Chapter 8 - She Wasn't the Only One
Mabel got the pump-room door open before anyone answered the radio.
Iris was on the floor beside a rusted water tank. She had a split lip and a red mark around one wrist. I knelt and cut the linen cord with the small safety cutter I carried for jammed laundry straps.
"Look at me," I said. "Can you stand?"
She nodded, then shook her head. "June. Ben."
"The fire department has their address."
"No, you don't understand. They want the whole building empty before the buyers inspect it in the morning. Grant told them to kill the power."
Adrian crouched beside her. "Why would he do that?"
"Because he sold the building as vacant." Iris caught her breath. "But Vanessa already collected money to relocate everyone. If the buyers find tenants, Grant loses the sale. If donors find tenants, Vanessa loses her foundation."
Two separate lies, each protecting the other.
Footsteps hammered toward us. I pushed Iris behind the water tank and held up my empty hands. The men who entered wore police uniforms, not Northline patches.
Ruth followed. "I brought them."
The officers separated us, asked questions, photographed Iris's wrists, and radioed for an ambulance. They wanted to take her to a hospital. She insisted on telling them where the evidence was first.
"I copied two pages from Grant's printer," she said. "But I saw the real account numbers in Vanessa's office. There's a second ledger. She keeps it in a red folder with her makeup case."
Adrian looked stunned. "In our suite?"
"She was going to bring it to the gala," Iris said. "I heard her tell Pike."
I called June again. No answer.
Then a message appeared from the number I'd been using to reach her:
Lena, I'm in the hall. Ben collapsed. The exit won't open.
May you like
Iris gripped my arm so hard it hurt.
"Please," she whispered. "Don't let my sister die while we're standing here talking."
