Chapter 5 - THE PRICE OF A FATHER'S REPUTATION
“Vanessa touched the equipment?”
Grace's voice sounded unfamiliar, even to herself.
Elias Rowan shook his head.
“I saw her carrying the rejection tag. I didn't see her install anything.”
“But she knew the equipment had failed inspection.”
“She knew your father wanted it removed.”
Vincent examined the photograph.
Vanessa stood beside Peter Rusk, holding a red tag between two perfectly manicured fingers.
She looked impatient.
Not frightened.
Not concerned.
Grace remembered the young woman's cruel smile at the engagement party.
Ten million dollars if you can entertain us up there.
It hadn't been a spontaneous insult.
Vanessa had known exactly who she was humiliating.
“Why would she do this?” Grace asked.
Rowan's expression grew troubled.
“Because your father's inspection threatened something the Whitmore family couldn't afford to lose.”
He pulled another notebook from his cabinet.
Over several months, Thomas had recorded discrepancies involving expensive equipment purchased through the Whitmore Arts Foundation.
Safety systems had been billed as brand-new.
Some were refurbished.
Others had never arrived.
“Thomas calculated that more than eight million dollars had been charged for equipment nobody could account for,” Rowan explained.
Vincent frowned.
“The Foundation received twenty-eight million dollars for its venue modernization program.”
Rowan nodded.
“And your father's inspection threatened the entire project.”
Grace stared at the figures.
Eight million dollars.
Her father had lost his livelihood because he refused to approve equipment that might kill someone.
Meanwhile, wealthy donors had continued attending elegant dinners beneath enormous chandeliers.
She suddenly felt sick.
“Did my father know how much money was missing?”
“He suspected more than he could prove.”
“And when he tried to report it?”
“Rusk called him incompetent.”
Grace closed the notebook.
“Then somebody arranged an accident that would make everyone believe Rusk.”
Rowan lowered his eyes.
“That is what Thomas believed.”
Back at the Moretti mansion, Vincent instructed his financial adviser to review the old renovation contracts.
Grace remained in the library.
She refused the comfortable chair Vincent offered.
She refused coffee.
She refused the idea that finding the truth would automatically repair everything between them.
Vincent eventually entered carrying a thin folder.
“We found payments.”
Grace looked up.
“From whom?”
“Whitmore's development company. To a subcontractor controlled by Peter Rusk.”
“How much?”
“Almost two million dollars over eighteen months.”
“For what?”
“Equipment inspections that appear to have been duplicated.”
Grace stared at him.
“Then my father was right.”
“Yes.”
The words should have brought relief.
Instead, they made her furious.
“He was right six years ago.”
Vincent nodded.
“And I should have listened six years ago.”
Grace approached him.
“You know what he did after I fell?”
Vincent remained silent.
“He sold his wedding ring to pay for a specialist. My mother had died when I was fourteen. That ring was the last thing he had from her.”
Her voice broke.
“He told me it didn't matter. He said I was worth more than any piece of gold.”
Vincent's expression changed.
“But when people accused him of causing the accident, he stopped going anywhere.”
Grace looked down.
“He stopped wearing his circus jacket. He stopped watching performances on television. He couldn't stand hearing applause.”
Vincent took a step toward her.
She stepped back.
“Don't.”
He stopped immediately.
Grace wiped her eyes.
“I need justice. Not your sympathy.”
“You'll have my cooperation.”
“Even if it destroys your family's reputation?”
Vincent looked at the photograph in his hand.
“My family's reputation was built by men who expected other people to pay for their decisions.”
Then he met her eyes.
“It's time that changed.”
For the first time, Grace believed he might mean it.
Not because he sounded powerful.
Because he sounded ashamed.
That evening, Vanessa Whitmore arrived at the mansion for a scheduled collection of her belongings.
Vincent had instructed the staff to give her access to the guest wing while Luca supervised.
Grace watched from the library doorway.
Vanessa entered wearing a cream-colored coat and oversized sunglasses.
When she saw Grace, she stopped.
Then she smiled.
“Still here?”
Grace didn't respond.
Vanessa removed her sunglasses.
“I suppose Vincent found you another opportunity to perform.”
“Did you know my father?”
Vanessa's smile disappeared.
“Excuse me?”
“Thomas Mitchell.”
A brief silence.
Then Vanessa folded her arms.
“I meet hundreds of people through the Foundation.”
“You met him at Starlight Pavilion.”
Vanessa's eyes flickered.
Grace continued.
“You were holding his rejection tag the night I fell.”
For the first time, Vanessa looked genuinely frightened.
Then her expression hardened.
“Your father was a difficult man.”
Grace felt her pulse quicken.
“He was an honest man.”
“Honest people can still be wrong.”
“Did you help Peter Rusk change the inspection order?”
Vanessa took a step closer.
“You have no idea what happened that night.”
“Then tell me.”
Vanessa glanced toward Vincent's office.
Her voice dropped.
“Your father was going to destroy an organization that supported thousands of performers.”
“By telling people the equipment was unsafe?”
“You think everything is simple because you've never had responsibility for anything bigger than yourself.”
Grace looked at the expensive coat, the diamond earrings, the woman who had offered ten million dollars as a joke.
Then she spoke quietly.
“My father had one responsibility that night.”
Vanessa frowned.
“What's that?”
“Making sure I came home alive.”
Something moved across Vanessa's face.
Regret.
Then fear.
“I didn't want anyone to die,” she whispered.
Grace went still.
“Who said anything about dying?”
Vanessa suddenly seemed to realize what she'd admitted.
Before she could respond, Vincent appeared in the doorway.
“Vanessa. We need to talk.”
Vanessa's eyes filled with anger.
“You don't understand what my father would have done if that project collapsed.”
Vincent stopped.
“What would he have done?”
Vanessa shook her head.
Then she turned toward Grace.
“Your father wasn't supposed to be near the equipment when it failed.”
Grace's blood ran cold.
“What?”
Vanessa looked as though she wished she could take the words back.
But Grace had already heard them.
She moved closer.
“Vanessa, answer me.”
Vanessa's lips trembled.
Grace spoke slowly.
“Who was supposed to be there?”
May you like
Vanessa looked directly into her eyes.
“You were.”
