Chapter 4 - The Man Who Died Five Years Before His Last Conversation
Vincent stared at Oliver's drawing.
“Buddy, what do you mean Daniel wasn't supposed to be dead?”
Oliver frowned.
“That's what Mommy said.”
“Do you remember when?”
“I was little.”
“How little?”
Oliver held up four fingers, then changed his mind and raised five.
Vincent calculated silently.
Caroline had died when Oliver was five.
The basement fire had happened two years earlier.
If Oliver remembered seeing Daniel, the man could not have died in that fire.
“Did Daniel talk to you?”
Oliver nodded.
“He gave me a little car.”
“What kind?”
“A yellow one.”
Vincent felt a sickening recognition.
Oliver once owned a yellow toy taxi.
Caroline had kept it on a high shelf in her bedroom, claiming it was special.
After her death, Vincent had put it away with the rest of her belongings.
“Where is that car now?”
Oliver shrugged.
“Madeline took it.”
Vincent found Madeline sitting alone in the library.
The suitcase she'd packed remained beside her chair.
“Daniel was alive after the fire,” Vincent said.
She turned sharply.
“What?”
“Oliver saw him.”
Madeline stood.
“That's impossible.”
“He knew his name.”
“He could have heard it somewhere.”
“He says Caroline took him to see Daniel.”
Madeline gripped the back of her chair.
“Why would Caroline do that?”
Vincent watched her face.
“You tell me.”
Tears rose in Madeline's eyes.
“For five years, I believed my brother burned to death because your family wanted him silenced.”
“Who told you he died?”
“Your father's former attorney.”
“What was his name?”
“Richard Vale.”
Vincent knew Vale.
He'd handled financial matters for the Castellano family for decades before retiring.
“Did you see Daniel's body?”
“No.”
“His belongings?”
“A watch. They gave me his watch.”
“Where is it?”
Madeline hesitated.
“In my jewelry box.”
Vincent followed her upstairs.
She opened a velvet case and removed a silver wristwatch with a dark leather band.
Its glass was cracked.
Vincent turned it over.
Engraved on the back were three words.
For Daniel. Always.
“Who gave him this?”
“Our mother.”
Madeline took the watch back.
“She died when we were young. Daniel never took it off.”
Vincent examined the damaged clasp.
“This was found after the fire?”
“Yes.”
“Then somebody wanted you to believe he died.”
Madeline looked at him.
For the first time, her fear seemed to outweigh her anger.
“Vincent, if Daniel survived, why didn't he come home?”
Vincent had no answer.
That evening, Ethan brought Vincent a box recovered from storage.
Inside were several of Caroline's personal belongings.
A blue scarf.
A leather notebook.
A small music box.
And Oliver's yellow toy taxi.
Vincent lifted the car.
Its paint was chipped near the passenger door.
He pressed the wheels against the table.
Nothing unusual.
Then he noticed the rear axle was slightly crooked.
He turned the car over.
A tiny screw had been replaced with one made of brass.
Using a pocketknife, Vincent loosened it.
The car's roof came free.
Inside was a folded strip of photographic paper.
Vincent carefully opened it.
The photograph showed Caroline in a hospital room beside a man whose face was partly hidden by bandages.
Daniel Ashford.
Alive.
Standing near the window was another person.
Richard Vale.
The date printed along the bottom was eighteen months after the basement fire.
Vincent stared at the image.
Vale had told Madeline her brother was dead.
Yet here he was, standing beside Daniel long afterward.
On the back of the photograph, Caroline had written:
Ask why the hospital called him Michael Ward.
Vincent immediately called Ethan into the library.
“Find everything you can on Michael Ward.”
Ethan studied the photograph.
His expression changed.
“Boss, I've seen this man.”
“Where?”
“At your father's funeral.”
Vincent frowned.
“That was six years ago.”
“He wasn't a guest. He worked security.”
“Daniel Ashford worked for my father?”
Ethan nodded.
“Under another name.”
Vincent felt the pieces shifting.
Daniel wasn't merely an accountant who'd stumbled into trouble.
He'd been inside the family's operation long before the fire.
The next morning, Grace arrived at Vincent's sister's home with Sophie and her mother.
Vincent had arranged the move quietly.
He visited shortly before lunch.
Oliver ran toward him.
“Daddy!”
Vincent caught him.
“Hey, buddy.”
“Miss Grace says we're having pancakes.”
“That sounds pretty good.”
Oliver glanced toward the living room.
“Is Madeline coming?”
“No.”
“Ever?”
Vincent hesitated.
“I don't know.”
Oliver lowered his voice.
“Good.”
The single word hurt more than Vincent expected.
He sat beside his son.
“Oliver, why didn't you tell me you were afraid of her?”
The boy picked at a loose thread on his sleeve.
“Because you were happy.”
Vincent couldn't speak.
Oliver continued.
“You smiled more when she came over.”
Vincent pulled him close.
“Oh, buddy.”
“I didn't want you to be sad again.”
Vincent held his son tightly.
“You never have to protect me from the truth.”
Oliver whispered, “Okay.”
But Vincent knew the promise meant nothing unless his actions changed.
Later that afternoon, Vincent visited the hospital listed on the photograph.
It had closed two years earlier.
The building was being converted into medical offices, but a former records supervisor still worked there.
Her name was Helen Mercer.
She recognized Michael Ward immediately.
“He wasn't an ordinary patient,” she said.
“Why?”
“He stayed in a private recovery suite for months. Everything was paid through a trust.”
“Who controlled it?”
Helen hesitated.
“Richard Vale.”
Vincent placed the photograph on her desk.
Helen looked at Caroline.
“Oh,” she whispered.
“You knew my wife?”
“She visited almost every week.”
“Why?”
Helen's eyes filled.
“Because she thought she could save him.”
“Save Daniel?”
Helen shook her head.
“Save you.”
Vincent leaned forward.
“What do you mean?”
Helen opened an old storage drawer and removed a sealed envelope.
“Caroline left this with me. She said if anything happened to her, somebody would eventually come asking about Michael Ward.”
The envelope bore Vincent's name.
Inside was a hospital visitor log.
One date had been circled in red.
Three days before Caroline died.
Beside it were two names.
CAROLINE CASTELLANO.
MADELINE ASHFORD.
Vincent stared.
Madeline had claimed she'd never been inside that hospital.
Helen touched the page.
“Mr. Castellano, there's one other thing.”
“What?”
“That night, both women came to see the same patient.”
Vincent looked up.
May you like
Helen's voice dropped.
“But only one of them knew he was her brother.”
Related Stories
