Chapter 4 - The Night Someone Tried to Erase Her
For a moment, Claire forgot how to breathe.
Finish it tonight.
The words glowed on the stranger’s phone while smoke drifted down the hallway behind them.
Dominic’s security man, Aaron, immediately photographed the screen.
“Do not answer,” Dominic said.
Claire looked at him.
“Obviously.”
He glanced at her bare feet.
“Are you hurt?”
“No.”
“Claire.”
“I said no.”
His jaw tightened, but he let it go.
That was something she was beginning to notice about Dominic Vale.
He gave orders naturally.
People usually obeyed them.
But when Claire pushed back, he recalibrated instead of simply pushing harder.
It mattered more than she wanted it to.
Sirens approached in the distance.
Someone must have triggered the emergency call.
Dominic looked toward Aaron.
“Get everyone out. Nobody leaves the property grounds until police identify them.”
Claire stared.
“You can’t detain my entire family.”
“I can ask everyone to remain available to investigators.”
“That sounded suspiciously unlike what you just said.”
For the first time that night, one corner of his mouth moved.
Then his expression hardened again.
“Someone tried to burn documents five minutes after we discussed hidden financial records.”
“And apparently asked whether I was still inside.”
“Yes.”
“I noticed.”
“Then understand why I don’t want you wandering around alone.”
Claire folded her arms.
“I’ve been wandering around alone for fifteen years.”
“That doesn’t make it a good strategy.”
The answer hit harder than expected.
Before she could respond, firefighters entered through the rear corridor.
The next forty minutes became noise, questions, smoke, hoses, flashing lights, and family members wrapped in expensive blankets on the front lawn.
Nobody was seriously injured.
The fire was contained to Charles’s office.
Most importantly, firefighters confirmed what Claire already suspected.
Accelerant.
Arson.
At 1:12 in the morning, Claire sat inside Dominic’s armored SUV in a borrowed pair of sneakers one of his female security officers had found.
Across the driveway, detectives questioned Charles.
Rebecca sat in another vehicle with Madison and Emily.
Lauren was on the phone despite having been told three times not to speak publicly.
Claire watched her.
“She’ll leak something.”
Dominic sat beside her.
“Probably.”
“She likes controlling the first version of a story.”
“So do politicians and criminals.”
Claire turned.
“Which category are you?”
He met her gaze.
“Depends who’s asking.”
She should have been frightened.
Instead, she laughed.
A real laugh.
Short and exhausted.
Dominic looked almost surprised.
Then Aaron opened the door.
“We traced the sedan.”
Claire straightened.
“And?”
“Stolen plates. Vehicle found abandoned near Patterson Park.”
“Driver?”
“Gone.”
“Phone?”
“Burner. But there are partial message records.”
Dominic asked, “Anything useful?”
Aaron looked at Claire.
“One outgoing call ten minutes before the fire.”
“To whom?”
“A number registered through a prepaid corporate account.”
Claire’s stomach tightened.
“What company?”
Aaron hesitated.
“Whitmore Family Foundation.”
Madison.
Again.
Claire closed her eyes.
“No.”
Dominic said nothing.
Aaron continued.
“The account purchased twelve phones over the last eighteen months.”
Claire opened her eyes.
“Twelve?”
“Most appear to be used for event staff.”
“That’s normal,” Claire said immediately. “Foundation galas use temporary coordinators.”
Dominic looked at her.
“You’re defending Madison.”
“I’m defending facts.”
His expression shifted slightly.
Approval.
Claire hated that she noticed.
“Can you tell which person signed for the phones?” she asked.
“We’re working on it.”
A detective approached.
Dominic stepped out.
Claire remained behind for another hour answering questions.
By three in the morning, she wanted nothing except her apartment, sweatpants, and silence.
Instead, Dominic informed her that going home was not an option.
“You don’t get to decide that.”
“Someone sent a message asking whether you were still inside a burning house.”
“Yes.”
“Your address is public.”
