Chapter 3 - THE NIGHT MY FATHER DIED
The alarm was not the shrill little warning of a household smoke detector.
It was a deep, mechanical pulse that seemed to come from inside the walls.
Red lights flashed in the hallway.
Richard moved before I did.
He pulled me away from the windows and pressed something on his phone.
“Status.”
A man’s voice answered immediately.
“South perimeter breach. Camera Six went dark. Patrol is moving.”
“Children?”
“Second-floor security team has them.”
I stared at him.
“You have a security team assigned to your children?”
Richard looked at me as though I had asked whether the house had plumbing.
“Yes.”
Another voice came through the phone.
“Vehicle outside south gate. No entry. Possible surveillance.”
Richard’s shoulders eased by half an inch.
“Hold everyone inside until I say otherwise.”
He ended the call.
Then he looked at me.
“You’re leaving.”
I laughed in disbelief.
“You just locked down a fortress because somebody sent me a photograph of my dead father, and your next brilliant idea is to throw me outside?”
“I’m moving you to the secure wing.”
“That is not leaving.”
“This room.”
“Oh.”
He grabbed my suitcase.
I didn’t move.
“Elena.”
“No.”
His expression hardened.
“Not negotiable.”
“Then marry yourself.”
That stopped him.
I pointed at the photograph still lying on the bed.
“You knew my father.”
“I knew of him.”
“You knew someone might have killed him.”
“Yes.”
“And for three months you sat six feet away from me drinking coffee while I complained about broken espresso machines and tourists ordering twelve modifications to a latte.”
“I was trying to determine whether approaching you would put you in greater danger.”
“Congratulations. You married me instead.”
“We are not married yet.”
“Wonderful distinction.”
“Elena.”
“You owe me the truth.”
He looked toward the flashing hallway.
“This isn’t the time.”
“Then there will never be a time, because men like you always have another emergency waiting conveniently around the corner.”
His eyes sharpened.
“Men like me?”
“Yes. Men who think information belongs to them because they have enough money and armed guards.”
He went very still.
I should have been afraid.
Instead, I was too angry.
“My father died when I was twelve.”
Something changed in Richard’s expression.
“He left home one morning and never came back. Police told me his car went through a guardrail near Harriman State Park. They said it was raining. They said he probably fell asleep.”
My voice cracked despite my effort to control it.
“I spent years blaming myself because we fought the night before.”
Richard’s face tightened.
“What did you fight about?”
“I wanted to go on a school trip. He said we couldn’t afford it. I told him I hated him.”
I stared down at the photograph.
“Those were the last words I ever said to my father.”
Richard spoke quietly.
“He knew you didn’t mean them.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Yes,” he said. “I do.”
I looked up sharply.
“How?”
He was silent too long.
“How, Richard?”
“Because he talked about you.”
My breath caught.
“When?”
“During the weeks before he died.”
My anger disappeared beneath something colder.
“You met him.”
“Twice.”
“You said you knew of him.”
“I was twenty-three. My father was still running most Lancaster operations. Thomas was a senior financial controller for Meridian Shipping.”
The alarm stopped.
The sudden silence was almost worse.
Richard continued.
“Your father discovered money disappearing through shell vendors. Millions over several years. He believed somebody inside my father’s organization was stealing from both legitimate companies and other operations.”
I swallowed.
“Other operations.”
“You know what my family is.”
“I know what people say.”
“Most of what they say is incomplete.”
“Not exactly comforting.”
“No.”
He leaned against the dresser.
“Thomas requested a private meeting with my father. He brought documents. Names. Bank transfers. He said he had evidence that someone close to the family was building an organization inside ours.”
“Who?”
“He never told me.”
“Why?”
“Because he didn’t trust me.”
I almost laughed.
“Smart man.”
Richard accepted the insult.
“The second time I saw him was the night he died.”
My knees weakened.
I sat on the edge of the bed.
“Tell me everything.”
“He came to one of our warehouses in Yonkers. He was frightened. He asked to speak to my father, but my father wasn’t there.”
“So he talked to you?”
“For less than ten minutes.”
“What did he say?”
Richard stared past me as if he could still see an eighteen-year-old memory.
“He said, ‘If anything happens to me, protect my little girl.’”
My eyes burned.
I hated Richard for saying the words.
I hated myself for wanting to believe them.
“He gave me an address and told me there was something hidden there.”
“What address?”
“A storage facility in Queens.”
