Chapter 3 - THE KEY HE SHOULD HAVE THROWN AWAY
“You had the key?”
Ivy Sanders didn't shout.
That frightened Ryan more than if she had screamed.
Her voice came out quiet and broken as she held the photograph between trembling fingers.
“My father was inside that building. Eleven people were trapped. And you had the key?”
Ryan glanced toward the frightened faces gathering around her display.
“I need to explain.”
“Then explain it here.”
“Ivy—”
“Here, Ryan. In front of the people who remember them.”
James Porter stood beside the fruit stand, his weathered hands clenched.
Caroline Bell had approached from the fountain.
Her yellow flowers trembled against her chest.
Ryan looked at both of them.
Then at the photograph.
He had spent eleven years refusing to look at images from that night.
Now the past was lying on a paint-stained table beneath the Savannah sunshine.
“The key didn't open the door,” he said.
Ivy's eyes narrowed.
“What?”
“It opened the maintenance gate outside the west exit. I thought the gate was the problem.”
“Who gave it to you?”
“My father.”
James made a harsh sound.
“Arthur Adler wouldn't give a drowning man a life jacket without charging interest.”
Ryan accepted the insult.
He had no intention of defending Arthur Adler.
Not anymore.
“That night, my father called me at ten forty-six,” Ryan continued. “He said there was trouble at Briar Street. He told me to meet a security supervisor and make certain nobody entered the property.”
Ivy's expression hardened.
“People were dying, and he sent you to keep everyone out?”
“He said the fire was contained in a storage room. He claimed the building had already been evacuated.”
“Did you believe him?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Ryan looked down.
“Because I was a fool who thought his father only lied to other people.”
Ivy fell silent.
Ryan remembered arriving that night.
The screaming.
The thick smoke.
A woman beating her fists against a second-floor window.
He remembered running toward the west gate and using the key Arthur had given him.
The maintenance gate opened.
The fire exit behind it did not.
A heavy steel chain had been wrapped through the handles.
Ryan had tried to break it with a tire iron from his car.
By the time firefighters reached him, the smoke had turned black.
Three people were pulled through a window.
Others never escaped.
Joseph Sanders was among them.
“He was trying to get the chain off from inside,” Ryan said.
Ivy's lips parted.
Ryan's voice became rough.
“I could see him through the glass. He had a red toolbox. He was using something to pry the handles apart.”
“My father's toolbox was red.”
“I know.”
She looked as if she might fall.
Ryan reached toward her.
This time she didn't step back.
But she didn't accept his hand either.
“He saw you?” she whispered.
“Yes.”
“What happened?”
Ryan swallowed.
“He pointed at the people behind him. Then he pushed a little boy toward the stairwell. He was trying to get them away from the smoke.”
Ivy covered her mouth.
She had spent eleven years imagining her father's final moments.
She had pictured him alone.
Afraid.
Perhaps calling for her mother.
She had never imagined a stranger standing outside, watching him fight to save other people's children.
“Did he say anything?”
Ryan looked directly at her.
“He shouted, 'Tell Ivy I kept my promise.'”
Ivy's knees weakened.
James caught her elbow.
The words belonged to a memory she had never shared publicly.
When she was twenty-one, her father had promised to attend her first gallery showing.
He had missed it because of an emergency repair at Briar Street.
She had been furious.
He had apologized and said he would never miss another.
The fire happened six days later.
Nobody except her mother had known about that promise.
Ivy began to cry.
Ryan stood motionless.
He had ordered men out of rooms, negotiated deals worth millions, and survived attempts on his life.
But there was nothing he could command away from the pain on Ivy Sanders's face.
“Why didn't you tell anyone?” she asked.
“I gave a statement to the investigators.”
“Then why was my father blamed?”
Ryan's expression turned cold.
“Because the statement they released wasn't the one I gave.”
James looked up sharply.
“What do you mean?”
“I said the door was chained from the outside. I said the maintenance gate had already been secured before the fire.”
“And the official report?”
“Faulty wiring. Electrical negligence. No evidence of deliberate obstruction.”
Ivy wiped her cheeks.
“Who changed your statement?”
Ryan hesitated.
“My father's lawyers handled the investigation.”
“Ethan Shaw?”
Ryan's silence answered her.
Ethan had been an associate at the firm eleven years earlier.
Arthur's trusted legal adviser.
And now Ryan's closest attorney.
Ivy gave a bitter laugh.
“Wonderful. Your lawyer helped bury my father.”
“I don't know what Ethan knew.”
“Then find out.”
Ryan looked at her.
He wasn't accustomed to receiving orders.
But he nodded.
“I will.”
A black SUV stopped beside the square.
Marcus stepped out.
His expression told Ryan that something was wrong.
“Boss, we need to move.”
“Not yet.”
Marcus approached.
“The silver sedan is back.”
Ryan glanced across the street.
A silver car sat beyond the traffic lights.
Its darkened windows reflected the oak trees.
For a moment, nobody inside moved.
Then its brake lights flashed.
The vehicle disappeared around the corner.
Marcus spoke quietly.
“Leo is following it.”
Ryan turned toward Ivy.
“Come with me.”
She folded her arms.
“Absolutely not.”
“You may be in danger.”
“I was in danger when somebody stole my painting in broad daylight. You didn't seem particularly surprised.”
Ryan didn't deny it.
He had suspected something was wrong the moment he recognized the bracelet in Elena's portrait.
Now he understood why.
Lorenzo Vale.
His father's former business associate.
A man who had recently begun acquiring properties near the old Briar Street site.
