Chapter 6 Resolution

# Chapter 6: Resolution

Time slowed as my training took over. I fired twice—not to kill but to disrupt—hitting the lead attacker's shoulder and the doorframe beside him. The shots echoed through the conference room as I shouted, "Down!"

Hayden reacted instantly, diving beneath the heavy oak table as bullets splintered the wood above him. Hale wasn't as quick, catching a grazing shot across his arm before scrambling for cover behind a filing cabinet.

Three attackers—professional, coordinated, and armed with silenced weapons. Not assassins but extraction specialists. They wanted Hayden alive.

I used the conference table as cover, my injured back screaming in protest as I rolled to a new position. "Parliamentary security will be here any second," I bluffed loudly. "You're surrounded."

"They're on Blackwood's payroll," the leader replied calmly, blood seeping through his suit jacket where my bullet had found its mark. "No one's coming."

A cold realization swept through me—this was a sanctioned operation, designed to look like a random attack if discovered. We were on our own.

I caught Hayden's eye beneath the table and motioned toward the window. He gave an imperceptible nod, understanding my plan without words. The connection between us—this newfound sibling bond—seemed to transcend our brief acquaintance.

"Hale," I called. "On my signal, run for the door."

"Are you insane?" he hissed from behind the cabinet.

"Trust me."

I fired my remaining rounds in rapid succession, forcing the attackers to take cover. In the momentary confusion, I grabbed a heavy crystal paperweight from the table and hurled it through the window. Glass shattered outward as I shouted, "Now!"

Everything happened at once. Hale bolted for the door as predicted, drawing the attackers' attention. I lunged across the room, tackling Hayden and rolling us both behind a sturdy credenza as bullets peppered our previous position.

"The real exit," I whispered, nodding toward a service door partially hidden by a decorative screen.

Hayden's eyes widened in recognition. "Service corridor. Leads to the basement."

We crawled toward it as the attackers realized their quarry was escaping. The door was locked, but Hayden produced a key card from his pocket.

"Parliamentary privileges," he explained with a ghost of his old smirk.

The card worked. We slipped through as bullets thudded into the doorframe behind us. The narrow service corridor was dimly lit and smelled of floor polish and old paper. We moved quickly, my hand on Hayden's back guiding him forward as I periodically checked behind us.

"What about Hale?" he asked as we descended a maintenance stairwell.

"He was a diversion. They'll realize that soon enough."

"You used him as bait," Hayden said, a note of admiration in his voice.

"I used his predictability. He'll run straight to parliamentary security, creating confusion. It buys us time."

The basement level housed maintenance facilities and document archives. Hayden led us through a maze of corridors with surprising confidence.

"I used to explore these passages as a child," he explained. "When Father brought me to work."

We emerged through a service entrance into a back alley where delivery trucks unloaded supplies. My back wound had reopened; I could feel warm wetness spreading beneath my shirt, but there was no time to address it. We needed distance.

"My car's three blocks away," Hayden said. "Can you make it?"

I nodded grimly. "Keep moving."

We blended with the pedestrian traffic, maintaining a brisk pace without drawing attention. No obvious pursuit yet, but it wouldn't take Blackwood's men long to organize a search.

"We need to get back to the estate," I said through gritted teeth. "The butterfly box is the key to everything."

Hayden glanced at me, concern etching his features. "You're bleeding."

"I'm aware."

"Stubborn," he muttered, but slipped an arm around my waist, supporting some of my weight while making it look like an affectionate gesture to passersby. "Just like her."

The comparison to our mother sent an unexpected warmth through me despite the circumstances. "Tell me about her," I said, partly to distract myself from the pain. "Something real, not just what happened at the end."

Hayden's expression softened as we walked. "She loved thunderstorms. Would sit by the window watching lightning with this peaceful smile. She taught me all the constellations one summer, sneaking me onto the roof with hot chocolate and star charts."

I tried to imagine her—this woman whose blood ran in my veins, whose birthmark I carried. "Did she laugh easily?"

"Yes," he said, voice thick with memory. "She had this surprised laugh, like joy was always catching her off guard." He glanced at me. "You have her determination. The way you set your jaw when you're focused—it's exactly like her."

We reached his car—a subtle but powerful sedan rather than the flashy sports car I might have expected from him a week ago. As we pulled away from the curb, I scanned for surveillance but saw nothing obvious.

"We need a secure location," I said, pressing my hand against my wound to stem the bleeding. "The estate isn't safe if Blackwood knows about our investigation."

"I have somewhere in mind," Hayden replied, navigating through side streets to avoid main thoroughfares. "A property not connected to the Thorne name. Mother's personal retreat in the countryside."

"How do we know it hasn't been compromised?"

"Because officially, it doesn't exist. She purchased it through a shell company, kept it completely separate from family holdings." His knuckles whitened on the steering wheel. "It's where she was planning to run with us—both of us—before everything fell apart."

The revelation hung heavy between us. A plan for escape, a family that might have been.

"First," I said, pushing aside the emotion threatening to overwhelm me, "we need the box."

Hayden nodded. "I had Eliza move it to a secure location after we left this morning. She'll meet us with it."

"Can we trust her?"

"With our lives. She was Mother's closest confidante."

An hour later, we arrived at a modest stone cottage nestled against rolling hills. No ostentatious wealth here—just simple elegance and strategic positioning with clear sightlines in all directions. Clara Thorne had chosen her sanctuary with both beauty and security in mind.

Eliza was waiting, her aging sedan parked discreetly behind the cottage. Relief washed over her face as we approached.

"Thank heavens," she breathed, embracing Hayden before turning to me with tearful eyes. "When I heard about the attack at Parliament..."

