Secret of the Sevens (27 page)

Kane leaves, and Iman collapses into a chair opposite Professor Solomon. “I just want this to be over, Cam. Everything's so screwed up. What if the professor wakes up? Am I going to have to kill him? This was supposed to be about bullshitting at some board meetings, not kidnapping and murder.”

He buries his face in his hands.

“Stop being a pussy,” Cam says. “We're in too deep to back out now. If this doesn't play out like Kane wants, our lives are over.” He plods to the stairs. “Just get some rest. You and I have to check the woods in the morning.”

Iman sits trance-like in his chair, keeping vigil over Solomon and preventing us from sneaking out.

With her mouth gaping, Laney waves me to the back corner of our little space.

“Did you hear all that?” She squeezes the back of her neck. “Did Professor Solomon kill Mary Singer?”

“I think he did … accidentally. And Kane just basically admitted to killing William and the Sevens.”

“But why did Solomon say he confessed to William? That doesn't make any sense. Why would Singer start the Sevens if he knew it was Solomon that killed Mary?”

“He must have confessed right before Singer was murdered. Maybe that's why Mr. Singer called the meeting at the chapel. To tell the Sevens it wasn't the Board after all.”

Her eyes scrunch. “Did you hear Kane call Solomon ‘
Uncle
'
?”

I nod. “You know, when Kane first called me into his office to offer me a deal, he mentioned he had an uncle that dumped him at Singer. It must have been Solomon.”

“It sounds like Kane was blackmailing him and Solomon had finally had enough. He was clearly going to turn Kane in with that letter Kane had. We need to get it as evidence, Laney. And we need to get Solomon some help.”

“How are we going to do that with Iman standing sentinel?”

“We have to wait for a lucky break. The minute Iman dozes or goes to the john or whatever, we'll go in there. You grab the letter and I'll dial 911 and leave the phone off the hook. Then we bolt for the front door. We'll hide behind the library, and when it opens at 8:00, we'll race to the elevator and take the tunnels to that board meeting.”

The fear in her eyes infects me too. “What if we don't make it in time? The meeting starts at 8:00.”

She's right, but I can't bear to have Laney Shanahan, eternal optimist, giving up so soon. “We'll make it.” I flash her my dimples. “You know me. I'm always late.”

Forty-seven

It's been hours, and Iman hasn't budged. If anything, he's more alert and intense. Leaning forward in his chair, his hands rigid on the armrests, he studies the professor as if he's counting every shallow breath. The stress twisting his face probably matches mine.

Laney and I have alternated taking short naps, but we're just as exhausted. I nudge her arm and she wakes slowly. She glances around, realizes where she is, and straightens up.

“Anything new?” she whispers.

“Zack and Samantha left over an hour ago. They said they're checking out the school and then standing watch at the south end of campus. Cameron checked the woods, but he's already back. He told Iman the police were still searching for me. Campus security is on high alert too. Especially around the Executive Building.

“And the other Pillars?”

“Nick left a few minutes after Zack to patrol Rucker Road, and Kayla is staking out our house. I'm starting to freak a little, Lane. The board meeting is in a half an hour and Cameron and Iman are still home. How are we going to get out of here, much less to the library elevators, without being spotted?”

A moment later, we have our answer.

“You ready to go?” Cameron breezes into the room and startles Iman.

“Should we really leave Professor Solomon? What if he needs us?”

“We're better off if he dies. It'll save us the work later.” Cameron pulls up Iman and tugs him by the elbow. “C'mon already. We still need to check the rec center.”

The front door shuts and Laney reaches for the latch on the back of the bookcase. “Are they really gone?”

“Yeah. You ready?” The two of us unhook the door and push. The door creaks open and some knickknacks fall out. Laney grabs them while I close it behind us.

“Get Solomon's letter,” I remind her.

She pulls it from the book on the shelf, and I grab a phone on the side table and dial 911. When the dispatcher answers, I whisper, “Send an ambulance,” and leave the phone off the hook so they can trace the call.

