Chapter 35 - The Sister’s Ledger
"He's lying, Maeve," a voice came from the darkness behind the breached wall.
The tactical operator turned his weapon toward the shadow, but before he could fire, a blast from a 12-gauge shotgun tore through the mist. The spray of heavy buckshot struck the reinforced steel lintel above the operator’s head, showering him with sparks and sharp metal splinters.
The operator cursed, diving for cover behind the heavy iron floodgate wheel as the report of the shotgun rolled through the cavern like thunder.
From the dark maw of the drainage tunnel stepped a man.
He was tall, emaciated, with a beard the color of dirty snow that reached down to the middle of his chest. He was wearing an oilcloth coat that looked like it had been salvaged from an abandoned logging camp, and in his hands was an antique Remington Wingmaster, the slide racked back and ready for another round.
"Julian," Constance whispered, sinking down into the water until she was leaning against the rock face for support.
"Get behind the bulkhead, Maeve," Julian Vance said. His voice was the same low, gravelly rasp that had spoken to me over the field telephone just minutes before. "Arthur never was good at balancing a ledger. He always forgot to count the cost of the cleanup."
Arthur scrambled backward through the water, his arms flailing, until his back hit the foot of the ladder leading up to the living room. "Julian... you're dead! We filed the death certificate in Harrisburg in eighty-two!"
"The government thought so," Julian said, his weapon never wavering from the operator pinned behind the iron wheel. "The banks thought so. But you knew better, little brother. You came down here every November to collect the interest from the Zurich holding accounts. You took fifty thousand dollars a year to keep the taxes paid on this ridge and keep your mouth shut."
"I did what I had to do to protect the family!" Arthur cried, his voice shrill.
"You protected nothing!" Julian stepped forward, his boots splashing through the torrent of water that was now rising toward our waists. "You let Clara sell the debt to Aegis. You let her invite wolves into the cellar."
Above the breach, the unmistakable sound of my sister's voice cut through the damp air, echoing down from the floorboards of my living room.
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"Arthur! What is taking so long?" Clara yelled down, her tone laced with that familiar, imperious rage that had dictated every holiday, every dinner, every conversation for thirty years. "The transfer team is here! If you don't bring those bonds up in five minutes, they’re authorizing the demolition charge on the load-bearing pilings!"
Julian looked up at the ceiling, a grim, humorless smile showing through his gray beard. "She takes after her mother," he remarked to no one in particular. "All appetite, no stomach."
