Chapter 11 - Black CrownThe estate erupted into chaos.
Police rushed toward the windows.
Dante dragged Beatrice behind a stone pillar.
“Stay down.”
Maggie crouched beside their mother.
Alexander disappeared through a side door.
Charles laughed from the floor.
Beatrice stared at him.
“You know what Black Crown is.”
Charles looked up.
“You have no idea what you've inherited.”
She felt the same words from the note echo in her head.
“You've known about them all along.”
Charles smiled.
“Your father tried to fight them.”
“And failed.”
“No.”
“He succeeded.”
“Then why am I standing here?”
Charles's smile widened.
“Because they let you.”
Dante pulled Beatrice away.
“We're leaving.”
“Where?”
“Somewhere they can't reach.”
“There is nowhere like that.”
His expression told her he agreed.
They escaped through the rear gardens.
Rain began falling.
Maggie and their mother were taken under police protection.
Alexander vanished.
Charles was arrested.
But the mystery remained.
Who fired the shot?
Who was Black Crown?
And why had Thomas built a fortune large enough to fight them?
At dawn, Dante brought Beatrice to his private office.
A room with no windows.
No cameras.
No electronic devices.
He opened an old metal box.
Inside were photographs.
Names.
Coordinates.
Bank accounts.
Beatrice recognized several politicians.
Judges.
Police commissioners.
Corporate executives.
“This is Black Crown.”
Dante nodded.
“It's not one organization.”
“What is it?”
“A network.”
“Of what?”
“People who decide which companies survive.”
She stared at the documents.
“They control banks?”
“Banks.”
“Courts?”
“Some.”
“Government?”
“Enough.”
“And my father?”
“Was one of the few who tried to expose them.”
Beatrice looked down.
“And you?”
“My father did too.”
“What happened to him?”
Dante hesitated.
“Dead.”
“Black Crown?”
“I don't know.”
“You do.”
His silence answered.
Beatrice stepped closer.
“What aren't you telling me?”
Dante looked at her.
“Your father came to my father twelve years ago.”
“What for?”
“Protection.”
“From Black Crown?”
“Yes.”
“Did he get it?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“My father betrayed him.”
Beatrice felt the room shrink.
“You betrayed your own father?”
“No.”
“I thought you said—”
“My father died protecting me.”
He opened another file.
Inside was a photograph.
Two men.
Dante's father.
Thomas Wilkes.
Behind them stood a third man.
Beatrice recognized him.
She had seen him at the gala.
One of the senior partners.
Harold Mercer.
“He's Black Crown.”
Dante nodded.
“Or he was.”
“Was?”
“Because he disappeared six months ago.”
Beatrice stared.
“Then who runs it now?”
Dante's phone rang.
He answered.
His face changed.
“What happened?”
A pause.
Then:
“Send me the image.”
A photograph arrived.
It showed the outside of Beatrice's mother's house.
On the wall was a black circle.
Under it:
WE FOUND THE HEIR.
Dante closed his eyes.
Beatrice whispered:
“They know where we are.”
He looked at her.
“No.”
“What?”
“They knew before we did.”
Then the door opened.
Alexander stood there.
His suit was soaked with rain.
He was holding a gun.
And behind him was Victoria.
“Dante,” Alexander said quietly.
“You need to come with us.”
Dante raised his weapon.
“Why?”
Alexander looked at Beatrice.
“Because Charles wasn't acting alone.”
Beatrice's heart sank.
“Who else?”
Alexander handed her a photograph.
It showed the Wilkes gala.
The moment Dante first took her hand.
Every guest was visible.
But one man had been circled in red.
Beatrice recognized him.
Her own boss.
Charles's assistant.
He had been standing behind her all night.
Alexander whispered:
“He is Black Crown's man.”
The photograph contained a second circle.
Around Beatrice.
And a third.
Around Dante.
Then Alexander said:
“They don't want your inheritance.”
“They want you to sign something.”
Beatrice looked at the photograph.
May you like
“What?”
“Ownership.”
