Chapter 5 - THE BETRAYAL INSIDE THE FAMILY
Vincent did not speak for almost a minute.
Then he called Margaret.
She answered on the second ring.
“Where are you?”
“At home.”
“Stay there.”
Something in his voice must have warned her.
“Vincent—”
“Stay. There.”
He disconnected.
My father watched him.
“She isn’t your enemy.”
“You just told me she hid evidence from me for twenty years.”
“She kept it from Vale.”
“And me.”
“Because Caroline asked her to.”
That changed everything.
Vincent looked at Thomas.
“Explain.”
Twenty-six years earlier, Caroline had discovered someone inside Vincent’s organization was leaking information to Silas Vale.
She didn’t know who.
Neither did Thomas.
So Caroline created three pieces of evidence.
The microfilm in the diamond.
The cassette.
And a master ledger containing the names, payments and shell corporations connecting Vale to the crimes.
She entrusted that ledger to Margaret.
“Why her?” I asked.
“Because Margaret was the only Marlowe who wasn’t involved in the business.”
Vincent’s expression hardened.
“She should have told me after Caroline died.”
Thomas shook his head.
“She tried.”
“What?”
“The night of Caroline’s funeral.”
Vincent went still.
“You were drunk,” Thomas said. “And you told Margaret you intended to kill everyone connected to Vale, whether you could prove their involvement or not.”
Vincent said nothing.
I could imagine it.
A younger man.
His wife murdered.
His son motherless.
Power without restraint.
“Caroline knew what grief would do to you,” Thomas continued. “She told Margaret the ledger could only be released when you were prepared to use the law instead of revenge.”
Vincent gave a humorless laugh.
“So my dead wife put me on probation.”
“In a manner of speaking.”
We reached Margaret’s townhouse after midnight.
She was waiting.
When she saw Thomas, she began crying.
“You’re alive.”
“So are you.”
She slapped him.
Apparently slapping people was becoming a family tradition.
Then she hugged him.
Vincent watched.
“Where is the ledger?”
Margaret released Thomas.
“Safe.”
“Where?”
“Before I answer, tell me what you intend to do with Vale.”
Vincent’s expression could have frozen fire.
“What do you think?”
“Then Caroline was right.”
He stepped closer.
“Silas murdered my wife.”
“Yes.”
“He threatened Claire as a child.”
“Yes.”
“He forced Thomas into hiding.”
“Yes.”
“And you expect restraint?”
“I expect intelligence.”
Margaret’s voice broke.
“Caroline did too.”
That stopped him.
She crossed to a bookshelf and removed a children’s novel.
Inside was a key.
“The ledger is in a safe-deposit box registered under a trust Caroline created.”
“Which bank?”
“None.”
Margaret looked at me.
“Your mother’s rehabilitation center.”
I blinked.
“What?”
“The building used to be Saint Anne’s private hospital. Caroline funded its renovation anonymously. There is an old records vault beneath the west wing.”
My father stared.
“You put it near Helen?”
“Where Vale would never expect us to hide something.”
Vincent almost smiled.
“Caroline always did enjoy irony.”
For the first time, I saw the woman behind the tragedy.
Smart.
Strategic.
Stubborn.
Maybe that was why Vincent had loved her.
At dawn, we entered the rehabilitation center through a service entrance.
Margaret led us underground.
Behind decades of archived medical files stood an old steel safe.
The key opened it.
Inside was a leather ledger.
Vincent touched it but did not remove it.
“Twenty-six years.”
Margaret nodded.
“Twenty-six years.”
He opened the cover.
Names filled the pages.
Judges.
Police officers.
Businessmen.
Union officials.
Executives.
Then one name made him stop.
Evan Marlowe.
My stomach dropped.
“That’s impossible.”
Margaret grabbed the ledger.
Payments appeared beside Evan’s name.
Recent ones.
Hundreds of thousands of dollars.
Vincent’s face became terrifyingly calm.
“My son works for Vale?”
“No,” I said.
He looked at me.
“You don’t know that.”
“Neither do you.”
The dates began eighteen months earlier.
Exactly when Evan had started pursuing me seriously.
I remembered dinners.
Unexpected trips.
His questions about company operations.
Questions I had assumed were professional curiosity.
Had I been wrong about everything?
Vincent called him.
No answer.
Again.
Nothing.
Then my phone buzzed.
Evan.
A photograph appeared.
He was sitting in a dark room.
His face was bruised.
A gun was pressed against his temple.
Below it:
BRING THE LEDGER. COME ALONE, CLAIRE.
Vincent saw it.
“No.”
“It says me.”
“You’re not going.”
“Then they kill him.”
“They’ll kill you both.”
My father studied the photograph.
“Wait.”
He enlarged the background.
A faded red number appeared on the wall.
17.
“M-17,” I whispered.
The warehouse.
Vincent was already moving.
Margaret grabbed his arm.
“Think.”
“I am.”
“No, you’re becoming the man Caroline feared grief would turn you into.”
He stopped.
Then looked at me.
“What do you suggest?”
It was the first time Vincent Marlowe had ever asked me that question when his family was threatened.
I thought.
“We give Vale exactly what he asked for.”
Vincent’s eyes narrowed.
“The ledger?”
“No.”
I looked at the photocopier in the records room.
“A ledger.”
Forty minutes later, I walked into M-17 carrying a leather book.
Alone.
At least that was what Silas Vale was supposed to believe.
Evan sat tied to the metal chair where my father had once been imprisoned.
His lip was split.
Across from him stood a silver-haired man in an immaculate navy suit.
Silas Vale.
He smiled.
“You look like Helen.”
I hated him immediately.
“Let Evan go.”
“The ledger first.”
I held it up.
“Release him.”
Silas laughed.
“You really are Thomas’s daughter.”
Evan struggled against the ropes.
“Claire, don’t.”
Silas struck him.
I moved forward.
“Stop!”
He smiled.
“There it is.”
“What?”
“The reason Vincent loves you.”
My breath caught.
Evan closed his eyes.
Silas continued.
“You still don’t understand, do you?”
“Understand what?”
“He didn’t hire you because you were talented.”
My stomach tightened.
Silas stepped closer.
“He hired you because he knew exactly who you were before you ever walked into his office.”
I stared at him.
“No.”
“Oh, yes.”
May you like
Silas smiled.
“Ask Vincent who arranged your first interview.”
