Chapter 54 Burn
"I don't care about St. Jude’s!" Tristan yelled. "I care about the fact that I am a monster! I let a monster run my life!"
He grabbed the photo of Julian Thorne. He ripped it in half.
"Get out," he said to Miller. "Leave the file. Get out."
Miller stood up. He looked at me.
"He needs a minute," Miller said. "But don't wait too long. Ida has lawyers too. If they find out we have this..."
"Go," I said.
Miller and Vane left.
The apartment was quiet again. But it wasn't peaceful. It was suffocating.
Tristan stood by the window, breathing hard. He looked like he was vibrating apart.
I walked over to him.
"Tristan," I said softly.
He flinched.
"Don't touch me," he said. "Please. I feel... dirty."
"You’re not dirty."
"I am," he said, turning to look at me. His eyes were red-rimmed. "I slept with the enemy, Mina. Not literally. But in my head. I let her in. I let her stay."
"She’s your sister," I said. "She manipulated you since you were a child. You didn't stand a chance."
"You did," he pointed out. "You saw through her. You fought her."
"And I lost," I reminded him. "I lost everything."
"Because of me," he whispered. "Because I didn't fight for you."
He sank to his knees. right there on the floor. He put his head in his hands.
"I’m so sorry," he sobbed. "God, Mina. I am so, so sorry."
I looked down at him. The Titan of Industry. The man who controlled empires. Broken on my floor.
I knelt beside him.
I didn't say it was okay. Because it wasn't.
I didn't say I forgave him. Because I wasn't sure I did. Not fully.
But I touched him.
I put my hand on his head. I stroked his hair.
"We have the gun," I said. "We have the proof. Now... we pull the trigger."
He looked up at me. His face was wet with tears.
"How?" he asked. "How do you still look at me? After everything I did?"
"Because," I said, wiping a tear from his cheek. "I’m an architect. I see the potential. Not just the ruin."
He closed his eyes. He leaned into my hand.
"Help me," he whispered. "Help me finish this."
"I will," I promised.
I stood up. I pulled him up with me.
"Wash your face," I said. "Put on a suit. We’re going to St. Jude’s."
"St. Jude’s?"
"Yes," I said. "We’re going to visit your sister. And we’re going to show her the pictures."
His eyes hardened. The grief was still there, but the rage was overtaking it.
"Yes," he said. "Let’s go."
St. Jude’s looked like a resort. Manicured lawns, white buildings, fountains. It was serene.
We walked into the reception area.
"We’re here to see Ida Stevens," Tristan said to the receptionist.
"I’m sorry, sir. Ms. Stevens is in a restricted wing. No visitors."
Tristan placed the manila envelope on the counter.
"Give this to her doctor," he said. "Tell him it’s from the DA’s office. And tell him if he doesn't let us in, he’ll be sharing a cell with her."
The receptionist paled. She made a call.
Five minutes later, we were walking down a pristine white hallway.
We reached a room at the end. Room 404.
The door opened.
Ida was sitting in a chair by the window. She was wearing a white silk robe. She looked rested. Calm.
She looked up when we entered.
She smiled.
"Tristan," she said. "You came to visit. How sweet."
She looked at me.
"And you brought the stray," she added. "How... charitable."
Tristan didn't speak. He walked over to the table in front of her.
He opened the envelope.
He laid out the photos. The bank statement. The picture of Julian Thorne.
Ida looked at them.
She didn't flinch. She didn't gasp.
She just sighed.
"You found Julian," she said. "I wondered if you would. He was always sloppy."
"You paid him," Tristan said. His voice was ice. "You paid him to destroy my marriage."
"I paid him to save you," Ida corrected. "She wasn't right for you, Tristan. She was weak. She was poor. She was going to drag you down."
"She was my wife!" Tristan roared. "And she was pregnant!"
Ida shrugged. "Collateral damage. The baby... well. It was for the best. A child would have distracted you. You have a legacy to build."
Tristan stared at her.
"You’re sick," he whispered. "You’re truly sick."
"I’m devoted," Ida said. She stood up. She walked toward him.
"I did it all for you," she said. "Mom. The fire. The divorce. It was all so you could be great. So you could be mine."
She reached out to touch his face.
Tristan caught her wrist.
He squeezed. Hard.
"I am not yours," he said. "I never was. And now... you have nothing."
He dropped her hand.
"The police are on their way," he said. "With a warrant for Julian Thorne’s arrest. And yours. For fraud. For conspiracy. For murder."
Ida’s smile faltered.
"They can't touch me here," she said. "I’m sick. I’m fragile."
"Not anymore," Tristan said. "This evidence proves you were cogent. Calculated. You planned this for months. That’s not insanity, Ida. That’s evil."
He turned to me.
"Let’s go," he said.
We walked to the door.
"Tristan!" Ida screamed. "Don't leave me! You need me! You’ll always need me!"
Tristan stopped. He looked back at her.
"No," he said. "I have Minerva. And she builds things. You just burn them."