Chapter 6 - THE WOMAN VINCENT NEVER SUSPECTED
Vincent did not react.
That was how Grace knew the accusation had landed.
“My mother died when I was nineteen.”
Arthur Hart nodded.
“And people become saints very quickly once they’re dead.”
Vincent stepped closer.
“Be careful.”
Grace touched his arm.
Not to restrain him.
To remind him of the promise.
No more hiding from uncomfortable truths.
“Let him speak.”
Arthur studied her.
“Your mother, Catherine Cole, handled charitable accounts for Dominic’s businesses. Peter discovered money disappearing through them.”
“Impossible,” Vincent said.
“Because you loved her?”
“Because she had no access to operational accounts.”
Arthur gave a tired smile.
“She had access to Dominic.”
Vanessa’s voice shook.
“You beat Peter because he knew?”
Arthur looked at her.
“No.”
“You admitted—”
“I admitted hurting him. Not attacking him.”
The distinction mattered.
Arthur had confronted Peter about Lorraine.
They fought.
Arthur struck him.
Peter left with a split lip.
Hours later, someone else attacked him at the Lakeshore.
Arthur found him afterward and assumed Peter had stolen financial records.
So he searched for them.
That was why Evelyn became a target.
“I frightened your mother,” Arthur told Grace. “I threatened her job. I threatened to take everything she had.”
Grace stared at him.
“You terrorized a hotel maid with a nine-year-old daughter.”
“Yes.”
There was no pride in the admission.
Only age.
“And Dominic?”
“Protected her.”
That explained the child’s drawing.
Dominic had moved Grace and Evelyn temporarily to a hotel in Madison, paid their rent for six months, and promised nobody from his organization would touch them.
Grace thought of the ruthless man Vincent had described.
People were rarely only one thing.
“What happened to Peter?”
Arthur looked toward the archive shelves.
“I don’t know.”
Vanessa laughed sharply.
“You expect us to believe that?”
“No. I expect you to decide for yourself.”
Arthur removed an old brass key from his pocket.
“There’s one more box.”
Vanessa stared.
“You knew?”
“For twenty-two years.”
“Why keep it?”
“Because destroying the truth doesn’t change it.”
“Neither does hiding it.”
Arthur absorbed that.
“You’re right.”
The key opened box 204.
Inside was Catherine Cole’s red wool coat.
Vincent recognized it instantly.
Grace saw the boy in him for half a second.
“My mother wore that every winter.”
He touched the sleeve.
Then stopped.
In one pocket was a stack of bank-transfer slips.
Catherine had indeed moved money.
Hundreds of thousands.
But the destination surprised everyone.
A domestic violence shelter.
A legal aid fund.
Three families connected to men killed in Dominic Cole’s organization.
Grace looked at Vincent.
“She wasn’t stealing for herself.”
Arthur nodded.
“She was trying to make restitution.”
“Why secretly?”
“Would Dominic have allowed it?”
Vincent knew the answer.
Probably not.
The second pocket contained a letter from Peter.
Catherine—
Dominic thinks Arthur is stealing from him. Arthur thinks I’m stealing from him. They’re both wrong.
I found the transfers. I know why you made them.
I won’t expose you.
But somebody else knows.
The letter ended there.
“Somebody else,” Grace said.
Marcus had been silent for several minutes.
Now he asked Arthur, “Who had access to Catherine’s accounts?”
Arthur looked at him.
“You’re asking the wrong question.”
“What’s the right one?”
“Who had access to Dominic?”
Vincent’s father had surrounded himself with trusted men.
Most were dead.
One was not.
Vincent looked at Marcus.
Marcus understood.
“Samuel Reed.”
Grace frowned.
“Your father?”
Marcus nodded.
Samuel Reed had been Dominic Cole’s closest lieutenant.
He had also been Marcus’s father.
He had died seven years earlier.
Or so Grace had always believed.
Marcus’s face had gone pale.
Vincent noticed.
“What?”
Marcus said nothing.
“What aren’t you telling me?”
“My father didn’t die seven years ago.”
Grace stared.
Marcus continued.
“He had a stroke seven years ago. He’s been in a private nursing facility in Wisconsin ever since.”
Vincent’s voice became dangerously calm.
“You told me he was dead.”
“He asked me to.”
“Why?”
“Because he was terrified of you.”
Vincent actually stepped backward.
“Of me?”
“Of what you would learn.”
Grace looked from one man to the other.
Another secret created in the name of protection.
Another lie allowed to grow.
Vincent laughed once, without humor.
“Apparently every man in my life decided ignorance was good for me.”
Marcus flinched.
The nursing facility stood ninety minutes north.
They drove there that night.
Samuel Reed was eighty-two and physically diminished, but his eyes were clear.
When Vincent entered, the old man stared at him for a long time.
“You look like Dominic.”
“I’m hoping I’m better at listening.”
Samuel’s eyes moved to Marcus.
“You shouldn’t have brought him.”
Marcus sat beside his father.
“I should have done it years ago.”
Vincent placed Catherine’s letter on the bedside table.
“Did you know?”
Samuel read it.
His hands began to shake.
“Yes.”
“Did you attack Peter?”
“No.”
“Who did?”
Samuel closed his eyes.
“I followed him to the Lakeshore.”
Grace leaned forward.
“Did you see my mother?”
“Yes.”
“Did you hurt her?”
“No.”
“Who attacked Peter?”
Samuel’s breathing grew uneven.
Marcus reached for him.
“Dad.”
Samuel opened his eyes again.
“I didn’t attack Peter. I tried to get him out.”
Vincent’s patience tightened.
“Then what happened?”
Samuel looked at Grace.
“Peter was still alive when I put him in my car.”
Vanessa whispered, “Where did you take him?”
Samuel stared at the ceiling.
“I never got there.”
“Where?”
“Dominic’s house.”
Vincent froze.
Samuel’s next words were barely audible.
“Your mother stopped us on Lake Shore Drive.”
May you like
He swallowed.
“And Catherine Cole was holding a gun.”