We race outside, but we've only made it halfway through the yard when I hear, “It's Michaels! Get them!”

Two figures appear in the distance. Cameron and Iman must have only been a few houses down. We take off running, but Laney still has her stupid cape on and it's flapping in the wind and slowing her down. Cam gets close enough to grip the flying fabric from behind and pull her down. I turn to help, but Iman is closing in on me.

“No, Tal! Run!” she screams.

Even as I speed up, I sense Iman catching me. His thin runner's frame gives him the advantage, but I'm doing better than I thought I would. Then I hear a rippling noise, and turn to see the TPD lying on the grass behind me. I spin around and snatch the document just as Iman dives on top of me.

We roll around a minute until I hear him say something. “Punch me,” he hisses. “Cam can't see me with your back to him. ”

He stops fighting me and I pin his arms. Breathless, I sputter, “What?”

“Punch me and I'll fake like you knocked me out.”

I'm dazed, looking down at two worried eyes.

“Michaels, you idiot!” he says through gritted teeth. “They'll kill you if they catch you. Fake-punch me already and get your ass out of here.”

I'm floored when it sinks in. My adrenaline is bursting and I punch him harder than I mean to. Blood spurts from his nose.

He lays there groaning as I stagger to my feet and take off running. Laney is wrestling Cam in the distance. They're tangled in the cape and she's kicking like crazy. It makes me sick that I can't help her.

I reach the back of the library and duck behind some bushes by the door. When I'm sure no one's around, I wiggle the handle.
Unlocked.

My body throbs with excitement. Only … that must mean it's already after eight.

I whip the door open and take off for the elevators. As I stand there stabbing the button, a voice calls from behind me. “You there! No running in the library!”

When the door opens, I dash inside. Twitching fingers hit the
close
button a million times as I struggle to remember the first test in my head.

Close with two. Seven times the LL. Seven times the HELP.

I poke the “2” button and then start on the Lower Level button. One-two-three-four …

My eyes flick up and catch a security guard watching me from a nearby bookshelf. His eyes widen when he recognizes me.

“Stop!” he yells, circling the shelves.

The doors close in slow motion as the guard charges for the elevator.

I jab the LL button again.
What number am I on?
Five—six—seven times. Right before the doors snap shut, the guard dives for the elevator button.

Panic rolls through me as I bang on the HELP button. One-two-three-four-five-six-seven times.

The elevator lurches. My legs are shaking so bad, I stumble back and hit my head on the wall. The light reads that I'm bound for floor 2, but the elevator's dropping. It rattles and bangs and stops hard.

I sigh in relief, lifting myself on unsteady feet as the lights dim and the back panel finally glides open.

I was up the whole night planning what we needed to do, but the scene I now face never once occurred to me. I'm staring into the same pitch-black, claustrophobic, suffocating sewer-hole-from-hell. Only this time, there's no Laney.

And no flashlights.

Forty-eight

I can't do it.

I can't feel my legs, much less make them move from the security of the lit elevator. I'm six years old all over again. Trapped in a dark closet that reeks from my own urine. Terrified of dying alone in the dark with no one to help me.

My brain screams at me to hurry but my body betrays me. I'm paralyzed in place. The adrenaline that surges through my veins has no outlet. It backs up like a clogged pipe and clamps down hard in my chest. My heart pounds out of control, making me lightheaded.

The room in front of me blurs slightly. The crumbling walls and dirty concrete floor are swallowed in fuzzy shadows. My stomach clenches to fight the wooziness.

The back elevator panel starts to close and I block it with a shaking hand. I take a deep breath and look into the terrifying abyss.

I can do this.
I repeat it like a mantra.
I can do this.

I'm not six anymore. I'm not weak. I'm not helpless. And I'm not stupid.

My past will
not
dictate my future.

