"What exactly did you tell Sabrina?" Haley asked.
"What I just told you."
"Why was she looking into this now?" Haley asked. "My brother died six years ago."
"She was doing pro bono work for a company that had been crushed in a recent financial drop; their stock shorted. They suspected market manipulation but needed help trying to figure it out. She ran into an accountant there who also believed there was fraud, and that fraud might tie back to her law firm and its connection to Westbridge. Apparently, that individual had seen similarly unusual market drops and stock shorting on two occasions in the past with another company tied to Westbridge. As she was digging into it, she remembered talking to someone at Westbridge after Landon died, who thought Landon had been killed because of a financial forecasting model he was working on. She wanted to know if I knew about Landon's research project."
Harrington's explanation finally connected Sabrina in the present to Landon in the past.
"What did you tell her?"
"What I just told you, that I only knew it had something to do with financial forecasting. That's all I know," Harrington added. "Now, I need to get out of here. If you know Sabrina talked to me, they probably do, too."
"And you think Henry Adler is running everything?"
"Actually, I don't. To be frank, I'm not sure any of those students were capable of murder. Blackmail, yes, but killing someone…that's hard to fathom. I think it's more likely one of the parents hired someone to take care of whatever problem they saw and are probably still doing that."
"They're not kids anymore. They're adults," Haley pointed out.
"You're right. I just think of them as kids. But they're not. And maybe one or more of them is a killer. I don't know. But I'm not waiting around to find out."
Harrington was about to grab the box at his feet when the sound of shattering glass filled the air. The front door exploded inward in a shower of crystal shards, and a figure in black tactical gear stepped through the opening, assault rifle raised.
His first shot caught Harrington in the shoulder, spinning him around. Matt drew his weapon as Haley grabbed the wounded professor and dragged him around the corner into the hallway.
Matt fired twice, forcing the attacker to take cover behind the stone entryway pillar. He backed up to where Haley was helping Harrington stay upright.
"Back door?" Matt asked quickly.
"Kitchen," Harrington gasped, blood seeping through his fingers as he clutched his shoulder.
"Get out of here, both of you," Matt ordered. "Go now."
The gunman advanced, unleashing a burst of automatic fire that chewed up the doorframe and forced Matt to retreat deeper into the hallway. He ducked into a bedroom as bullets sparked off the walls behind him.
Waiting a beat, he leaned out and fired three quick shots. One caught the gunman center mass, but the tactical vest absorbed the impact. The man stumbled but kept coming.
Another spray of bullets forced Matt back into the bedroom. His mind raced—he was outgunned, with limited cover, and he had no idea if Haley and Harrington had escaped.
The footsteps in the hall were getting closer. Matt spotted a bathroom connected to his room that led to another bedroom. He moved quickly through the connecting rooms, circling around to come up behind the attacker.
He emerged in the hallway just as the gunman entered the first bedroom, looking for him. Matt fired, catching the man in the arm. The attacker spun and returned fire, but his aim was off, bullets going wide. Still, the gunman unleashed another burst of automatic fire, forcing Matt back behind the doorframe. In those crucial seconds of cover fire, Matt heard the crash of breaking glass from inside the bedroom.
When the shooting stopped and Matt looked around the corner, he saw the shattered window in the bedroom. The attacker had bought himself time to escape.
He rushed to the window. Outside, the attacker was limping toward a motorcycle parked on the street. Before Matt could get a clear shot, the man was speeding away, disappearing into the tree line beyond the main road.
"Haley!" Matt called out as he moved back into the hallway.
"In here!" she yelled from the direction of the kitchen.
He found them in the pantry—Haley kneeling beside Harrington, pressing a towel against his shoulder wound. Blood had soaked through the makeshift bandage and was spreading across his shirt.
"He's gone," Matt said, pulling out his phone. "I'm calling for an ambulance. You're going to be okay, Professor."
Harrington's face was pale, his breathing shallow. "None of us are going to be okay if you keep asking questions. We're all going to end up dead." Harrington sent Haley an imploring look. "Landon wouldn't want you to die trying to get justice for him. He loved you so much. He told me you raised him, that all he wanted was to make you proud of him."
"He did that," she whispered, her voice breaking. "Every day."
