Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 102280 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 511(@200wpm)___ 409(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102280 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 511(@200wpm)___ 409(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
And the spirits came.
Tunnels, Cordelia’s voice whispered. Foundation. False wall. Coal storage.
Images flooded Vivienne’s mind—a hidden chamber, old wooden crates, papers yellowed with age.
Morton. First National. 1987. Karl Kelly’s spirit added fragments, showing her safety deposit boxes, a bank manager’s nervous hands.
Jack gasped as his own brother’s spirit manifested—impressions rather than words. A fisherman. Midnight. Weighted body. Deep channel. Two others still there.
The information came in flashes, fragments, feelings more than language. Names, dates, locations—but never in complete sentences, never in linear narrative. Vivienne translated as best she could, her voice steady as she conveyed what the spirits showed her.
Camera, Lily’s spirit finally communicated, her presence stronger than the others. A vision: photographs of shipping manifests, artifacts, Winston and his father. A hidden chamber. Everything preserved.
Martha sobbed quietly, but she didn’t break the circle. Velta squeezed her hand in support.
Then Lily’s spirit pressed harder, more urgent. Images of Daniel. Wrong. False. Working for them. Reporting. Melissa discovered. Ran.
The revelation pressed hard against her chest. Vivienne’s eyes snapped open, meeting Dawn’s horrified gaze across the circle.
Danger, Lily’s presence burned with warning. He’s watching. Waiting.
The séance ended as the spirits withdrew, leaving Vivienne drained but transfixed by the urgency of what they’d shown her.
Brooks appeared in the doorway before she could call for him.
“What did you learn?”
“My earlier assessment of Daniel is spot on, Brooks. He knows more than he’s telling you. Thre are more locations where they hid evidence. The spirits showed me additional storage sites—places even the Aldriches might have forgotten about after all these years.” Vivienne accepted the water Dawn handed her. “The physical evidence we already found is just the beginning. There’s more. So much more.”
Brooks made notes. “The FBI will want to know about any additional locations. This could help us identify more victims, recover more stolen artifacts.”
“There’s also something about the financial records. The spirits kept showing me banks, multiple institutions, not just Morton at First National. They spread their money around.”
Everyone, including Brooks, left. Dawn and Vivienne continued to clean up, but both women worked with nervous energy, aware that they’d just exposed information that could make them targets.
“I don’t like how exposed you are here,” Dawn said, gathering candles. “Even with all Grandmother’s protective symbols.”
“I know. But this is where the work needs to happen.”
They were gathering the last of the candles when Vivienne felt it—that prickle of awareness that meant someone was watching. Through the window, she caught movement across the street. A figure, half-hidden in shadow. Not Daniel’s build. Someone else.
“Dawn.” Her voice stayed steady despite the chill running down her spine. “Someone’s outside.”
Dawn moved to the window, peering carefully around the edge. “I see them. Should we call Brooks?”
“He’s probably still at the station.” Vivienne continued packing supplies, refusing to let fear control her movements. “But yes, call him.”
While Dawn made the call, Vivienne moved through the shop, checking locks, closing curtains. The protective symbols her grandmother had carved into the doorframe seemed to catch the lamplight differently tonight, as if responding to the threat outside.
The figure across the street didn’t move. Just watched. Waited.
When Brooks arrived ten minutes later with a patrol car, the watcher had vanished. But they all knew the truth—the Aldriches network was aware of what Vivienne was doing, aware that she was helping to dismantle their empire. They wouldn’t wait passively for exposure.
“Pack a bag,” Brooks said. “You’re staying in protective custody tonight or a safe house. Whatever we have here. Someplace with twenty-four-hour security.”
Vivienne didn’t argue. The Hawthorne women had always known this moment would come—when helping the dead seek justice would put the living in mortal danger.
As they left through the back entrance, she cast one last look at her shop. Brooks’s hand stayed at the small of her back as they moved through the alley toward his car. Dawn followed close behind, her presence a small comfort.
They were so close to exposing everything now.
FOURTEEN
brooks
Brooks arrived at the safe house early, coffee in hand. Vivienne sat at the small kitchen table with Dawn, both women restless after a night of confinement. The modest rental property that Chief Sullivan was able to “borrow” without anyone from the mayor’s office knowing about. The house was two blocks off Harbor Street, surrounded by other homes.
“Morning,” Brooks said, setting down the coffee. “How did you sleep?”
“Barely.” Vivienne accepted the cup. “Every creak had me wondering if someone found us.”
Dawn stood, stretching. “I’m going to grab a shower. Give you two some privacy to talk shop.”
Once she’d left, Brooks pulled out his notebook. “I’ve been digging into Daniel Clarkson’s financials since yesterday. Something about his story didn’t sit right with me.”
Vivienne’s expression sharpened. “What did you find?”
“Bank deposits. Regular payments over eighteen months, all from accounts I couldn’t immediately trace.” Brooks flipped through his notes. “I sent the account information to the FBI last night. They ran it through their databases.”