograph before the federal investigation reached him.
“Where is Andrew?”
Jonathan smiled.
“Alive.”
“And Daniel?”
“For the moment.”
I looked at my father.
He was watching my hands.
Then his eyes moved toward the sprinkler head.
Once.
Twice.
I understood.
Room 317 had something.
He wanted me to stall.
“Why keep Dad alive?”
Jonathan looked almost offended.
“Robert has always been useful.”
“He remembers accounts.”
“Names.”
“Passwords.”
“He also makes excellent bait.”
My father laughed.
“I told you she wouldn’t sign.”
“You underestimated maternal instinct.”
“I’m not her mother.”
Jonathan smiled.
“No.”
“But you inherited the same weakness.”
“Love makes people stupid.”
My father looked at me.
“No.”
“Fear does.”
Jonathan’s face hardened.
That struck something.
My father continued.
“Your father terrified you.”
Jonathan stood.
“Quiet.”
“Even now.”
Jonathan hit him.
I lunged forward.
He pointed the gun at me.
My father wiped blood from his mouth.
Then smiled.
“You still hit like him too.”
Jonathan stepped toward him.
The sprinkler activated.
Water exploded from the ceiling.
Alarm bells sounded.
The lights flickered.
The door unlocked automatically.
My father had triggered the fire system with a wire hidden beneath his chair.
I grabbed Jonathan’s wrist.
The gun fired into the ceiling.
My father struck him with the metal IV stand.
I ran into the corridor.
“Andrew!”
A door farther down opened.
Andrew staggered out.
Bleeding from the forehead.
Alive.
We freed him.
Federal agents were entering from the parking levels.
Jonathan ran the opposite direction.
Toward a private tunnel.
My father leaned heavily against me.
“Let him go.”
“No.”
“Grace.”
“He’ll disappear.”
My father shook his head.
“He won’t.”
“Why?”
A massive steel door slammed shut ahead.
Jonathan stopped.
Standing on the other side was Margaret.
And beside her—
Daniel.
My husband looked through the glass.
Jonathan turned.
Trapped.
Margaret held up one phone.
On the screen, a live broadcast counter climbed.
Thousands.
Then tens of thousands.
She smiled through tears.
“For once, Jonathan.”
May you like
“No one is burying this.”
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