Chapter 6
Deacon Miller stepped into the harsh fluorescent light of the archive room, his silver-rimmed glasses catching the glare as he surveyed the ruined electronic lock and the dented steel door. He was a tall, immaculately groomed man in a tailored gray suit that contrasted sharply with the subterranean grime of the crypt. A thin, polite smile played at the corners of his mouth, though his eyes remained as cold and dead as winter ice.
"Well, well," Miller murmured, his gaze shifting from the broken door to the ledger spread out across the central desk. "It appears our little administrative oversight has come to light. Quite literally."
Father Thomas stepped in front of the desk, trying to shield Clara and Leo from the deacon’s predatory gaze. "You knew, Miller. You knew Clara was still breathing when you signed that fast-track burial order. You killed Arthur Vance, and you tried to do the same to her."
Miller let out a soft, dismissive sigh, adjusting his cuffs with practiced elegance. "Please, Thomas, let's not use such melodramatic language. We live in a world of limited resources and infinite demands. The county needed funds, the redevelopment project needed clearance, and certain individuals had become... financially inconvenient. Clara’s temporary medical coma was simply a convenient convergence of timing."
Leo stepped forward out of the shadows, the wooden mallet clutched so tightly in his hand that his forearm muscles stood out in sharp relief. "You buried my mother alive. You left her in the dark to suffocate while you sat upstairs counting your blood money."
Miller’s gaze flickered to the teenager, a flicker of genuine irritation crossing his polished facade. "Ah, the boy. You really should have stayed home, Leo. You’ve caused us an immense amount of paperwork today. Do you honestly believe anyone in this county is going to listen to a grieving teenager and a disgraced priest over the word of the District Attorney’s office?"
"We have the ledger, Miller," Clara said, her voice steady and resonant as she stepped out from behind the priest. She looked the deacon directly in the eye, her posture unbroken by the trauma of the afternoon. "Every name, every payoff, every falsified death certificate. It’s all right here in black and white."
Miller’s polite smile faltered for a fraction of a second, his eyes darting to the open book on the desk. He reached slowly into his breast pocket, his fingers curling around something cold and metallic hidden inside his tailored jacket.
"The ledger is easily replaced," Miller said softly, his voice dropping an octave into a dangerous register. "And tragic accidents happen down in these old stone crypts all the time. People slip on the damp stairs. Old wiring sparks. It’s a terrible, unpredictable world."
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Before Miller could fully draw his weapon from his jacket, Leo exploded into motion. Channeling every ounce of the fury, terror, and protective instinct that had driven him to smash open the coffin lid, the teenager lunged across the archive room.
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