Chapter 10 - Lily’s MemoryLily knew the tunnels better than any adult.
She moved through the dark like a child who had learned geography through survival. Left at the cracked pipe. Right where the ceiling dipped. Duck under the iron beam. Step over the broken brick or your foot would fall through.
I limped behind her, trying not to cry out from the pain in my ankle.
Behind us, Victor’s footsteps echoed.
He was slower, but not far.
“Lily,” I whispered, breathless, “how far?”
“Don’t talk.”
The command was so sharp, so adult, that I obeyed.
We reached a split in the tunnel.
Lily stopped.
For the first time, uncertainty crossed her face.
One passage sloped up. The other sloped down.
From behind us, Victor called, “Lily, you know what happens when you make adults angry.”
Her whole body went rigid.
I crouched beside her.
“He’s lying. He needs you scared.”
“He knows the rooms,” she whispered.
“So do you.”
Her eyes met mine.
Something passed between us.
Trust, maybe.
Or the first fragile piece of it.
She chose the downward passage.
Cold water soaked my shoes. The tunnel narrowed until the walls scraped my shoulders. My ankle throbbed with every step.
Victor’s voice followed us.
“Do you know why your mother failed, Lily? Because she trusted servants, nurses, drivers, girls like Ava. People who sell loyalty because they’ve never owned anything else.”
Lily’s hand tightened around mine.
I said loudly, “Funny. From here, it looks like Eleanor failed because she trusted lawyers.”
Victor’s footsteps stopped for half a second.
Good.
Anger slowed him.
We kept moving.
At the end of the passage was a metal ladder leading up to a trapdoor.
Lily climbed first.
I followed with difficulty, biting back pain.
The trapdoor opened into a greenhouse.
Moonlight shone through cracked glass panels. Dead vines hung from rusted frames. The air smelled of soil and rain.
Police sirens were closer now.
Lily ran to a potting bench and pulled open a drawer.
Inside was an old prepaid phone wrapped in plastic.
I stared.
“You hid that?”
She nodded.
“When?”
“When Victor brought me here before. He forgets children listen.”
She turned it on.
The battery showed eight percent.
“Do you know a number?” I asked.
She nodded again and dialed.
I expected Richard.
Instead, she called Oliver.
At the hospital, Richard answered on the second ring.
“Hello?”
Lily froze at his voice.
I gently took the phone.
“Richard, it’s Ava. Lily is with me. We’re at a greenhouse near St. Agnes, maybe behind the old laundry house. Victor is in the tunnels.”
Richard made a sound like he had been holding his breath for years.
“Is she hurt?”
“No.”
Lily stared at the phone.
Richard’s voice softened.
“Lily? Sweetheart?”
She looked terrified now.
Not of Victor.
Of hope.
I held the phone toward her.
She whispered, “Ollie said you didn’t know.”
Richard’s breath broke.
“I didn’t. I swear on your mother, I didn’t.”
Lily’s eyes filled with tears, but none fell.
“People swear on dead people when they want something.”
Richard went silent.
Then Oliver’s voice came through, weak but urgent.
“Lily?”
Her face crumpled.
“Ollie.”
“You’re real.”
“So are you.”
A sob escaped him.
Richard came back on the line. “Stay where you are. Police are coming. I’m coming.”
“No!” Lily shouted.
I flinched.
Her fear returned full force.
“Don’t come here! Victor said if you came, Margaret would open the black file.”
Richard went silent.
I looked at Lily.
“What black file?”
She shook her head.
“I don’t know. He said it makes Daddy choose who goes to prison.”
Richard’s voice changed.
“Lily, listen to me. Nothing in any file matters more than you and Oliver.”
She wanted to believe him.
I could see it.
But trust was a language she had not been taught.
A shadow moved behind the greenhouse glass.
Victor.
I grabbed Lily and ducked behind a bench.
The phone slipped from my hand.
Richard’s voice crackled faintly.
“Ava? Ava!”
Victor entered through the broken side door, holding a gun now.
Rain dripped from his hair.
He looked around the greenhouse.
“I’m tired, Ava.”
Lily pressed both hands over her mouth.
Victor stepped farther inside.
“Lily, come out. You know this ends badly only if you force me to improvise.”
The phone screen glowed on the floor.
Victor saw it.
He smiled.
“Ah.”
He picked it up.
“Richard?”
A pause.
Then Victor said, “Your daughter is remarkably resourceful. Eleanor would have been proud.”
I heard Richard’s voice shouting through the tiny speaker, but not the words.
Victor ended the call and crushed the phone under his heel.
Then he looked directly at the bench where we were hiding.
“Found you.”
Lily bolted left.
I grabbed a clay pot and threw it at Victor’s head.
It shattered against his shoulder.
He cursed.
I lunged at him, not because I thought I could win, but because Lily needed three seconds.
He struck me across the face with the back of his hand.
I hit the ground hard.
The greenhouse spun.
Lily screamed my name.
Victor aimed the gun at me.
Then a voice from the doorway said, “Victor.”
Richard stood in the rain.
No security.
No police at his side.
Just Richard Calloway, soaked, pale, and holding Eleanor’s notebook in one hand.
Victor smiled slowly.
“You came alone.”
Richard’s eyes moved past him to Lily.
For the first time, father and daughter saw each other face to face.
Lily stood frozen among dead vines, clutching the blue blanket.
Richard’s voice broke.
“Hello, Lily.”
She whispered, “Are you really my dad?”
Victor lifted the gun toward her.
Richard opened the notebook.
“Yes,” he said. “And I’m done trading people.”
Then he tore out the first page and dropped it into the mud.
Victor’s smile vanished.
“What are you doing?”
Richard tore out another page.
“If you want Eleanor’s secrets,” he said, “you’ll have to shoot me before I destroy them.”
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Victor aimed the gun at Richard.
And Lily screamed, “No!”
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