Chapter 13 - THE EXCHANGE
The address led to an abandoned riverside warehouse.
Police surrounded the area from a distance.
Federal agents had joined the investigation.
Thomas insisted on coming.
For the first time in six months, I saw him in person.
He looked thinner.
A scar crossed the side of his neck.
But when he saw me, his familiar smile returned.
“You look terrible.”
I laughed despite everything.
“So do you.”
He hugged me.
For several seconds, I was nineteen again.
Then reality returned.
“Your brother.”
Thomas's face darkened.
“I'll deal with him.”
“No.”
“This isn't your responsibility.”
“It became mine when he used my name.”
I carried Eden on an encrypted drive.
Or at least Jonathan believed I did.
The actual drive contained something else.
A transmission key.
At 11:58 p.m., I entered the warehouse alone.
Jonathan waited beneath a single hanging light.
Margaret sat behind him.
Alive.
Her hands were bound.
Jonathan smiled.
“You have her confidence.”
“Whose?”
“My brother's.”
“I'll survive.”
He laughed.
“Give me Eden.”
“Release Margaret.”
“After authentication.”
“No.”
He sighed.
“Claire, negotiation only works when both parties possess leverage.”
“I have leverage.”
“What?”
“You need me.”
His smile faded slightly.
“Eden was designed for me.”
“You can steal the key.”
“You can copy the files.”
“But authentication requires my biometric approval.”
That was a lie.
But Jonathan didn't know.
Mom had deliberately kept Eden's architecture compartmentalized.
Jonathan studied me.
Then nodded.
“Bring Margaret.”
A man emerged from the shadows and untied her.
She stumbled toward me.
When she reached halfway, Jonathan raised his hand.
“Stop.”
Margaret stopped.
“Now authenticate.”
I inserted the drive into his laptop.
A progress bar appeared.
AUTHENTICATION IN PROGRESS.
Jonathan smiled.
“Your mother always believed you'd be exceptional.”
“Don't talk about my mother.”
“She built you for this.”
“No.”
“She did.”
“Maybe.”
I looked at him.
“But she doesn't own what I become.”
The progress bar reached 50%.
Jonathan frowned.
“Why is it taking so long?”
“Large system.”
60%.
Thomas's voice sounded in my concealed earpiece.
“Almost.”
Jonathan looked at me sharply.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
70%.
Then his laptop flashed.
CONNECTION ESTABLISHED.
Jonathan smiled.
Until every monitor inside the warehouse activated.
His face disappeared.
Documents replaced it.
Northstar documents.
Hundreds.
Then thousands.
Jonathan's expression collapsed.
“What did you do?”
I removed the drive.
“Authenticated the evidence.”
“To whom?”
“Everyone who can prosecute it.”
His face went white.
Federal investigators.
State prosecutors.
Independent legal monitors.
Multiple news organizations with delayed publication agreements.
International financial regulators.
Copies had been distributed simultaneously.
Not dumped publicly.
Not recklessly exposed.
Preserved.
Authenticated.
Placed beyond the control of any single family.
Jonathan slammed the laptop shut.
“You stupid girl.”
Margaret ran.
I grabbed her.
Jonathan pulled a gun.
Thomas entered from the shadows.
“Jonathan.”
His brother froze.
They faced each other for the first time in decades.
Thomas whispered,
“It's over.”
Jonathan laughed.
“You always were naive.”
“No.”
Thomas looked at me.
“I finally learned.”
Jonathan raised the gun.
“You think exposing Northstar changes anything?”
“It changes tonight.”
“You can't destroy power.”
“No.”
I answered.
“But you can make people pay for abusing it.”
Sirens approached.
Jonathan looked around.
He had nowhere to go.
The warehouse doors opened.
Federal agents entered.
“Drop the weapon!”
Jonathan grabbed Margaret.
The gun pressed against her side.
“Back!”
Everyone stopped.
He dragged her toward the river exit.
I watched his eyes.
Not confident.
Desperate.
That made him unpredictable.
Margaret suddenly drove her heel down onto his foot.
Jonathan reacted.
Thomas lunged.
The gun fired.
Margaret screamed.
Jonathan fell.
Thomas remained standing for half a second.
Then blood appeared across his shirt.
“Thomas!”
I ran.
He collapsed into my arms.
Agents restrained Jonathan.
Margaret was pulled to safety.
I pressed both hands against Thomas's wound.
“Stay with me.”
He looked at me.
“Failure…”
“Don't.”
His lips moved.
“…is information.”
“Thomas.”
“Not identity.”
His eyes closed.
Paramedics rushed toward us.
I refused to release him until they physically moved my hands.
As they carried him away, I looked toward Jonathan.
He was handcuffed.
Bleeding.
Defeated.
He smiled at me anyway.
“You think this is the ending?”
I stared at him.
“No.”
May you like
I looked toward the ambulance carrying Thomas.
“This is the part where people finally start answering for what they did.”
