Chapter 4 - The Price of Trust
My father had been dead for nine years.
Apparently, that had not stopped him from lying to me.
I stared at the paternity report while memories rearranged themselves.
Damian arriving at the house at nineteen.
My father calling him “a kid who needed a chance.”
Damian receiving security training no ordinary employee should have received.
His rapid promotions.
The trust.
The access.
My father paying for his mother’s medical care anonymously.
I had noticed pieces.
I had never put them together.
“You knew?” I asked.
“For thirteen years.”
“And you stayed here.”
“Where else was I supposed to go?”
“You could have told me.”
Damian laughed once.
“You think I didn’t want to?”
“You chose this.”
“I chose survival.”
“You terrorized Claire.”
His expression hardened.
“This isn’t about Claire.”
“That sentence is exactly why you are never coming near my family again.”
“Your family.”
He repeated the words with disgust.
“Everything is always your family.”
I stepped closer.
“You had a grievance with my father. You had a grievance with me. Claire had nothing to do with it.”
“She carried your heir.”
My blood went cold.
There it was.
The real reason.
Not jealousy.
Not some twisted obsession with Claire.
Inheritance.
Control.
The DeLuca family business had been built through shipping, warehouses, commercial property, and enough gray arrangements that no lawyer ever enjoyed explaining the full structure.
My father had created a private trust decades earlier.
As long as I remained childless, a portion of voting control reverted upon my death or incapacity to a family board chaired by my uncle Victor.
If I had a legally recognized child, control transferred into a protected lineal trust for that child.
I had never cared.
Until now.
“You knew about the trust.”
Damian wiped blood from his mouth.
“I knew about all of it.”
“Victor.”
His eyes flickered.
That was answer enough.
My uncle Victor DeLuca had spent thirty years smiling while other men made ugly decisions for him.
He had objected when I cut several off-book operations after my father’s death.
He had objected when I hired outside auditors.
He had objected when I announced plans to sell our private security subsidiary.
At the time, I thought he hated losing money.
Now I understood.
He was afraid of losing control.
“You and Victor planned this.”
“Victor gave me the truth.”
“He used you.”
“You sound like him.”
“Like who?”
“Our father.”
Damian’s face tightened.
“He sat across from me thirteen years ago and told me blood didn’t entitle anyone to a name.”
I heard my father saying it.
Could imagine the exact tone.
Salvatore DeLuca believed love was dangerous, softness was weakness, and apologies were for people who had already lost.
I had spent half my life becoming him.
Claire had spent seven months paying for it.
“What did Victor promise you?”
Damian said nothing.
“A seat?”
Silence.
“Shares?”
Still nothing.
“The company?”
His expression shifted.
I understood.
“He promised you my place.”
“It should have been possible.”
“You wanted me dead?”
“No.”
That answer came too quickly.
“At first,” he added.
I almost hit him again.
“Where is Victor?”
“I don’t know.”
“Wrong answer.”
“It’s the truth.”
“You expect me to believe you?”
“No.”
He looked almost tired now.
“I stopped expecting anything from you a long time ago.”
My phone vibrated.
Theo.
I ignored it.
Damian noticed.
“Answer that.”
I looked at him.
He smiled.
For the first time since I walked into the house, fear touched the back of my neck.
The phone vibrated again.
I answered.
“Theo?”
Static.
Then his voice.
“Roman—”
A crash.
Someone shouted.
My entire body went rigid.
“Theo.”
“House compromised.”
Everything inside me dropped.
“Claire?”
“I don’t—”
The line died.
I was moving before the call ended.
Damian caught my arm.
“If Victor has her, running in blind gets her killed.”
I turned so fast he stumbled backward.
“If he has her because of you, there is nowhere on this earth you can hide.”
“I didn’t tell him Marblehead.”
“Who did?”
Damian hesitated.
That was enough.
I slammed him against the wall.
“Who?”
“Your attorney.”
“Tessa?”
“No.”
He shook his head.
“Not Ward.”
“Then who?”
“Your father’s attorney.”
Gerald Pike.
Seventy-one years old.
Executor of my father’s estate.
Trustee on half the family entities.
He had known me since I was six.
Another man I had never thought to question.
Damian pushed me away.
“Pike manages the trust reporting. Victor owns him.”
My phone rang again.
Noah Brennan.
I answered while heading for the door.
“Tell me Claire is safe.”
“I can’t.”
The driveway blurred around me.
“What happened?”
“Two men came through the north side. Theo got one. Second used some kind of electrical override.”
“Claire?”
“Gone.”
The world narrowed.
“How long?”
“Maybe eight minutes.”
Eight minutes.
Claire was thirty-five weeks pregnant.
Eight minutes could be anywhere.
I reached my car.
Damian followed.
“You’re not coming.”
“I can help.”
“You’ve helped enough.”
“Victor will kill her when he gets what he wants.”
I stopped.
“What does he want?”
Damian looked at me.
“The voting proxy.”
I understood immediately.
A temporary instrument giving Victor control of the family trust in the event of an internal emergency.
I had refused to sign it three months before Claire disappeared.
Victor had called me arrogant.
My father’s attorney had called me reckless.
I had forgotten the argument within a week.
Apparently, they had not.
“If I sign it?”
“He owns the company long enough to dismantle the new trust protections.”
“And the baby?”
Damian said nothing.
I grabbed him by the jacket.
“And my child?”
“If the child is born and legally established as yours, Victor has a problem.”
The sound that came from me barely sounded human.
Damian held my stare.
“That’s why we need to move.”
“We?”
“I never agreed to kill Claire.”
“You made her disappear.”
“I was supposed to scare her away until the transfer was done.”
“You left my pregnant wife living on pantry food.”
His face tightened.
“I sent money.”
“She stopped taking it when she realized you were lying.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“You didn’t care enough to find out.”
That landed.
For once, he had no answer.
I drove to Marblehead at a speed I would have killed any employee for attempting.
Theo’s SUV was sideways near the house.
One security light flickered.
The front door stood open.
Inside, a chair was overturned.
A lamp shattered.
Theo sat against the hallway wall while Noah pressed a towel to his head.
He tried to stand.
“Don’t.”
“Roman—”
“Where?”
He pointed upstairs.
I ran.
The bedroom was empty.
The quilt Claire had slept beneath lay on the floor.
One of her shoes was near the door.
The other was gone.
Beside the bed was her purse.
Her twenty-three dollars still inside.
On the dresser sat her wedding ring.
I stopped breathing.
She had taken it out of her pocket.
Why?
Had she been considering putting it back on?
Had she simply been looking at it?
I would never know.
Then Noah called from the doorway.
“There’s something downstairs.”
On the kitchen table sat a black envelope.
My name written across it.
Inside was a single sheet of paper.
PIER 19.
MIDNIGHT.
BRING THE VOTING PROXY.
NO POLICE.
NO SECURITY.
NO DAMIAN.
Beneath the words was a photograph.
Claire.
Alive.
Seated in the back of a van.
Her hands bound in front of her.
And on the seat beside her was the secondhand infant car seat she had bought for our child.
I flipped the photograph over.
There was one more line.
If the baby is born before you sign, the deal changes.
My watch read 9:14 p.m.
Less than three hours until midnight.
Then, from upstairs, Claire’s old phone began to ring.
I ran back to the bedroom.
Unknown number.
I answered.
For three seconds, there was only breathing.
Then Claire’s voice came through.
Low.
Terrified.
“Roman, don’t come to Pier 19.”
A man shouted in the background.
Claire spoke faster.
“It’s a trap. He’s taking me somewhere—”
The line cut.
May you like
A second later, another message arrived.
Too late.
