Secret of the Sevens

by Lynn Lindquist

  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 o
f 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, shiitake!” 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.”

  Fifty

  I’m sitting in an interview room just off the main hall of the police station. The clock reads 7:04 p.m. Which means I’ve been in the same gray plastic chair since I gave my first statement almost nine hours ago.

  I’m so exhausted, I can barely lift my throbbing head off the cinder-block wall behind me. My arms ache from holding them up in the tunnels. The insides of my hands are sliced and bruised from climbing out the wall vent, and my ankle kills from the fall afterward.

  I don’t know if I have a single friend left at Singer. I’m not even sure the Shanahans will take me back. The only thing I am certain of is that Dad Shanahan is gonna kick my ass for putting Delaney in danger.

  Other than that, I feel pretty damn good.

  Laney sits in another windowed conference room across the hall, talking with Katherine and her parents. I’ve watched her yell, cry, frown, and shake her head for almost two hours. But now, something new. She stands and hugs Katherine. After a minute, she hugs her parents even tighter. She slowly turns toward the door and catches me watching her.

  I tug my ear, and she laughs.

  Katherine opens the door. Her eyes are puffy and red-ringed, but she’s smiling too. She tells Laney’s parents, “Let’s finish the paperwork so we can get the kids out of here.”

  Katherine’s acting as our attorney now. The Shanahans follow her to the front desk, and Laney trudges into my room and crashes in the chair next to mine. She rubs her eyes and rests her head on my shoulder.

  “You all right?”

  “Yeah,” she says. “We still have a ton of talking to do, but I think it’ll be okay.”

  “Katherine seems nice,” I say. “Not to mention incredibly smart. In the last ten hours, she’s managed to get all my charges dropped, Kane and the Pillars have been arrested, and Jose and Emily will both be back by tonight.”

  Laney lifts her head. “And Headmaster Boyle?”

  “Free and clear. He left with the detectives a few hours ago to gather evidence at the cemetery.” I nod toward Katherine. “Your birth mom is quite the overachiever. Sound familiar?”

  Laney smiles. She slips her arm through mine and leans her head on my shoulder again.

  “So I’ve gotta ask you,” I say. “How did you get away from Cameron?”

  “I kicked him in the crotch.” She snickers. “Reeeeally hard.”

  I kiss the top of her head. This time, it feels totally right. “Have I mentioned how much badass girls turn me on? Although what you did sort of terrifies me too.”

  Voices emerge outside our doorway. Good Cop walks past, followed by Iman Kabal. Iman stops when he sees us.

  “At least it’s over,” he says.

  “Thanks, man,” I tell him. “What you did took guts.”

  “Look who’s talking.”

  Good Cop tugs Iman away, but another face replaces his in the doorway. Headmaster Boyle.

  Laney smirks and says, “Hello, Uncle.�
�

  “What did you call him?”

  “Katherine and Headmaster Boyle are brother and sister,” she says, like I’ve missed a homework assignment. “Turns out he’s my uncle.”

  Boyle sidles in with our jackets. “Get up. Someone wants to talk to you.” Smiling, he tosses our coats to us, and we follow him out.

  Twenty minutes later, we’re entering the critical care unit of the Galesburg Memorial Hospital. Boyle stops outside a door. “I need to prepare you before you go in. Kollin looks pretty awful. His prognosis is positive, but he’s been through hell.”

  We nod and Boyle opens the door for us.

  Laney and I teeter in, edging between monitors and machines toward Kollin’s bedside. Emily and Jose stand on the opposite side of his bed, holding hands.

  Laney looks down at Kollin’s battered, swollen face and swallows hard. Between the pillows and pads, Kollin’s eyes blink open.

  “Le Douche,” I say, “you losing weight or something? You look better than usual.” I lean over the railing so he can see me easier. “So how you doing, buddy?”

  “Worse now that you’re here,” he mumbles. He takes a moment to catch his breath, and then says softly, “I heard we did it.” He tries to raise his fisted hand for me to bump, but before I can meet it with mine, his arm drops weakly to the mattress.

  I reach down and squeeze his fingers instead. “Yeah … we did it.”

  His eyes drift to my hand holding his. A corner of his mouth lifts. “Quit hitting on me, Michaels,” he murmurs. “I already told you, you aren’t my type.”

  We laugh, but Kollin grimaces in pain.

  Boyle moves to the foot of his bed. “Kollin needs his rest, so I’ll make this quick. There’s a few things I need to share and we’ll go.”

  He looks at all of us. “First, I’m proud of you. I had no idea it would get this dangerous, or I wouldn’t have involved you.” His gaze lingers on me. “I just knew in my gut that you had what it took to be Sevens.

  “And, second.” Boyle crosses his arms. “The officers just finished inventorying Mary Singer’s original gravesite. One investigator estimated that there’s tens of millions in gold.” He rests his hands on the metal footboard and leans forward. “As Sevens, as well as interim trustees, you’ll have a say in what to do with that money.”