If this reaches you, then I have succeeded where I failed when you needed me.
You were right.
Crane ordered the east bore continued after I halted work.
He forged my hand.
He ordered the tunnel sealed while men lived.
I allowed fear for my family and company to keep me from speaking publicly when speaking might have saved your name.
There is no defense for that.
Only explanation.
I have spent most of my life trying to collect enough evidence to destroy him without destroying those I loved.
In doing so, I permitted you to carry shame that belonged partly to me.
I do not ask forgiveness.
I ask only that truth outlive us.
Eli understood before any of us.
He hid Crane’s records here because he suspected the superintendent.
Your brother died protecting evidence that proved you innocent.
If Lavinia stands beside you as she reads this, then she knows enough to decide for herself what kind of man her father was.
Do not protect my memory from her.
Tell her all of it.
—Charles Beaumont
Amos sat on tunnel floor.
Lavinia crouched before him.
For a long time he said nothing.
Then:
“Eli knew.”
“Yes.”
“He hid this.”
“Yes.”
“My brother knew.”
His face broke.
Twenty-three years of control collapsed quietly.
No shouting.
No rage.
Amos lowered his head.
Lavinia wrapped her arms around him.
He resisted for one second.
Then held her so tightly she could barely breathe.
His entire body shook.
“I left him here.”
“You were trying to save him.”
“I left.”
“You survived.”
“I left everyone.”
“Amos.”
He looked at her.
“I let one man take my whole life.”
She touched his face.
“No.”
“He took twenty-three years.”
“Do not give him the rest.”
A gunshot cracked through tunnel.
Stone chipped beside them.
Amos shoved Lavinia down.
Lantern rolled.
Voss shouted from entrance chamber.
“Crane!”
Gideon Crane had come himself.
Seventy now.
Older.
Thin.
Still upright.
Two armed men beside him.
Voss stood at gunpoint.
Crane looked into tunnel.
“Vale.”
Amos rose partly behind timber.
“Gideon.”
Crane smiled.
“You always did survive things better men couldn't.”
Amos’s hand tightened around rifle.
Crane looked at Lavinia.
“Miss Beaumont.”
“My condolences.”
“For what?”
“Your father.”
Lavinia held the papers against her chest.
Crane saw.
His smile disappeared.
“Give me box.”
“No.”
“Those documents belong to my company.”
“They belong to history.”
Crane laughed.
“History belongs to whoever prints it.”
Amos almost fired.
Lavinia touched his arm.
Crane noticed.
“What a strange ending.”
“Charles Beaumont’s daughter hiding behind the murderer who destroyed Black Hollow.”
Amos flinched.
Lavinia stepped out.
Not behind him.
Beside him.
“He did not destroy Black Hollow.”
Crane’s face remained calm.
“You were not there.”
“No.”
“My father was.”
“Your father was coward.”
Lavinia’s eyes hardened.
“Yes.”
The answer startled Crane.
“He was.”
“He let fear silence him.”
“He failed Amos.”
“He failed the dead.”
“But he did not order those men buried alive.”
“You did.”
Crane’s smile vanished.
“No court will believe papers found in a rotten box.”
Voss spoke from gunpoint.
“I will.”
Crane turned.
Voss continued:
“I changed the reports.”
“I intercepted Beaumont’s letters.”