Chapter 7 - The Safe
Sterling’s office was on the third floor of a brick building on Main Street, above the old hardware store my mom used to take me to for school supplies. I went there that night. Just after ten. Arthur was with me, along with two of our best security men — former military, quiet, the kind of guys who could get into anywhere without leaving a trace.
The street was quiet. Dark. Most of the stores were closed. The only light came from the streetlamps and the single lit window on the third floor.
“He’s still up there,” Arthur said, looking through a pair of binoculars from the car across the street. “Sterling. Alone. Drinking scotch. Looking at papers. Looks like he’s packing. Probably getting ready to run. He knows Diane is done. He knows he’s next.”
“Good,” I said. “That means he’ll be careless.”
We got out of the car.
The security men went first. They picked the lock on the back door in less than ten seconds. We slipped up the stairs, silent as shadows, until we were standing outside Sterling’s office door.
I could hear him inside. Muttering to himself. The clink of a glass. The rustle of papers.
Arthur nodded at the door.
One of the security men kicked it open.
Sterling jumped so hard he spilled his scotch all over his desk. He was in his shirtsleeves, his tie loose, his gray hair sticking up in tufts. A half-packed suitcase sat open on the couch behind him, stuffed with files and clothes.
“What the hell!” he shouted, reaching for the phone. “Who are you? Get out! I’m calling the police!”
“Go ahead,” I said, stepping into the light. “Call them. I’m sure they’d love to know what’s in that suitcase. And what’s in your safe.”
He froze when he saw me. His face went from angry to shocked to terrified in the space of two seconds.
“Cassidy Hale,” he whispered. “What — what are you doing here? This is breaking and entering! I’ll have you —”
“You’ll have me what?” I said, walking toward his desk. I sat down in the leather chair on the other side, the envelope Tom had given me sitting on my lap. “Arrest me? Go ahead. But while you’re at it, why don’t you tell the police about the two hundred thousand dollars Diane paid you in 2006 to cover up a murder? Why don’t you tell them about the toxic waste? The dead kids? The bribes? I have it all, Richard. Every receipt. Every name. Every wire transfer. You’re finished. The only question left is — do you want to go to jail for twenty years as Diane’s accomplice? Or do you want to make a deal?”
He stared at me. His hand was still hovering over the phone. Slowly, he lowered it.
“What kind of deal?” he said. His voice was hoarse.
“Full immunity,” I said. “For everything. You testify against Diane. You hand over every file, every record, every secret you’ve ever kept for the Morrisons. You help us put her away for the rest of her life. And in return? You walk. You get to keep your law license — well, no, actually, you’ll be disbarred. But you won’t go to prison. You can move to Florida. Play golf. Live out the rest of your miserable life in peace. That’s the deal. Take it or leave it.”
He hesitated. I could see the wheels turning in his head. Calculating. Weighing his options.
“How do I know you’ll keep your word?” he said.
“Because I’m not Diane,” I said. “I don’t lie. And because if you don’t take the deal? I hand everything I have over to the FBI tomorrow morning. And you’ll spend the next thirty years in a cell next to her. Think about it, Richard. You’re sixty-seven years old. Do you really want to die in prison because you were stupid enough to do Diane Morrison’s dirty work?”
He stared at me for a long time.
And then he sagged. All the fight went out of him. He reached into his pocket, pulled out a small key, and slid it across the desk to me.
“The safe is behind the painting of the old mill,” he said. “Everything is in there. Every file. Every secret. Everything she ever had on anyone. All the dirt. All the bribes. All the bodies.”
Arthur walked to the painting. Moved it aside. There was the safe — old, heavy, iron. He inserted the key. Turned it. The door swung open with a heavy clunk.
Inside were stacks and stacks of files. Dozens of them. Hundreds. All labeled with names and dates.
Arthur started pulling them out. Flipping through them. His eyebrows went higher and higher.
“Cassidy,” he said, holding up one thick file. “This is the toxic waste cover-up. Full engineering reports. Proof they knew it was dangerous. Proof they hid it. This is — this is enough to put them away for life all by itself.”
He pulled out another.
“Bribery records. City council. State senators. Even a couple of judges. Diane bought everyone.”
Another.
“Blackmail files. On half the town. On the board members. On — on me.” He looked up, his face pale. “She had a file on me. From ten years ago. When I had that gambling problem. She paid off my debts. Just so she could own me. That’s why — that’s why I never said anything. Why I was so scared of her. She owned me.”
He looked at me.
“You were right,” he said. “She had friends everywhere. She owned everyone.”
“Not anymore,” I said. I stood up and looked at Sterling. “You get one hour to pack whatever you can carry. And then you disappear. If I ever see you in this town again? If I ever hear you’ve talked to anyone about what happened here tonight? The deal is off. And I will personally make sure you spend the rest of your life in the worst prison I can find. Do you understand?”
He nodded so fast his glasses almost fell off.
“I understand,” he said. “I’m gone. Tonight. Forever. You’ll never see me again.”
“Good,” I said.
We left him there, standing in the middle of his office, surrounded by the ruins of his life.
By the time we got back to the house, it was after one in the morning. We spread all the files out on the dining room table — the same table where Diane had poured the water on me just three nights before. The irony wasn’t lost on me.
Arthur, Eleanor, and I went through them one by one.
It was worse than we’d imagined.
Diane hadn’t just covered up my mom’s murder. She’d covered up the toxic waste scandal that had killed nine kids. She’d bribed politicians. She’d blackmailed judges. She’d stolen hundreds of millions from her own charity. She’d sabotaged competitors. She’d destroyed lives. Dozens of them. Hundreds.
And at the very bottom of the pile, we found it.
The file on me.
I opened it with shaking hands.
Inside were pictures of me. From when I was a kid. In foster care. In high school. In college. Pictures of me in my dorm room, building my company. Pictures of me the day I sold it. Pictures of me meeting Henry Morrison.
She’d known.
She’d known everything.
She’d known I was rich before Brendan even asked me out. She’d known I owned the company. She’d known exactly who I was the day I walked into her house for the first time.
And she’d let me marry her son anyway.
She’d let me be the quiet, poor, obedient little wife. Because she’d thought she could control me. Because she’d thought if she broke me, humiliated me, made me feel small enough — I’d never dare use my money or my power against her. She’d thought she could keep me as her little secret forever. Her little prisoner.
I closed the file.
“She knew,” I said, my voice cold. “All along. She knew.”
Eleanor swore under her breath.
“That evil —” she started.
“It doesn’t matter,” I said. I stood up and looked at the two people who’d become my real family in the last three days. “What matters is that we have it all. Every secret. Every lie. Every crime. Tomorrow morning, we take it all to the FBI. To the attorney general. To the press. We dump it all. Every last page. The whole world is going to know exactly who Diane Morrison really is. And this time? There’s no way out. No lawyers. No bribes. No friends in high places. It’s over.”
Arthur nodded.
May you like
“I’ll make the calls at six a.m.,” he said.
“Good,” I said. I looked out the window at the dark lawn. Somewhere in the distance, a dog barked. “Tomorrow is going to be a very long day.”