I step off the elevator and race down the tunnel to get every last second of light before the elevator closes. My arms are stretched to touch the walls as I run. I need to feel for
the intersecting passages so I don't miss any turns. One wrong move and I could be lost in this underground tomb for an eternity.

I concentrate on the poem and getting to that board meeting, instead of on the vulnerable feeling of charging into complete darkness with my arms wide open.

When darkness fills you up with fright,
Tread straight, straight, straight into the night.

I'm running at a good pace, despite the fact my arms ache from being held up. I'm dizzy in the darkness, but my fingertips tell me that I've now passed three passages—straight, straight, straight like the poem commands. My body is weak from stress and lack of sleep. The musty, rank smell tempts me to stop and throw up, but I don't have time. I'm only halfway there.

Then it's the next verse.

Left, right, left—the soldier's pace—

When the wall suddenly disappears on my left, I turn sharp down the opening before re-centering myself in the blind corridor. I shake my arms out for a second and then return them to skim the walls as I jog ahead.

Please be okay, Laney.

It tortures me to think about what Cameron could do to her. But I had no choice. I have to finish this.

After an eternity, the bumpy bricks end once more and I know that's my cue to turn right. I let my throbbing arms drop for a just a minute, and then they're up again, searching for my last left turn. The tunnel seems endless, even though it's only been minutes. I press my palm to the wall and stagger on. When I hit the next gap, I veer left down the tunnel.

What time is it now? I block the thought from my head. I can't think about the fact that, after all this, I might still be too late. I bury the fear and recite the words from the remainder of the poem, over and over again:

Until it leads right to a place
Where everything you thought you knew,
Will turn around. And you will, too.
Left to sort what's wrong from right,
And why you're going to have to fight,
to take what's left
and make it right.

I turn right down the last passage and see the light ahead. This time, when I lift myself out of the gopher hole and into the utility closet in the Executive Building, I'm greeted by the sound of adult voices blending together. The good news is the board meeting is being held right in the adjacent room.

The bad news is everyone's celebrating the sale of Singer Enterprises.

Forty-nine

The knot in my chest squeezes like a heart attack. I climb the ladder, hiding in the shadows and watching the proceedings through the slats in the vent.

A Donald Trump look-a-like is patting Stephen Kane on the back. “I think we all agree that this is the best thing for Singer School and our shareholders. I speak for everyone when I say that I had no idea the school was in this type of decline. I shudder every time I hear a news report these days. It's definitely time for a change, and your plan will benefit the students as much as the shareholders.”

Defeated, I collapse against the wall. The serious faces gathered around the long table agree with every word Kane mutters. Maybe I never stood a chance anyhow. Me, with my bumbling words and clumsy brain. A troublemaker with a crappy past and no future.

“So shall we put it to an official vote?” Kane says with a grin.

What's this?
My body stiffens as twelve blue suits nod in agreement.

“Let's go ahead and make it legal then.”

They haven't voted?

Kane toddles to his place at the head of the table. He smiles down at Katherine, who's seated to his right, tapping her pen with nervous excitement. “All those in favor of selling Singer Enterprises to the Li Yuong Group … ”

“Stop!” I scream with all the breath in my lungs. “Stop immediately!”

Startled heads turn in search of the bodiless voice. I bang against the vent, desperate to knock it out and show myself. All eyes move to the vibrating slats, where I'm kicking the other side of the metal grate with all my strength. The covering flies out and clangs as it lands on the polished wood table. The board members jump back like it's a bomb.

“What's the meaning of this?” Kane bellows.

I swing a leg through the narrow opening to slide out the hole, but it's tight around me. I grunt and wiggle myself through. My body flops hard against the wall, and I dangle from the opening. Sharp edges slice the insides of my knuckles, forcing me to let go. I crash to the floor in a thud.

Kane recognizes me and rushes to the door. “Security! Get Security in here now!” he screams down the hall. “Someone call the police immediately!”

My ankle twists and pain shoots through my leg. “Owwww!”