My heart stumbled.
“And you went?”
“The unit was empty when I arrived the next morning.”
“Someone got there first.”
“Yes.”
“You told police?”
“No.”
I stood so quickly the bed frame struck the wall.
“You knew my father suspected he was in danger, then he died, and you told nobody?”
“I was twenty-three and living inside a family where going to the police could get people killed.”
“My father was already dead!”
“I know.”
“You let them call it an accident.”
“Yes.”
His answer was quiet.
No excuse.
That somehow made it worse.
I slapped him.
The sound cracked across the room.
Richard’s head turned slightly.
Neither of us moved.
Then he faced me again.
His cheek was red.
He did not touch me.
Did not raise his voice.
“You had that coming,” he said.
Tears blurred my vision.
“Get away from me.”
He did.
That was the strangest thing about Richard.
He could have forced almost anything in the world.
But when I told him to leave, he walked to the door.
Before he reached it, I spoke again.
“Why now?”
He stopped.
“Why start looking for me after eighteen years?”
Richard turned.
“Because three months ago, someone broke into the archive where my father kept private records.”
“What does that have to do with me?”
“One file was taken.”
My stomach tightened.
“What file?”
“Thomas Hart.”
The room seemed suddenly airless.
“Two days later, one of my people saw a man photographing you outside the coffee shop.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because we didn’t know who he worked for.”
“So you decided to watch me instead.”
“Yes.”
“Every morning?”
“Yes.”
I remembered all the times I had brought him coffee.
All the times I had teased him for never adding sugar.
All the times he had watched me while pretending to read messages on his phone.
The betrayal felt ridiculous considering we had barely known each other.
But it was still betrayal.
“My landlord?”
Richard’s expression darkened.
“We checked him tonight.”
“What?”
“The company that purchased your building six weeks ago is connected to a holding corporation I’ve been tracing.”
My skin prickled.
“You think someone intentionally evicted me?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“To make you vulnerable.”
A terrible thought formed.
“If you hadn’t shown up—”
“I would have.”
I stared at him.
“You knew I was at that bus shelter.”
“Yes.”
“So that whole thing was staged.”
“No. Your situation was real. My proposal was not planned.”
I laughed bitterly.
“Really?”
“I intended to move you somewhere secure.”
“And then decided matrimony was more convenient?”
Richard’s expression became unreadable.
“My attorneys informed me this morning of another problem involving my sons.”
“What problem?”
He hesitated.
That infuriating hesitation again.
“My late wife left a trust.”
“So?”
“If I die without a legally recognized co-guardian in the household, custody of Alex and Max transfers temporarily to Isabella’s nearest surviving relative until the court determines permanent placement.”
“Who is that?”
“Her brother.”
“Is he dangerous?”
Richard’s jaw flexed.
“Yes.”
“How dangerous?”
“His name is Gabriel Vale.”
I knew that name too.
Everyone did.
Vale Hotels.
Vale International.
Political fundraisers.
Charity galas.
A face that appeared in business magazines.
“He looks like a senator.”
“He looks like whatever is useful.”
“And you think he wants your children?”
“I think he wants what they inherit.”
Cold settled in my chest.
I looked toward the hallway where Alex and Max were somewhere behind armed security.
“What does any of this have to do with my father?”
“I don’t know yet.”
A knock came at the door.
One of Richard’s guards entered.
“Sir, you need to see this.”
He held out a tablet.
Security footage filled the screen.
A dark sedan had stopped across from the estate’s southern wall.
A man stepped out.
Even through grainy night vision, I could see his expensive coat.
He looked directly toward the security camera.
Then he raised something in his hand.
A photograph.
The same photograph of my father.
Richard went rigid.
“Zoom.”
The image enlarged.
The stranger turned the photograph around.
Words were written across the back.
THIS TIME, THE DAUGHTER DIES FIRST.
My breath stopped.
Richard’s entire face changed.
“Find him.”
The guard disappeared.
I stared at the frozen image.
“Richard.”
He was already moving toward me.
“We’re relocating you and the boys now.”
“To where?”
“An underground safe room.”
“You have an underground safe room?”
“Of course I do.”
Despite everything, I nearly laughed.
Then a tremendous crash thundered from downstairs.
Glass shattered.
Someone shouted.
Richard pulled me behind him as three guards rushed into the corridor.
May you like
And from somewhere on the first floor came Max’s terrified scream.
“ELENA!”