A man who had threatened Ryan for refusing to help pressure several elderly property owners into selling.
And the man whose security chief wore a distinctive black leather wristband with three silver clasps.
“I think the thief wanted something inside that painting,” Ryan said.
Ivy frowned.
“Inside it?”
“Possibly.”
She shook her head.
“I stretched the canvas myself. I framed it with reclaimed wood. Elena sat for me at the square. Nothing happened.”
“Did you leave the painting unattended?”
“Of course. I left it at my studio while the varnish dried.”
“Did Elena visit?”
Ivy started to say no.
Then stopped.
“She came back Sunday evening.”
Ryan watched her carefully.
“What did she want?”
“She said she was sorry she couldn't afford the portrait. I told her I hadn't painted it for money.”
“Did she touch it?”
“She asked to see the back.”
“Why?”
“She said the frame reminded her of something her grandfather used to make.”
Marcus exchanged a look with Ryan.
Ivy noticed.
“What?”
Ryan spoke slowly.
“She may have hidden something behind it.”
Ivy felt a chill.
Elena had seemed frightened that Sunday.
She had repeatedly looked toward the street.
At the time, Ivy assumed she was worried about her employer discovering she had taken an unauthorized break.
Now she remembered Elena asking a strange question.
If somebody powerful wanted your artwork, would you sell it?
Ivy had laughed.
Depends how powerful. I draw the line at anyone who owns more than three yachts.
Elena hadn't laughed.
She had touched the frame and whispered, Sometimes beautiful things are the safest places to hide ugly truths.
Ivy looked toward Ryan.
“She knew somebody would come.”
Ryan nodded.
“And I think she wanted us to find the message.”
“Why us?”
“Because she knows what happened at Briar Street.”
Ivy stared.
“How would she know?”
Ryan turned to Marcus.
“Find everything you can about Elena Vega.”
Marcus nodded.
“Already started.”
They moved toward the waiting SUV, although Ivy insisted on carrying her remaining canvases herself.
Ryan didn't argue.
He carried the folding table instead.
For some reason, that irritated her more than anything else.
“You don't have to do that.”
“It's heavy.”
“I've been carrying it for years.”
“I didn't say you couldn't.”
She glanced at him.
Then looked away.
It was the first small kindness he had offered without using money.
And she didn't know what to do with it.
At the St. Elias Hotel, Ryan arranged to speak with the manager.
Ivy stood beside him, her arms folded.
The manager claimed Elena had resigned voluntarily.
Then Marcus showed him a photograph.
His expression changed.
“That's the woman who came back Friday night.”
Ivy leaned forward.
“What woman?”
“Miss Vega. She said she'd left something in the employee records room.”
“Did she find it?”
The manager hesitated.
“She was caught taking an old security recording.”
Ryan went still.
“From when?”
“Eleven years ago.”
Ivy gripped the counter.
“Briar Street?”
The manager nodded.
“The hotel cameras faced the building.”
Ryan's heart began pounding.
“Where is the recording?”
“It disappeared with her.”
“Did she leave alone?”
The manager shook his head.
“Two men were waiting near the loading dock.”
Marcus leaned closer.
“Describe them.”
“One had a black bracelet with silver clasps.”
Ryan's expression hardened.
Lorenzo.
Before he could speak, a young desk clerk hurried toward Ivy.
“Excuse me, miss. Someone left this for you.”
She handed Ivy a brown envelope.
There was no name on the front.
Only a small drawing of a yellow flower.
Ivy recognized Elena's handwriting.
She tore it open.
Inside was a photograph printed from an old security recording.
It showed the west exit of Briar Street on the night of the fire.
Smoke was already beginning to rise.
A man stood beside the chained door.
His face was partially turned toward the camera.
Ivy recognized him.
Ryan Adler.
But there was something terribly wrong.
Ryan had told her he arrived after the fire started.
According to the timestamp, this photograph had been taken forty-two minutes before the first emergency call.
Ivy looked up slowly.
“You lied to me.”
Ryan stared at the photograph.
His face became rigid.
“That isn't possible.”
“It's your face.”
“Yes.”
“And that's your car behind you.”
Ryan said nothing.
Ivy stepped away.
“You knew the door was chained before anyone called the fire department.”
“No.”
“Then explain this!”
Ryan examined the image again.
And suddenly he saw something that made his stomach twist.
The man in the photograph wore Ryan's coat.
Drove Ryan's car.
And had Ryan's face.
But on his right hand was a gold signet ring.
Ryan had never worn one.
His father had.
Only one other person in Arthur Adler's organization had been permitted to wear that same ring.
Ryan looked toward Marcus.
His voice dropped.
“Get Ethan Shaw on the phone.”
Ivy shook her head.
“Why?”
Ryan stared at the photograph.
“Because eleven years ago, my father's lawyers had access to every security camera in that district.”
He looked at Ivy.
“And somebody went to a great deal of trouble to make sure your father's death looked like my fault.”
At that exact moment, Ryan's phone received an incoming video.
Unknown number.
He pressed play.
Elena Vega appeared on the screen.
Her face was bruised.
Blood stained the collar of her housekeeping uniform.
She looked directly into the camera.
“Ivy, I'm sorry I took my painting.”
She swallowed painfully.
“I hid the original recording behind the canvas. They found me before I could get it back.”
A man's voice shouted somewhere behind her.
Elena flinched.
Then she whispered her final words.
“Don't trust the man who says he was trying to save your father.”
May you like
The video ended.
And Ryan realized that the person Elena was warning Ivy about might be him.
