Chapter 8 - The BulletGlass rained across the room.
Vanessa screamed.
Ethan grabbed me and dragged me to the floor.
Another shot struck the wall.
“Stay down!”
My hands were shaking.
Someone outside was shooting into the suite.
Vanessa crawled toward the safe.
“Take the files!”
I grabbed them.
Ethan pulled a gun from beneath his jacket.
I stared at him.
“You carry a gun?”
“Not tonight.”
He fired toward the window.
A figure disappeared from the rooftop across the street.
Silence.
Then sirens.
We ran through the service corridor.
For twenty minutes we drove without speaking.
Eventually Ethan stopped beneath a concrete overpass.
I turned toward him.
“You were sent to marry me.”
His hands tightened around the steering wheel.
“Yes.”
“Who gave the order?”
“My father.”
“Why?”
“To find the account.”
“So all those years…”
“Yes.”
“The proposal?”
“I loved you.”
“The wedding?”
“I loved you.”
“Our honeymoon?”
“I loved you.”
“Then when did you betray me?”
His eyes filled with tears.
“When your father disappeared.”
I stared ahead.
“You thought he was dead.”
“Yes.”
“You thought the money was dangerous.”
“Yes.”
“And Vanessa?”
“She was supposed to help me find it.”
I looked at him.
“But she became more than that.”
He nodded.
“Did you love her?”
“No.”
“Did you sleep with her?”
“Yes.”
That answer hurt.
He didn't defend himself.
“I needed the people watching us to believe we had become enemies.”
“So you decided to become the villain.”
“Yes.”
“You could have told me.”
“They would have killed you.”
I turned away.
“You don't get to decide what I'm allowed to know.”
“I know.”
We sat in silence.
Then my phone buzzed.
A text from an unknown number.
COME HOME. YOUR FATHER IS WAITING.
Attached was a photograph.
My father.
Alive.
Sitting in our kitchen.
His wrists tied.
My blood ran cold.
“Ethan.”
He looked at the phone.
“We’re going.”
I grabbed the door.
“No.”
“Claire, it’s a trap.”
“I don't care.”
“You should.”
“My father is there.”
“He wants you to go there.”
“I know.”
“Then he wants whatever is in the compass.”
I looked at the walnut box.
Suddenly I understood.
The compass wasn't the treasure.
It was the key.
I opened the back.
A tiny panel clicked loose.
Inside was a microfilm strip.
And one word.
MILLER.
Ethan went completely still.
“What?”
I held up the film.
“This belongs to your father.”
He stared at it.
Then whispered:
“Claire…”
“What?”
“My father didn't die six years ago.”
May you like
I looked at him.
“He's the one controlling everything.”
