Chapter 7 - THE MAN WHO ARRANGED EVERYTHING
Dominic Vale had trusted Vincent Mercer with his life for fifteen years.
Now he was wondering whether Vincent had arranged the death of his wife's parents.
The thought made him physically sick.
He stood in Rebecca's apartment, staring at the old photograph.
Vincent's silver ring caught the light.
It was a heavy piece of jewelry with a black stone in the center.
Dominic remembered when Vincent first began wearing it.
Seven years earlier.
Shortly after Richard Vale's funeral.
Vincent claimed it had belonged to his grandfather.
Dominic had never questioned him.
Now every harmless detail seemed sinister.
"Claire," Dominic said, "I need you to tell Detective Whitcomb everything you remember about your parents' accident."
Claire looked up from the cassette player.
"Everything?"
"Even things that seemed unimportant."
She wiped her cheeks.
"They were driving home from dinner. A truck crossed the center line."
"Where?"
"Route 9, north of Albany."
"Was the driver arrested?"
"No. They said he fled the scene."
Dominic frowned.
"Did anyone identify the truck?"
Claire shook her head.
"Not that I know of."
Rebecca looked toward Whitcomb.
"We should request the original collision report."
Whitcomb nodded.
"Already doing it."
Three hours later, investigators uncovered a detail that had never appeared in the newspaper reports.
The truck involved in the collision had been registered to a shell company.
A company called Mercer Industrial Logistics.
Vincent's company.
Claire stared at the document.
"No."
Whitcomb spoke gently.
"Registration doesn't prove Vincent ordered the collision."
"But he owned the truck."
"According to the records, yes."
Claire stood so quickly that her chair fell backward.
"He killed them."
Dominic reached toward her.
She pulled away.
"Don't touch me."
He stopped.
"Claire—"
"Your father stole me. Your best friend knew my parents. And now you're telling me the truck that killed them belonged to Vincent?"
Her voice cracked.
"How am I supposed to believe meeting you was an accident?"
Dominic went pale.
"It was."
"How do you know?"
He opened his mouth.
Then closed it.
Because he didn't know.
Not anymore.
That evening, Claire asked Dominic to leave.
He did.
No argument.
No threats.
No promises that everything would be fine.
He simply told her that Rebecca had the contact information for the investigators and that he would cooperate with whatever they needed.
Then he walked out.
For the first time since their wedding, Claire watched her husband leave without wondering whether he would punish her for wanting distance.
She hated how much that mattered.
Dominic drove to his Manhattan office.
Owen Brooks was waiting.
"I found something in the old security archives."
Dominic removed his jacket.
"Show me."
Owen opened a folder containing photographs from the charity fundraiser where Dominic first met Claire.
Dominic recognized the room immediately.
The ballroom.
The children's literacy banners.
The coffee stain on his jacket.
But one photograph made him stop.
Claire stood beside a registration table.
Several feet behind her was Vincent Mercer.
Watching.
Dominic leaned closer.
"Vincent told me he wasn't at that event."
Owen nodded.
"There's more."
He opened another image.
Vincent was speaking with the event coordinator.
A third photograph showed him handing the woman an envelope.
Dominic stared.
"What did he pay her for?"
"I contacted the coordinator. She remembered Vincent because he insisted you be introduced to a particular volunteer."
Dominic's stomach dropped.
"Claire."
"Yes."
Dominic sat down slowly.
Vincent had arranged their first meeting.
But why?
To gain access to Claire?
To bring her into the Vale household?
Or to ensure that Richard Vale's secret remained under his control?
Owen opened another document.
"The coordinator said Vincent specifically requested that Claire serve coffee near the entrance when you arrived."
Dominic remembered the collision.
Claire turning suddenly.
Coffee spilling.
Her embarrassed apology.
His laughter.
The beginning of everything.
Even that moment had been engineered.
At Rebecca's apartment, Claire received an unexpected visitor.
A woman in her late fifties stood outside the door.
She wore a simple navy dress.
Her gray hair was tied neatly behind her head.
Her eyes were red from crying.
Rebecca checked her identification before allowing her inside.
"Claire," she said softly, "this is Dr. Evelyn Cross."
Claire felt her knees weaken.
The woman stepped forward.
Then stopped.
She didn't reach for Claire.
Didn't demand an embrace.
She simply looked at her.
"My God," Evelyn whispered.
"You look like my mother."
Claire's eyes filled.
"Are you really her?"
Evelyn nodded.
"I believe so. But you deserve proof, not another story."
She handed Rebecca a sealed envelope.
"These are copies of my records. I've also agreed to independent DNA testing."
Claire looked at the envelope.
"Why didn't you find me?"
Evelyn's face crumpled.
"I tried."
"Then why did you stop?"
"Because every time I got close, someone threatened the family protecting you."
Claire swallowed.
"My parents?"
Evelyn nodded.
"I was told they'd be killed if I contacted you again."
Claire stared at her.
"And they were killed anyway."
Evelyn began crying.
"I'm so sorry."
For a moment, Claire wanted to hate her.
It would have been easier.
But the woman standing before her looked as broken as she felt.
Claire slowly sat down.
"Tell me about Richard Vale."
Evelyn took a breath.
"Richard funded a research program studying an extremely rare inherited immune-system marker."
"What kind of marker?"
"A genetic variation that appeared in only a small number of families."
"Why did he care?"
"Because his eldest son had a serious childhood immune disorder."
Claire frowned.
"Dominic?"
Evelyn shook her head.
"No."
Claire stared.
"Dominic is Richard's eldest son."
Evelyn looked confused.
"That's what Richard told the public."
A long silence followed.
Then Evelyn continued.
"His first child was a boy named Nathaniel."
Claire felt her pulse quicken.
"What happened to him?"
"He disappeared from public records before Dominic was born."
"Did he die?"
Evelyn looked toward Rebecca.
"I don't know."
Across Manhattan, Dominic was reviewing his father's old estate documents when Owen found a sealed personnel file.
Inside was a birth certificate.
Nathaniel Richard Vale.
Born March 14, 1979.
Mother: Eleanor Vale.
Father: Richard Vale.
Dominic stared.
He had never heard the name.
Never seen a photograph.
Never been told he had a brother.
Owen placed another document beside it.
A private medical report.
The patient was listed as Nathaniel Vale.
The date was only six months earlier.
Dominic looked up.
"He's alive?"
Owen nodded slowly.
"According to this, someone has been paying for his treatment."
"Who?"
Owen turned the page.
The billing address belonged to a private medical facility in Switzerland.
The authorized representative was Vincent Mercer.
Dominic stood.
"Get Whitcomb."
Before Owen could move, Dominic's phone rang.
Unknown number.
He answered.
A man's voice spoke.
"Hello, little brother."
Dominic stopped breathing.
"Who is this?"
The man laughed softly.
"Vincent tells me you've finally discovered the family secret."
Dominic gripped the phone.
"Nathaniel?"
"That's right."
"Where are you?"
"Somewhere your father promised I'd never have to see you."
Dominic's voice hardened.
"What do you want?"
The answer came without hesitation.
May you like
"The daughter your wife is carrying."
Then the call ended.
