CHAPTER 7 — Ashes Don't Stay Buried
CHAPTER 7 — Ashes Don't Stay Buried
The applause inside the ballroom faded beneath the wail of police sirens.
Richard Whitmore.
Senator Garrett Mosley.
Commissioner Anthony DeLuca.
One after another, the men who had seemed untouchable disappeared through the hotel entrance in handcuffs while cameras flashed without mercy.
Reporters shouted questions.
No one answered them.
Spencer wasn't watching the arrests.
He was staring at the message on his phone.
Aurora's founder is still alive.
Marco stepped beside him.
"Bad news?"
"The worst kind."
He turned the screen toward Marco.
Marco's expression immediately darkened.
"I thought Whitmore built Aurora."
"So did everyone else."
"Then who?"
Spencer looked toward the ballroom, where federal agents were collecting evidence.
"I've been chasing the wrong man for twelve years."
Three hours later...
Inside the FBI field office, dozens of investigators sorted through the files recovered from the gala.
Hard drives.
Ledgers.
Flash drives.
Every document Isabella Romano had delivered was proving authentic.
An exhausted forensic analyst approached Spencer.
"We found something strange."
She placed an old photograph on the table.
It had been taken nearly thirty years earlier.
Seven men stood together at the opening of a children's charity.
Richard Whitmore was there.
Garrett Mosley.
Several wealthy businessmen.
But Spencer ignored all of them.
His eyes fixed on the man standing in the center.
Silver hair.
Kind smile.
A priest's collar.
Father Benedict Hale.
One of New York's most beloved religious leaders.
The founder of orphanages across three states.
The man who had spent decades preaching compassion.
"No..."
Marco whispered.
"It can't be."
Spencer already knew.
"It is."
Another document emerged.
The charity's original incorporation papers.
The signature authorizing its creation belonged to one person.
Benedict Hale.
Underneath it—
A handwritten note.
Project Aurora.
The room went silent.
Richard Whitmore had never been the mastermind.
He had been the financier.
Mosley had protected the politicians.
But Benedict...
Benedict had supplied the children.
Alina felt physically sick.
"I met him."
Everyone looked at her.
"When I was sixteen."
"He blessed me before one of my father's charity dinners."
She remembered his warm smile.
His gentle voice.
The cross hanging from his neck.
"You have kind eyes," he had told her.
Now those words made her skin crawl.
An FBI agent hurried into the room.
"Sir."
"We've lost him."
"When?"
"Forty minutes ago."
Father Benedict had resigned from his parish.
His private plane had disappeared from radar.
He had vanished before the gala even began.
Spencer closed his eyes.
"He knew."
Isabella looked toward Alina.
"There may still be a way."
She unfolded another page from Evelyn's journal.
Hidden between the pages was a tiny hand-drawn map.
An abandoned monastery overlooking the Atlantic coast.
Evelyn had written one sentence beneath it.
'The children who survived were taken here.'
Spencer immediately stood.
"We leave now."
By dawn...
The convoy reached the cliffs outside the abandoned monastery.
The building looked deserted.
Broken stained-glass windows reflected the rising sun.
The wind carried the smell of salt and smoke.
Marco whispered,
"Too quiet."
Spencer nodded.
"Which means we're expected."
As they stepped inside, they found rows of empty beds.
Children's shoes.
Old toys.
Blankets folded with impossible neatness.
The place had been abandoned only hours earlier.
Then Alina noticed something.
A music box.
It sat alone on a wooden shelf.
She turned the tiny handle.
Soft music filled the room.
Click.
Marco's eyes widened.
"Move!"
The floor exploded.
The blast threw everyone backward.
Dust filled the monastery.
Stone rained from the ceiling.
Someone had booby-trapped the building.
From somewhere deep inside the smoke came slow, deliberate applause.
Father Benedict stepped into view.
He looked exactly like the man from the photograph.
Calm.
Smiling.
Almost grandfatherly.
"What remarkable persistence."
"You destroyed thousands of lives," Alina said.
He sighed sadly.
"I created opportunity."
"You sold children."
"I gave wealthy families what they desired."
"You murdered them!"
"I removed complications."
His voice never rose.
That frightened Alina more than rage ever could.
Spencer raised his weapon.
"It's over."
Benedict smiled.
"No."
He pressed a small detonator.
Throughout the monastery, hidden charges began beeping.
"If Aurora dies..."
"So does every piece of evidence."
Spencer fired.
The bullet struck Benedict's shoulder.
The detonator flew from his hand.
Marco tackled him.
Federal agents stormed the building.
Within seconds...
The founder of Aurora was in handcuffs.
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For the first time in thirty years...
The man behind the empire had nowhere left to hide.
