Chapter 6 - THE SHADOWS OF ST. JUDE'S
The headlights of the Maybach sliced through the pouring rain as it screeched to a halt in front of St. Jude’s parish. It was three o’clock in the morning, but the church courtyard was ablaze with industrial halogen lamps. A massive excavator rumbled at idle near the stone steps, while two city inspectors in high-visibility vests argued with an elderly priest near the main entrance.
Sophie threw open the car door before Dominic could stop her. She had discarded the heavy silk train of her wedding dress in the car, cutting it off with kitchen shears from Elena's pantry, leaving the skirt falling just above her ankles like a practical, frayed evening dress.
"Father Thomas!" Sophie called out, running up the stone steps through the sheets of rain.
The old priest turned, his pale face illuminated by the harsh work lights. "Sophie? What on earth is happening? These men claim the bell tower has sustained structural failure and poses an immediate danger to the public. They have an expedited condemnation warrant signed by the municipal zoning board."
"They're lying, Father," Sophie said, positioning herself between the priest and the head inspector. "I am an attorney. Show me the structural engineering report."
The inspector, a burly man with a city badge pinned to his wet jacket, stepped forward aggressively. "Lady, I don't care who you are. This order comes directly from the City Administrator's office. You step aside or you get arrested for obstruction."
Dominic materialized from the shadows behind her, flanked by three armed men in black overcoats. The air instantly turned freezing.
"Show her the report," Dominic said. His voice was barely a whisper, but it carried an authority that froze the inspector in his tracks.
The man looked at Dominic, then at the guards whose jackets hung slightly open to reveal shoulder holsters. He took a nervous step back. "Look, Mr. Russo... we’re just doing our jobs. We were told to clear the cornerstone for structural stabilization."
"The cornerstone," Sophie repeated, her mind connecting the puzzle.
She turned to Father Thomas. "Father, where is the memorial cornerstone my father donated for the new fellowship hall ten years ago?"
The priest blinked in confusion. "In the lower crypt, beneath the old sacristy. But Sophie, that area has been locked since—"
"Take us there now," Dominic ordered.
The group moved quickly through the darkened sanctuary. The smell of freesias still lingered in the air, but now it was masked by the smell of wet stone and burning diesel from the machinery outside. They descended a narrow flight of stone steps into the church undercroft. The air down here was damp and frigid, smelling of centuries-old mortar and damp earth.
At the far end of the crypt stood a heavy marble block embedded in the foundation wall, inscribed with the words: Truth and Justice - Donated by Judge William Harper, 2014.
A crowbar and a heavy battery-powered hammer drill lay on the stone floor nearby. Someone had already attempted to pry open the bronze seal at the base of the block, but had been interrupted.
"David was here," Sophie said, pointing to a muddy footprint near the altar table. "He came here straight from the hotel after he left me."
Dominic knelt before the stone, inspecting the bronze plate. "It's fitted with an internal mortise lock. Did your father have a key?"
Sophie looked down at her right hand. The emerald ring Dominic had given her gleamed in the dim flashlight beam, but beneath it was another piece of metal—her father’s old signet ring, which Dominic had handed her in the library. She pulled the gold ring from her thumb.
On the inner band of the ring was a tiny, raised triangular notch—not a jeweler’s mark, but a key bit.
She knelt beside Dominic, her heart hammering against her ribs. She inserted the ring into a small aperture hidden beneath the bronze plaque and turned it clockwise.
With a heavy, metallic click, the face of the stone slid forward two inches.
Inside the hollowed cavity sat a thick, leather-bound volume tied with black ribbon. Beside it lay an envelope bearing the seal of the District Attorney’s office, dated three days before her father’s death.
Dominic reached in, pulled out the ledger, and opened the first page.
It was filled with William Harper’s neat, microscopic handwriting. Columns of bank accounts, offshore corporations, routing numbers, and dates. But on the first line, underlined twice in red ink, was a name that made Sophie catch her breath.
It wasn't Dominic Russo.
It wasn't even Marcus Vance.
The entry read: Beneficiary of Horizon Holdings: Eleanor Vance Harper. Total kickbacks received: $4.2 million.
Sophie felt the room spin. The cold dampness of the stone wall pressed against her back. "Mother?" she whispered, her voice shattering. "My mother?"
Before Dominic could close the book, the sound of heavy boots echoed down the stone steps from the church above.
A figure descended into the light of the halogens.
It was Marcus Vance, but this time he was not accompanied by federal marshals. Flanking him were four men in civilian clothes, their weapons drawn, silencers fitted to the barrels.
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And walking right behind them, wearing an expensive camel-hair coat and looking thoroughly composed, was Eleanor Harper.
"I told you she was too smart for her own good, Marcus," Eleanor said, her voice echoing coldly off the vaulted stone ceiling. "She always took after William in the worst ways."
