Chapter 4 - THE MAN WHO KEPT THE KEYS
“Who was living inside our house?”
Dorian moved toward Caleb.
I stepped between them.
“Don't threaten him. Make him explain.”
Caleb looked at me gratefully.
Then he seemed ashamed of his relief.
“Twelve years ago, Julian hired me privately,” he said. “He wanted help arranging a safe place for Rebecca and Sophie.”
“You were already working for my father,” Dorian said.
“Yes.”
“And you didn't tell me?”
“Julian said you were being watched.”
Dorian's face hardened.
“By whom?”
“Your father's chief financial officer.”
I frowned.
“Martin Vale?”
Dorian nodded slowly.
Martin Vale had worked for the Cross family for more than twenty years.
He was sixty-three now, with silver hair and a careful, reassuring voice.
He sent us Christmas cards.
He remembered my birthday.
When my mother died, he had arranged flowers for the funeral without being asked.
“Martin helped build the company,” Dorian said.
“He also controlled the family security accounts,” Caleb replied. “Julian believed Martin was transferring money through shipping contracts that didn't exist.”
“Then why didn't Julian go to the authorities?”
“He was gathering proof. He thought his father would protect Martin.”
Dorian stared at his brother's photograph.
“Why didn't you tell me afterward?”
Caleb lowered his head.
“Because Julian disappeared before I could get them out. Then your father told me Rebecca wanted to be left alone.”
“And you believed him?”
“I wanted to.”
It was the first time Caleb sounded like a man admitting failure instead of an employee explaining procedure.
I looked at Dorian.
He was carrying twelve years of regret in his face.
But regret didn't answer everything.
“What does Martin have to do with someone threatening me now?”
Caleb hesitated.
“I don't know. But someone has been reviewing old Cross family security records during the last six months.”
“Who?” Dorian asked.
“The requests came through Martin's office.”
Dorian reached for his phone.
I caught his wrist.
“Not yet.”
He looked at me.
“Alina—”
“If Martin is involved, calling him tells him we're looking.”
Caleb nodded.
“She's right.”
For once, Dorian didn't argue.
We returned upstairs.
My legs were beginning to feel weak, and Dr. Mercer had asked me to rest.
Dorian noticed.
He brought me water without saying anything.
It was such a small gesture.
Three years ago, I wouldn't have thought twice about it.
Now it nearly broke my heart.
I sat in the quiet room while Caleb reviewed what he'd learned from my apartment building.
Nothing had been stolen.
No unfamiliar visitor had appeared on the main entrance cameras.
But there was one detail that concerned him.
“The building's maintenance contractor has been changed twice since you moved in,” he said.
“So?”
“Both companies were approved through the same property management group.”
He showed me the name.
VALE PROPERTY SERVICES.
Martin Vale's company.
Dorian looked furious.
“Martin owns half the rental buildings on that side of Chicago.”
“That's true,” Caleb said. “Which means the connection could be ordinary.”
I appreciated that he didn't pretend every coincidence proved a conspiracy.
Still, someone had planted a ticket in my coat.
Someone had reached my apartment.
And someone had given me medication without my knowledge.
I thought of the chamomile tea I drank each night.
The grocery deliveries.
The occasional soup from the café downstairs.
My private little routines suddenly felt dangerous.
“I want to go home,” I whispered.
Dorian looked at me.
“Our house?”
“My apartment.”
His expression changed.
I could almost see him forcing himself to accept the distinction.
“Let Caleb inspect it again first.”
“All right.”
He blinked.
Perhaps he'd expected another fight.
I was too tired to fight over reasonable precautions.
That afternoon, Dr. Mercer approved my discharge with instructions for follow-up testing and prenatal care.
Before leaving, I asked her something I had been afraid to say aloud.
“Does one test mean something terrible has happened to my baby?”
She shook her head.
“No. Today's ultrasound was reassuring. We can't promise anything from a single examination, but we also shouldn't assume the worst.”
I held that answer close.
It was the first hopeful thing I'd heard all day.
Dorian helped me into my coat.
His fingers brushed mine.
Neither of us spoke.
Outside, snow had begun falling over Chicago.
The SUV waited beside the hospital entrance.
As Caleb opened the door, I noticed a black sedan across the street.
I recognized it immediately.
It belonged to Martin Vale.
I had ridden in it once after a charity dinner.
Dorian followed my gaze.
His expression darkened.
The car pulled away.
“Did he know we were here?” I asked.
“He probably knows whenever I visit the hospital.”
That wasn't reassuring.
I sat in the SUV.
Dorian climbed in beside me.
Not across from me this time.
For several minutes, neither of us spoke.
Then he said, “I should have trusted you.”
I stared at the passing buildings.
“Yes.”
“I thought keeping you ignorant would keep you safe.”
“It made me alone.”
He closed his eyes.
“I know.”
“Do you?”
He turned toward me.
“I spent six months watching you walk away from me a little more every day. I thought that was the price of keeping you alive.”
I looked down at my wedding ring.
I'd stopped wearing it after moving out.
But I still carried it in my purse.
“Did you ever consider that I might have chosen to stay?”
“Every day.”
“Then why didn't you ask?”
He looked at the snow.
“Because I was afraid you'd say yes.”
I hated that I understood him.
I hated even more that understanding wasn't enough.
At my apartment building, Caleb went upstairs first.
We waited in the car.
Ten minutes passed.
Then fifteen.
Finally he returned.
“Everything is clear. But there's something you need to see.”
We followed him upstairs.
My apartment looked exactly as I'd left it.
The cream sofa.
The little kitchen table.
The stack of library books beside the lamp.
My entire new life packed into rooms too small to hold the memories I was trying to escape.
Caleb led us into the bedroom.
He pointed toward the dresser.
There was a small white envelope resting beside my jewelry box.
It hadn't been there that morning.
My name was written across the front.
Not typed.
Handwritten.
Dorian reached for it.
I stopped him.
“It's addressed to me.”
Inside was a photograph.
Not of me.
Of Dorian.
He was standing outside our old house, holding a baby blanket.
I recognized the blanket.
White cotton.
Tiny yellow stars.
I had bought it nearly four years earlier, when we first started talking about having children.
I'd thought he'd thrown it away.
On the back of the photograph was a date.
December 22.
Three days after my last period.
I stared at it.
“Why were you holding this?”
Dorian's voice became very quiet.
“Because I found it in your closet after you moved out.”
I looked at him.
“You kept it?”
“I couldn't throw it away.”
There was something else inside the envelope.
A narrow strip of paper.
Written in a woman's handwriting.
HE TOLD YOU THE THREAT WAS ABOUT HIS ENEMIES. ASK HIM WHY THE DATE CHANGED AFTER YOU LEFT.
I read it twice.
Then I turned toward Dorian.
“What does that mean?”
He didn't answer.
Caleb stared at the photograph.
Then he said something neither of us expected.
“Sir, look at the handwriting.”
Dorian examined it.
His face lost every trace of color.
“That's impossible.”
I looked between them.
“Whose handwriting?”
Caleb whispered the answer.
“Your brother's wife.”
May you like
And Dorian finished the sentence.
“Rebecca Cross.”