As I struggle to get up, I see the petrified expression on the faces of the board members.

Kane points at me. “That's the gang leader that's been destroying our school. He's dangerous! SECURITY!” he screams again. The board members rise to their feet.

“No! He's lying. I'd never hurt anyone. Kane's been lying about everything! Please. Just listen to me.” I hold my arms up to show them I'm unarmed. “I'm just a kid. A student here. I'm here to represent William Singer's wishes concerning this school. Look, I have the Trust Protector Document.”

I reach in my pocket and notice the Trump-double duck down, like I'm going for a gun.

“Please … look!” I hold it high. “This is the authentic TPD from William Singer. It gives me authority to stop these proceedings.”

The board members are stunned, their eyes hopscotching from Kane to me, absorbing all of it.

“Please. Someone,” I beg. “Just read it. As bearer of this document, I have authority to intervene.” I hold it out, but no one takes it.

Two security guards rush in and I limp to the opposite corner of the room.

“Restrain him,” Kane says. “Hold him until the police arrive.”

“No! I'm a member of the Society of Seven and I have a right to stop this vote.” I glance at the puzzled faces surrounding the table. “Stephen Kane is out to destroy everything William Singer worked for. I can prove it. You owe it to Mr. Singer and the students here to hear me out. I also have proof that Stephen Kane was involved in the murder of William Singer and the Sevens when he was a student here. Look—”

I reach for the envelope with Solomon's confession before I remember that Laney has it.

“Now I've heard everything,” Kane bellows. “Do you think anyone would take the word of a juvenile delinquent like you? How dare you make such ludicrous accusations!” He turns to the security guards, “Don't just stand there! Do your jobs, for God sakes!”

The board members glance at each other, looking for answers. They shrug and blink and purse their lips, but no one helps me. The guards circle opposite ends of the table, cornering me.

Words, don't fail me.

“Please,” I beg. “Two thousand kids depend on this decision. You can arrest me afterward if you think I'm lying about this. But I'm not. I possess the genuine TPD that gives me the authority to legally stop this vote. I swear, I'm only trying to do the right thing for the kids at Singer School.”

One of the security guards grabs my elbow and yanks me toward the door, but an older board member rises from his seat and blocks us. “As the longest-serving member on this board, I'd like to hear what this boy went to such great effort to say.”

“Oh for heaven's sake,” Kane barks.

“No, Stephen,” a gray-haired woman says, cutting him off. “Let the boy speak his peace.”

“This is nonsense,” Kane insists.

I shake off the guard and thrust the papers at the older board member. “I swear to you that this is the original Trust Protector Document referred to in William Singer's will and Deed of Trust. The one that assigns the bearer the
right to oversee the trust.”

Kane parades around the table, mocking me. “So this criminal, who the police have been searching for all night, just happens to possess the legendary TPD after it's been missing for eighteen years? I've never heard anything so ridiculous.”

“I'll explain everything later, I swear,” I promise the table of pinched faces. “For now, I'm asserting my right as a representative of the Society of Seven to stop this vote.”

The older board member unfolds the document and skims the first page.

“What a scam.” Kane comes from behind him and snatches the TPD from his hands. “Our legal counsel will confirm that this delinquent is presenting a fraudulent document.”

“And that legal counsel would be me.” Katherine charges over, wearing a vicious smirk. Kane hands her the paper with a glimmer in his eye. The room is silent as Katherine's eyes scan the document, line by line.

Blood rushes to my face. I'm done. I have no shot of arguing against someone professional and educated, someone who's actually fluent in these legal hieroglyphics.

In a minute, I'll be hauled out of here in handcuffs, with no one to bail me out this time. I'm trapped in the back of the room and can't even run for it. The door is blocked by a third security guard and the vent is too high for me to reach without a pole vault and a track coach who'd teach me how to use it.

Katherine's slitted eyes finish the last line and slowly lift. Her gaze remains on me as she comes over to where I'm standing.