“So?”
“So until I know who sent that message, you’re staying somewhere secure.”
Claire stared at him.
“My father has spent years deciding where I belong. I’m not replacing him with you.”
Dominic went completely still.
That landed.
He nodded once.
“You’re right.”
Claire had not expected that.
He continued.
“I’m asking you to stay somewhere secure.”
She studied him.
“And if I say no?”
“I’ll put security outside your building.”
“That sounds expensive.”
“I can afford it.”
“That’s obnoxious.”
“I’ve been called worse.”
Despite herself, she smiled.
At four in the morning, Claire arrived at one of Dominic’s waterfront residences—not his mansion, as she expected, but a restored brick townhouse overlooking the Inner Harbor.
A woman named Sofia showed her the guest suite.
No hidden cameras.
No locked doors.
No staff hovering.
Just clean sheets, a robe, and a small tray with tea.
Claire stood in the room alone after everyone left.
For the first time since dinner, she let herself shake.
Her mother’s trust.
Eleven million dollars.
Arson.
Someone wanting her stopped.
She walked into the bathroom, looked at herself beneath bright lights, and almost didn’t recognize the woman there.
Her hair smelled faintly of smoke.
Mascara shadowed the skin beneath her eyes.
Her borrowed sweatshirt was three sizes too large.
And yet she looked more alive than she had in years.
Because fear and freedom could apparently arrive together.
Claire showered, but she did not sleep.
At 6:20 a.m., she found Dominic in the downstairs kitchen wearing rolled shirtsleeves and making coffee.
That was somehow stranger than discovering he might be involved in organized crime.
“You make your own coffee?”
He looked over his shoulder.
“Occasionally I also open doors.”
“Remarkable.”
He handed her a mug.
She took it.
“Thank you.”
For a while, they stood in silence.
Dawn turned the harbor gray beyond the windows.
Finally Claire said, “Why did you really consider investing?”
“I told you.”
“You said the reports.”
“Yes.”
“That can’t be all.”
Dominic stirred his coffee.
“No.”
She waited.
“My father knew your grandfather.”
Claire frowned.
“Richard Whitmore?”
“No. Thomas Avery.”
Her mother’s father.
Claire stared at him.
Dominic continued.
“Your grandfather gave my father his first legitimate warehouse lease when nobody else would do business with him.”
Claire knew very little about Dominic’s father, except rumors.
“He helped your family?”
“Yes.”
“Did you know my mother?”
“I met her twice. I was young.”
Something in his face changed.
“She was kind to me.”
Claire lowered her gaze.
That sounded like Anne.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I didn’t want you wondering whether I was helping you out of obligation.”
Claire looked up.
“Are you?”
“No.”
The answer came instantly.
“Your grandfather earned gratitude. Your mother earned respect. Neither earns you control of a forty-million-dollar company.”
Claire almost corrected him.
Whitmore was not worth forty million.
Then she realized what he meant.
If restructured, stabilized, and freed from Charles’s hidden liabilities, perhaps it could be.
Dominic placed his cup down.
“You earned my attention because your analysis was better than anything my own team expected from Whitmore.”
Her throat tightened.
Compliments were dangerous when you had been starved of them.
You could mistake ordinary recognition for affection.
Claire reminded herself of that.
“Don’t make me into some secret genius because my father was terrible.”
“I’m not.”
“Good.”
“You also made mistakes.”
She blinked.
“What?”
“You underestimated the company’s short-term exposure to port labor disruption.”
Claire stared.
Dominic raised an eyebrow.
“And your proposed trucking acquisition was too aggressive.”
She felt offended for approximately three seconds.
Then delighted.
He had actually read her work closely enough to disagree with it.
“That acquisition would have reduced subcontractor dependency by nineteen percent.”
“At the cost of tying up cash in depreciating assets.”
“The subcontract rates were worse.”
“Not if you negotiated volume guarantees.”
Claire put down her coffee.
“You think we didn’t try?”
