The Ghost Of Riverton Manor

The room was dark, lit only by the flicker of one exposed bulb overhead. Bella sat on the floor, wrists zip-tied to the base of a metal chair, her lip bloodied, her head pounding.

She'd lost count of how long they'd been holding her.

Mason was in another room, if he was still alive.

Across from her, Monroe lit a cigarette with shaking hands. He looked tired, sweaty and no longer in control.

"You have no idea what's in that notebook, do you?" he said finally.

Bella said nothing. She kept mute.

"You think it's just Lang? You think he's the only monster in this story?"

He knelt beside her.

"Emily was playing everyone. Even you."

Bella's stomach twisted. "Liar." She shouted.

Monroe grinned like a man who had nothing left to lose. "You didn't read the full file, did you? He asked. The names? The dates? She cut deals, sweetheart. With people worse than Lang. People who funded her work in exchange for silence."

"You're lying." She sounded annoyed.

"I'm surviving," he whispered. "Something Emily forgot to do."

---

The door burst open. A guard stumbled back, blood pouring from his neck.

Mason followed, wild-eyed and limping, gun in hand.

"Get away from her," he growled.

Monroe held up both hands. "Relax. Just talking."

Mason didn't relax. He fired twice. Monroe fell without a sound.

Bella stared, She was trembling. "You killed him." She screamed at him.

"He was already dead," Mason said quietly. "He just didn't know it yet."

---

Outside, sirens wailed.

They didn't have much time.

Mason helped Bella to her feet, cutting the ties with a pocket knife. She could barely stand.

"Zurich police will be here in minutes," he said. "Lang has people in the embassy. We can't go back to the States. Not yet."

Bella clutched the notebook to her chest. "We don't need the States."

"What?"

"We go to the press."

"Here?"

"Everywhere."

---

Back at a small, rented flat on the outskirts of Zurich, Bella sat at a laptop, surrounded by cables and papers. Mason watched her from the doorway, arms crossed, chest bruised.

"Are you sure about this?" He asked.

Bella nodded.

She wasn't the same girl who ran from Chicago.

She wasn't her sister. She wasn't Emily.

But she had something Emily didn't: There was nothing left to lose.

She opened the encrypted drive.

Thousands of files. Including photos, bank transfers and medical records.

She uploaded it all to six different international media outlets.

Then, she wrote a letter. It was short, honest and sharp.

By the time the sun rose, her message was live across the internet.

---

"My sister was murdered for uncovering the truth. This is her voice. And now it's mine too." – Isabella Marie Rowan