Chapter 10 - The Cadillac at Four O'Clock
The heat in the basement was instantaneous, scorching the air and filling the room with thick, black smoke.
Thomas scrambled to his feet, coughing violently as he grabbed Clara by the arm. "The coal chute! In the back!"
He dragged her toward a small, square iron door set near the ceiling at the far end of the cellar—the old coal delivery chute that led up to the alleyway.
Thomas used the butt of his pistol to smash the iron latch open. He hauled Clara up, shoving her through the narrow opening first. "Go! Get out!"
Clara scrambled up the steep metal chute, bursting out into the cold, rain-soaked alleyway above. She turned back, reaching her hands down into the dark opening. "Thomas! Give me your hand!"
Below, through the dense smoke, Thomas saw Vance rising from the floor, his black suit scorched, his face covered in soot, his eyes burning with a psychotic rage as he raised his pistol one last time.
Thomas didn't hesitate. He reached up, grabbed Clara's small hands, and hauled himself up through the chute just as two suppressed shots slammed into the iron door below, sealing it shut behind them.
They collapsed onto the wet asphalt of the alleyway, gasping for fresh air as black smoke began to pour from the diner's rear vents.
Sirens were already wailing in the distance—the sound of police cruisers and fire engines racing toward the scene.
Thomas pulled Clara to her feet, wrapping his arm around her shoulders as they stumbled toward his blue sedan.
Inside the car, Clara held the leather-bound ledger and the three encrypted drives tightly against her chest. She looked out the window as Thomas started the engine and backed out of the alleyway onto the main street.
Behind them, the diner was engulfed in flames, the red neon sign melting away into the stormy night.
The next day, the rain had finally stopped. The sun broke through the clouds, casting a bright, golden light over the city's federal courthouse steps.
At precisely 3:55 PM, a convoy of black federal vehicles pulled up to the curb. Federal agents clad in dark suits stepped out, escorting Clara and Thomas up the wide stone steps toward the main entrance, where two United States Attorneys were waiting to receive the evidence.
As they reached the top of the steps, Thomas stopped and turned to look back at the street below.
It was 4:00 PM.
Down on the avenue, a sleek black Cadillac pulled up to the curb near the entrance of the courthouse. Two state troopers immediately stepped forward, surrounding the vehicle with drawn weapons as federal marshals approached the driver's side door.
The door opened, and a man in a rumpled suit stepped out with his hands raised—one of Vance's top corporate backers, arriving to surrender under the overwhelming weight of the evidence that had already been leaked to the press an hour prior.
Clara looked up at Thomas, her small hand reaching out to grasp his calloused fingers. The dirt was gone from her face, her blonde hair was clean and brushed, and for the first time since they had met, her eyes were free of terror.
"You saved me," she whispered softly.
Thomas looked down at her, a real, genuine smile breaking across his weathered face—a smile he hadn't worn since his own daughter was alive.
May you like
"No, sweetheart," Thomas said gently, squeezing her hand. "You saved me."
Together, they turned their backs on the street and walked through the heavy bronze doors into the courthouse, stepping out of the darkness and into the light of a new day.