“I think Charles negotiated them.”
Claire paused.
Then smiled slowly.
“That is annoyingly fair.”
Dominic smiled back.
The moment lasted too long.
Claire looked away first.
Aaron entered.
His face erased the warmth instantly.
“We found who purchased the burner phones.”
Claire straightened.
“Madison?”
“No.”
Relief hit her.
Then Aaron continued.
“Rebecca Whitmore.”
Claire’s stomach sank.
“She personally signed?”
“Her signature is on the account authorization.”
Dominic asked, “Anything else?”
“Yes.”
Aaron placed several printed photographs on the island.
Security footage from a convenience store.
A man in a dark jacket purchasing gasoline cans.
Claire stared.
“Is that the man from last night?”
“Build matches.”
His face was partially visible.
Claire did not recognize him.
Then Aaron placed a second photograph beside it.
The same man.
Standing outside Whitmore Freight headquarters two weeks earlier.
Talking to someone.
Claire leaned closer.
Her blood went cold.
Martin Hale.
The CFO.
The man whose insurance mistake Claire had fixed.
The executive who signed off on her work and let Charles take credit.
Dominic’s voice hardened.
“Where is Hale now?”
Aaron’s expression was grim.
“We sent people to his house.”
“And?”
“Gone.”
Claire felt dread rise.
“His family?”
“Also gone.”
She pressed both palms against the counter.
Martin knew everything.
Company finances.
Passwords.
Debt structure.
Claire’s working habits.
And most importantly—
“He had access to my office.”
Dominic looked at her.
“What?”
“He came down constantly. Pretended he needed old invoices because we stored archived files near my desk.”
Claire’s mind raced.
“What if he wasn’t just looking for records?”
“Looking for what?”
“The trust.”
Dominic became very still.
“My mother’s original papers were stored at headquarters after she died. I remember boxes.”
“Where?”
“Records basement.”
“Still there?”
“I don’t know.”
Aaron was already moving.
Dominic said, “We’ll send a team.”
“No.”
Claire grabbed her coat.
Dominic frowned.
“You’re not going.”
“They won’t know what they’re looking for.”
“We have investigators.”
“And I know my mother’s handwriting.”
“You’re also currently a target.”
Claire stepped closer.
“If someone is destroying evidence connected to property that legally belongs to me, I’m not sitting here drinking coffee.”
Dominic stared down at her.
The air between them tightened.
Finally he said, “You stay beside me.”
“That sounds like an order.”
“It’s a condition.”
“Better.”
Twenty-five minutes later, two SUVs pulled into the underground garage beneath Whitmore Freight.
The building was supposed to be closed.
Yet one elevator showed movement.
Basement to fourth floor.
Then fourth floor to basement.
Claire looked at Dominic.
“Someone’s inside.”
Aaron drew his weapon.
Dominic put an arm in front of Claire automatically.
She hated how safe the gesture made her feel.
The elevator doors opened.
Nobody was there.
But a cardboard storage box sat in the center.
Claire recognized the faded handwriting across its side.
ANNE – PERSONAL.
Her pulse stopped.
Dominic whispered, “Don’t touch it.”
The box had been deliberately placed there.
Waiting for them.
Aaron approached first.
No wires.
No obvious device.
He opened the flaps.
Inside were folders, photographs, and one sealed envelope.
Claire’s name was written across it.
Claire Anne.
Her mother’s handwriting.
Claire’s eyes filled instantly.
She reached for it.
Then a voice came through the parking-garage speakers.
Male.
Distorted.
“Open it, Claire.”
Everyone froze.
The garage gates slammed shut.
Lights went out.
Emergency lamps flickered red.
Dominic grabbed Claire and pulled her behind a concrete pillar as gunfire shattered the windshield of the nearest SUV.
Claire screamed.
Aaron returned fire.
Tires exploded.
Glass sprayed across the floor.
May you like
Then the speaker crackled again.
“You should have stayed invisible.”