“I vouch, as legal counsel for Singer Enterprises, as well as on my reputation as a renowned attorney with a Harvard degree, that this document is absolutely”—she smiles over her shoulder at Stephen Kane—“genuine.”

Kane's jaw drops first; then the rest of us do an impression of him.

“Katherine, how can you say that?”

“I can say that because I'm certain that this document is binding and authentic.” She slowly turns and faces him. “You know that I was a partner at Carmine Rathbone's law firm, right, Stephen? The Trust Protector Document he drew up for William Singer was an unusual one, and this is almost verbatim what he described to me. That's Rathbone's signature and notary stamp. I'm also confident that this is Mr. Singer's signature.”

Eleven heads swivel to follow her around the table, toward Kane. “I'd recognize his writing anywhere,” she says. “You see … I happen to be one of William Singer's original Society of Seven.” She stops a foot in front of Kane, her laser glare searing him with hate. “One that you didn't manage to kill eighteen years ago.”

He steps back. His lips part, but the words are stuck in his twisted brain.

Katherine holds the TPD above her head. “As legal counsel for Singer Enterprises, I confirm that this is the original Trust Protector Document prepared and notarized by Carmine Rathbone and signed by William Singer. Consequently, this document gives Talan Michaels, myself, and five other members of the Society of Seven the authority to stop these proceedings. In fact, since we deem it in the best interest of the trust, we retain the right to name ourselves as temporary trustees, effective immediately.”

Kane stumbles over his words. “What are you saying, Katherine?”

“I'm saying you're fired, Stephen. Let me introduce you to your replacement. Have you met Talan Michaels?”

Just then, Sergeant Lynch and another officer burst into the room, guns drawn.

“Officers, it's about time,” Kane says.

“That's right,” Katherine says. “Arrest Stephen Kane.”

Lynch looks dumbfounded. “What? Why?!”

“Fraud, malicious mischief, damage to private property, contributing to the delinquency of minors, and aggravated assault on Kollin LeBeau, to begin with. I volunteer to be the first witness to testify against him.”

“Add six counts of murder to that!” a voice shouts. Laney's head appears in the vent. She swings a leg and arm out of the opening and totters on the ledge. “Michaels! A little help, please?”

I try to ease her down, but we both end up on our asses.

She hops up
and brushes herself off. “I have a statement from Professor Caesar Solomon.” She struggles to get the letter out from under her tangled cloak. “Oh, shiit-ake!” she says in frustration.

“Did she say ‘shiitake'?” the Trump-twin whispers. “Mushrooms?”

“She did.” I smile as I struggle to stand on my throbbing ankle.

Laney finally wiggles the envelope free from her pocket. “Professor Caesar Solomon has confessed to the accidental death of Mary Singer and to being an accessory to the murder of William Singer and five students almost twenty years ago. In this signed letter, he names Stephen Kane as the murderer of those six victims.”

“And we're to believe another delinquent gang member?”

“Gang member?” Laney charges toward Kane, tripping on her cape like a Hogwarts reject. Then, as usual, she surprises me. She hops up, straightens her cloak, and goes badass on him.

Shoving her finger in his chest, she says, “Who are you calling delinquent? I'm the student body president, founder of the Philanthropic Club, and likely future valedictorian of my class. Not to mention my mom and dad have been respected houseparents here for over twenty years. Don't you dare call me a delinquent, you … you murderer! I'm a Seven.” She goes chin to chin with him. “We're the best of the best, and you frickin' know it.”

“I've had quite enough. This meeting is over,” Kane says. He marches toward the door, but he's stopped by several board members.

“You're not done with anything,” one says.

Kane tries to push past them, but Lynch grabs him by the arm. When Kane throws a desperate punch at the sergeant, the other officers converge, forcing him to the ground and restraining him with handcuffs.

I finally let myself breathe and collapse into an empty seat.

The Trump-double stares dumbfounded at Kane on the floor and murmurs, “Holy shiitake.”