Suddenly, a shrill alarm cut through the terminal, red lights flashing like warning flares.
“Police! Everyone stay back!” a uniformed officer barked, pushing past the crowd toward Margaret.
Margaret’s face hardened; she tried to slip toward the exit, but two officers grabbed her, cuffs snapping shut.
“You’re under arrest for obstruction and evidence tampering,” one said, his voice steady despite the pandemonium.
Claire clutched the boys tighter, eyes wide, as the fire alarm’s wail grew louder, causing metal shutters to clank.
I sprinted forward, heart pounding, the scent of ozone and cheap coffee thick in the air.
Behind a row of vending machines, a hidden panel slid open with a soft hiss, revealing a steel door.
Inside, stacks of sealed folders rose like a tomb, each bearing the Whitmore crest.
“The adoption papers… they’re forged,” I breathed, flipping open the top file. The ink bore my signature, but the name beneath was my own, linking me directly to the trust.
In that moment, the truth settled like ash: the empire I’d built rested on the very blood I’d tried to hide.
Claire whispered, “We’re finally free,” as I pulled the boys into my arms, the terminal walls shaking from the alarm’s echo.
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