The Night Vigilante

XXIV. Grace

A/N: Please make my day and Vote and comment. University is hard--not going to lie haha.

~*~

The roar of protestors is an endless sound that chills me to the bone.

I am sitting in the center of Thatcher's big office, half heartedly listening to him consult his publicists and father.

"How the hell could this happen?" Thatcher roars, throwing all the stuff off his desk in one thunderous swipe. He kicks the chair out of the way and it goes smashing into the wall.

The room is dim and the curtains are drawn to semi-shield us from the large crowd camped out on Thatcher's front yard.

I stare at the newsletter on my lap, the headlines big and bold.

"Thatcher campaigning to corrupt the city."
In the article, there is a detailed description of Thatcher's private phone calls and plans—particularly Thatcher's plan to demolish the low income complex building on the outskirts of town.

"Did you not tell me," Thatcher yells, grabbing his publicist by the collar and heaving him off his chair. "That you had this under control?!"

"I-I did sir," The man stutters, the collar of his shirt ripped.

Thatcher shoves him back and the man goes tumbling backwards. I leap out of the way before he goes careening into the chair I was just sitting at.

"Then why are my private affairs public?" Thatcher yells, kicking a book out of his way.

I leaked them.

A month ago, I had found papers detailing Thatcher's exchange with a wealthy business owner. Thatcher would buy the building from the business man and demolish it to build a new hotel.

It was estimated the hotel would bring in millions in revenues but the building thatcher planned to sell was government subsidized. It was a half way house for the city's poorest.

Demolishing that building would put thousands on the street.

That's why when I had found those plans, I took pictures and told Cole.

I didn't realize that they would put it all over the papers this quickly.

"That woman," Thatcher spats, loosening his tie viciously. "I want the woman who wrote that paper dead."
My head snaps up to look at Thatcher in bewilderment and his publicist is just as shocked.

"Sir she lives in that building as well—it's why she's so passionate about—"
"Then shut her up. Do what it takes," Thatcher says, already taking out his phone.

I think back to something Ulrich said— something about pinning the blame because Thatcher was getting suspicious.

When Thatcher leaves the room without a second glance at me, I jump to my feet and pull my phone open.

Salem answers at the second ring.

"Give the phone to Ulrich," I grind out, the pleasantries flying out the window.

There's a shuffle of movement on the other line as I pound down the stairs, making sure Thatcher and his men are gone before I sneak out the side door.

It's pitch dark but I know there isn't any time—not if Thatcher really wants to kill that woman and her son for something she didn't even do.