"We're alright," I assured her, though the spreading bloodstain suggested otherwise.

"Inside, quickly," she urged. "I've brought medical supplies along with the box."

The cottage interior was cozy but pristine, preserved as if its owner might return any day. Photos on the mantelpiece showed a younger, happier Hayden with his mother—Clara's face so similar to my own that it stole my breath.

Eliza insisted on tending my wound first, tutting disapprovingly at the torn stitches. As she cleaned and rebandaged my back, Hayden placed the butterfly box on the coffee table, studying it with renewed intensity.

"Mother always wore a necklace with a small key," he said. "After the fire, it was missing from her personal effects."

"Maybe it wasn't a jewelry key at all," I suggested, wincing as Eliza applied antiseptic. "Maybe it was for this."

Eliza's hands stilled. "There was a key," she said quietly. "The Duchess gave it to me for safekeeping, the night before..." She swallowed hard. "I've kept it all these years, waiting."

From beneath her blouse, she withdrew a delicate silver chain bearing a tiny, ornate key. "She made me promise to give it to her daughter if anything happened to her. I thought that chance was lost forever, until you arrived."

With trembling hands, she removed the necklace and held it out—not to Hayden, but to me.

I stared at the key, overwhelmed by its significance. "I can't—"

"You must," Eliza insisted. "It was her wish."

Hayden watched silently as I accepted the key, its weight insignificant in my palm yet monumentally heavy in meaning. I approached the box, every heartbeat echoing in my ears.

The key slid in perfectly. With a soft click, the mechanism released. I looked to Hayden, who nodded encouragement.

Inside lay several items: a USB drive, a folded document, a small velvet pouch, and a sealed letter with "For My Children" written in elegant script.

Hayden reached for the letter first, breaking the seal with reverent care. He read silently, his expression shifting from concentration to pain to something like wonder.

"She knew," he said finally, voice barely above a whisper. "She knew they might kill her. This letter... she explains everything." He looked up at me, eyes shining with unshed tears. "She never wanted to give you up. Father threatened to disinherit both of us if she kept you. She planned to reclaim you once she had secured evidence of his crimes."

My throat tightened as he passed me the letter. Clara's handwriting was fluid and determined, each word infused with a mother's love and regret. She detailed her discovery of the embezzlement scheme, how she'd gathered evidence against her husband and his conspirators, including Blackwood and Hale. The final paragraphs were addressed directly to her "darling daughter," expressing hope that someday we would find each other.

While I read, Hayden examined the USB drive using his laptop. "Financial records," he confirmed. "Account numbers, transaction histories, communications between Father and his collaborators. Everything needed to expose the entire operation."

The velvet pouch contained a small butterfly pendant—identical to my birthmark. "She had this made for you," Eliza explained softly. "She said her daughter would always carry her mark, but should also have something beautiful to remember her by."

I closed my fingers around the pendant, emotion threatening to overwhelm me. After a lifetime of feeling untethered, I had found my roots—tragic as they were.

Hayden studied the final document, his expression hardening. "This changes everything," he said, holding up what appeared to be a legal declaration. "Mother transferred ownership of significant Thorne assets to a trust in both our names. Assets Father couldn't touch. Including controlling interest in Thorne Industries."

"What does that mean?" I asked.

"It means," he replied with grim satisfaction, "that together, we have the power to dismantle everything Blackwood and his allies have built. Legally, financially, publicly."

Eliza brought us tea as we formulated our plan. The evidence would be delivered simultaneously to trusted media outlets and the newly appointed Attorney General—a woman known for her incorruptibility. Copies would be secured with international partners as insurance against interference.

As evening fell, Hayden stepped outside to make secure calls using a disposable phone. I stood at the window, watching him pace the garden path in the fading light. My brother—the word still felt new and strange, yet increasingly right.

Eliza joined me, her weathered hand covering mine on the windowsill. "You look so much like her," she said softly. "She would be proud of you both."

"I wish I had known her," I replied.

"She knew you," Eliza assured me. "Those few days she had with you—she memorized every detail of your face. Said you had a fighter's spirit from the very beginning."

Hayden returned, determination written across his features. "It's done. By morning, the evidence will be public. Blackwood, Hale, all of them—they won't escape this time."

I nodded, resolve strengthening within me. "What happens after?"

"Justice," he said simply. "For Mother. And then..." he hesitated, suddenly uncertain. "I was hoping you might consider staying. The Thorne estate is as much yours as mine now."

The offer caught me off guard. My entire adult life had been defined by duty and service, moving from one assignment to the next without forming attachments. The prospect of belonging somewhere—to someone—was both terrifying and tempting.

"I'm not exactly duchess material," I said with a small smile.

"Neither am I, really," Hayden replied, a glimpse of his old sardonic humor returning. "But we're all that's left of her now. Perhaps together we can build something better than what came before."

Outside, the first stars appeared in the darkening sky. I thought of Clara watching constellations with her son, planning escape for her daughter, carrying the weight of terrible secrets while protecting both her children as best she could.

"I'd like that," I said finally, my hand unconsciously touching the butterfly pendant now hanging around my neck. "A fresh start."

Hayden's smile—genuine and unburdened—transformed his face. "She always said butterflies represent rebirth. Perhaps it's time the Thornes had one."

As night settled around Clara's cottage, I felt her presence in every corner—in Hayden's eyes, in my own reflection, in the butterfly mark we both carried in different ways. The path ahead would be dangerous; Blackwood and his allies wouldn't fall without a fight. But for the first time in my life, I wasn't facing the battle alone.

I had found my family at last.