Chapter 7 - The Secrets Within the Pages
The morning light was gray and filtered through the heavy curtains of my study.
I hadn't slept;
instead,
I had sat in the dark,
listening to the house breathe.
There was a soft knock on the door,
and Sarah walked in,
wearing one of my sister's old sweaters.
It was far too big for her,
making her look even more fragile than she already was.
"Emma is still asleep,"
she said,
her voice hoarse.
"The doctor gave her something to help her rest."
I nodded and gestured to the chair across from me.
"Sit down, Sarah."
She sat,
her eyes immediately falling on the pink backpack sitting on my desk.
"You didn't open it,"
she noted,
a hint of surprise in her tone.
"I wanted to wait for you,"
I said.
"In my world, knowledge is a burden,"
"I didn't want to carry yours without your permission."
She reached out,
her fingers trembling as she pulled the bag toward her.
She unzipped the main compartment and reached past a coloring book and a stray crayon.
At the very bottom,
wrapped in a plastic bag,
was a small,
black leather journal.
It didn't look like much,
but I knew better.
She handed it to me.
"My husband was an accountant for the High Council,"
she began,
her voice steadying as she spoke.
"He thought he was just moving money for legitimate businesses,"
"until he saw the names."
I opened the book.
The first few pages were columns of numbers,
dates,
and offshore account codes.
But as I flipped further,
I saw the names of senators,
judges,
and even men I had called allies for years.
It was a ledger of corruption so vast it made my shipping business look like a lemonade stand.
"He tried to go to the authorities,"
Sarah continued,
"but the authorities were the ones on the payroll."
"They killed him three months ago,"
"made it look like a car accident."
"But he knew they would come for me,"
"so he hid this in Emma’s room."
I stared at the handwriting,
the neat,
precise script of a man who knew he was writing his own death warrant.
"This isn't just money laundering,"
I muttered,
pointing to a specific section.
"This is human trafficking,"
"and weapons sales to foreign cartels."
The High Council wasn't just a governing body for the Mafia;
it was a shadow government.
And I was standing right in the middle of their path.
"Why didn't you just burn it?"
I asked,
looking her in the eye.
"Because it's the only thing that can stop them,"
she said fiercely.
"If I burn it, they win,"
"and my husband died for nothing."
I closed the book with a heavy thud.
"If I keep this here, my home becomes a target,"
"My men will die,"
"and eventually, they will find a way in."
Sarah stood up,
her face pale.
"I’ll leave,"
she said.
"Just give us enough money to get to the border,"
"we won't bother you anymore."
I stood up as well,
rounding the desk until I was inches from her.
"I didn't say I wouldn't help you,"
I said,
my voice dropping an octave.
"I said the house is a target."
"But I’ve never been a fan of playing defense."
I looked out the window at the snow-covered lawn.
"They want this book,"
"and they want the silence it buys."
"I’m going to give them the opposite."
"I’m going to use this book to rip their world apart,"
"brick by brick."
She looked at me with a mixture of hope and terror.
"Why are you doing this for us?"
"You don't even know us."
I thought about the girl in the bakery,
the way she had counted her coins just to buy a sandwich.
"Because a king protects his people,"
I said,
May you like
repeating the words Emma had told me.
"And it’s been a long time since I felt like a king."
