Chapter 47 The Last Match

Chapter 47 The Last Match
The car door slammed shut, the heavy metal sound echoing through the empty driveway before the wind swallowed it up.
I sat frozen in the passenger seat, my hand still gripping the plastic door handle. Outside, Knox’s dark shape moved quickly through the bright beams of the headlights. The tire iron was a long, black line against his leg. He didn't look back. He walked straight up the stone steps of the porch, his boots leaving deep, dark holes in the fresh snow.
He didn't try to turn the doorknob. He didn't knock. Knox kicked the front door right near the lock with a loud, wooden crack. The heavy oak door swung inward into the black hallway, and he disappeared into the house.
I looked at the dashboard clock. The digital numbers seemed to stare back at me. One minute passed. Then two.
The car heater was still blowing, but the air felt thin and cold now. My father's notebook was under the floorboards in that basement. It was the only thing left that had his actual handwriting on it, his messy scribbles, his coffee stains, the original formulas he had stayed up all night coding before the sickness took his memory away. Richard didn't just have a piece of paper. He had the last real piece of my dad.
If I stay here, Knox is going to kill him, I thought, my chest tightening until I couldn't breathe. Or Richard is going to kill him.
I grabbed the door handle and shoved it down. The passenger door popped open, and the freezing wind hit me like a slap. I scrambled out of the car, my boots slipping on the slick slush as I ran across the lawn.
The front hallway of the Shaw house was completely dark and smelled like cold dust. The expensive rugs and glass tables looked like shadows in the dim light coming from the car outside.
"Knox!" I called out, keeping my voice as low as possible.
No answer. Only the sound of the wind whistling through the broken front door behind me.
I walked down the long hallway, my hands scraping against the smooth wallpaper to guide myself. I knew the layout of this house too well. I had spent months trying to avoid Richard in these rooms. The kitchen was empty. The living room was empty.
Then I heard it. A faint, rhythmic scraping sound coming from the back of the house. It was the sound of metal sliding against concrete.
The basement door was wide open, a thick wedge of blackness leading down into the cellar.
I stepped onto the top wooden stair, my heart thumping so hard against my ribs it hurt. The air coming up from the basement smelled like damp earth and lighter fluid. The chemical smell was so strong my eyes instantly started to water.
I moved down the steps one by one, keeping my back flat against the wall. The bottom of the stairs opened up into the large, open utility room. The only light came from a single, battery-powered lantern sitting on top of the old washing machine. It threw long, shaking shadows across the concrete floor.
Richard was standing in the center of the room.
His expensive suit jacket was gone, and his white button-down shirt was torn at the collar and covered in dark grease stains. In his right hand, he held a silver Zippo lighter. The small, yellow flame flickered in the drafty air, casting an ugly glow over his hollow cheeks. At his feet, a square piece of the wooden floorboards had been ripped away, leaving a dark hole in the concrete.
Knox was five feet away from him. He hadn't lifted the tire iron yet, but his massive body was completely rigid, his shoulders hunched like a wolf about to strike.
"I told her to come alone, boy," Richard said, his voice a low, wet wheeze. He didn't look at Knox. He was staring down at the open hole in the floor. Inside the gap, the corner of a faded blue notebook was visible. "You don't belong in this house. You never did."
"Step back from the hole, Shaw," Knox said. His voice wasn't loud. It was that flat, empty tone that made the hairs on my arms stand up. He took one slow step forward, his boots crunching on some loose gravel.
"Or what?" Richard laughed, a sharp, ugly sound that ended in a cough. He flicked the lighter shut, plunging the space between them into shadow, then flicked it open again. Click. Click. The yellow spark lit up his bloodshot eyes. "You think that iron bar scares me? My son ruined my name tonight. The university board is frozen. The contracts are void. I have nothing left to buy you off with."
"I don't want your money," Knox said, taking another step. He was within striking distance now.
"Knox, stop!" I yelled, finally stepping off the bottom stair onto the concrete.
Both of them snapped their heads toward me. Knox’s eyes widened, a flash of pure anger breaking through his icy stare.
"Lila, I told you to stay in the car," Knox hissed, his jaw clenching so tight a muscle jumped in his cheek.
"Ah, the author arrives," Richard whispered, a terrible smile spreading across his face. He lowered the lighter, holding the flame just three inches above the exposed blue notebook. The smell of lighter fluid was overwhelming now; he had soaked the floorboards. "Look at him, Lila. Look at your protector. He takes one more step, and your father's life work becomes ash. Every single page."
"Don't do it, Richard," I said, my hands raised in front of me as I took a step closer. My voice was shaking, but I forced myself to look right into his eyes. "The digital copies are already with the state registry. Burning that paper won't save your company. It won't give Mason his draft spot back. It does nothing for you."
"It takes it away from you," Richard said softly. His thumb rested on the small wheel of the lighter. "That's enough for me."
Knox didn't look at me this time. He kept his eyes locked entirely on Richard’s hand. The muscle in his arm flexed, the tire iron shifting an inch in his grip.
"You drop that lighter, Richard," Knox said, his voice dropping into a dangerous whisper that filled the entire cellar. "Or I promise you, you won't walk out of this basement."
Richard’s smile disappeared, his eyes turning mean and wild as he stared back at Knox. He lowered his hand another inch, the heat of the flame warping the plastic edge of the notebook.
"You think you're fast enough to stop me, kid?" Richard whispered.
"Try me," Knox said.