Chapter 5
889 Words
“God doesn’t negotiate with devils,” Olivia whispered, but her father’s silence said otherwise.
It was a rainy Sunday afternoon, and the church office smelled of old hymnals and tension. Reverend Gabriel Castillo, her father, her spiritual rock, her compass, sat behind his mahogany desk, fingers laced in prayer that didn’t quite reach heaven.
“You want me to intern for Kingsley Rothschild?” Olivia asked again, voice sharp enough to slice through pews.
Her father sighed, slow and weary. “Olivia, you don’t understand how things work outside theology textbooks.”
“No,” she snapped, “but I do understand manipulation when I see it. Why was he at Juliet’s funeral, Dad? Why did he approach me?”
He didn’t answer at first. Instead, he stood, walking slowly to the window, watching the rain bleed against stained glass. The image of the crucifix blurred behind rivulets of water.
“The church has... needs,” he said finally. “The university reduced our funding. Tithes are down. We were on the brink.”
She stared at him. “So you let Kingsley buy your silence?”
“It’s not silence,” he replied, turning to her. “It’s survival.”
Her father’s face, usually warm with sermons and Sunday peace, now looked like a war-torn ruin. He looked tired. Defeated. Human.
“He donated over half a million last year,” he admitted. “Fixed the leaky roof, kept the food pantry running, paid for three students’ fees.”
Olivia’s stomach turned. “So that’s what our sermons are worth now? Donations and dirty favors?”
“Don’t twist this,” he said sharply. “You’re thinking emotionally. That man has power, yes, but if he sees something in you, use it. Gain access. Influence him.”
Her laugh was bitter. “You think I can influence a man who probably orchestrated Juliet’s death?”
“Juliet was reckless,” her father muttered. “May she rest in peace, but she poked too many sleeping lions.”
That’s when Olivia’s heart cracked.
“You knew she was being watched?”
He didn’t meet her eyes. “I suspected.”
“And you said nothing?”
He stepped closer, gripping her shoulders. “Because I wanted to protect you. If you start digging like Juliet did, you won’t survive it.”
Olivia pulled away from his grip, disgusted. “You’re not protecting me. You’re grooming me to kneel.”
His mouth opened, but she was already walking out the door, heart hammering, the church walls echoing with her father’s failure.
*
Later that evening, Olivia sat alone in the library’s theology wing, Juliet’s last journal open beside her.
The words were a scrawl of urgency and fear.
>“The university isn’t the sanctuary it pretends to be. The chapel’s funding is tied to Rothschild & Sons. Pastor Castillo is complicit, or scared. Olivia will be their pawn if she doesn’t wake up.”
Tears blurred the ink. Her fingers trembled as she flipped to the last page Juliet ever wrote.
“Michael knows something. He won’t talk to me, but he still watches. If I die, find him. Follow Kingsley, but don’t trust him. Trust the blood on the money.”
A knock startled her. She slammed the journal shut.
Elicia stood in the doorway, holding a USB stick.
“What’s that?” Olivia asked.
“Something I shouldn’t have,” Elicia whispered. “Juliet gave it to me the night before she died. Told me to hand it over if things got... weird.”
Olivia’s throat tightened. “This is weird.”
They plugged it into a library computer. It was encrypted.
“Password?” Elicia asked.
Olivia thought. “Try ‘EmbersOfTruth’, she used it in her protest blogs.”
The screen blinked. Unlocked.
Dozens of files. Video clips. Audio recordings. Bank transfers. A folder labeled: Kingsley-Rothschild-Chapel-Fund-2024.
Click.
A spreadsheet opened.
Every donation Kingsley made to the church. Each one followed by a political favor. A student expelled. A protest shut down. Juliet’s name on the list. Targeted. Flagged. Silenced.
“I need to show this to Michael,” Olivia said. “He was close to Juliet. Maybe—”
“Are you insane?” Elicia hissed. “That guy beats people unconscious in underground fights. You want to hand this to him?”
Olivia looked at the screen, then at the church steeple visible through the window, crowned by a cross that suddenly felt like a lie.
“Juliet trusted him,” she said. “Even if she didn’t say it out loud. I need allies, Elicia. I can’t fight billionaires, boxers, and pastors all at once.”
Elicia hesitated. “Then be careful. Because the moment you hand this over, you’ll have a target on your back the size of the Vatican.”
Olivia took the USB and stood. “I’m already being watched.”
*
In the shadows of the chapel across the street, a figure leaned against a tree, hood up, cigarette burning low.
Michael Moretti watched the lights in the theology wing go dark. He saw Olivia step out, clutching something tight in her fist.
“She knows,” he murmured. “God help her.”
But Michael didn’t believe in God. Not anymore.
And the devils were already circling.
- Writer
