Chapter 6 - THE LIE THAT BROUGHT ME TO VINCENT
I refused to look toward the hidden camera in Vincent’s surveillance van.
Silas wanted doubt.
Unfortunately, he had chosen the right weapon.
“Give me the ledger,” he said.
I tossed it across the floor.
He picked it up.
While he examined the fake pages, I moved toward Evan.
Silas’s men blocked me.
“Not yet.”
He flipped through the ledger.
Then smiled.
“You disappoint me.”
My stomach dropped.
He tore out a page.
“Photocopier toner leaves microscopic tracking patterns. Did Vincent really think I wouldn’t check?”
He threw the fake ledger into a puddle.
“Take her.”
The lights went out.
Vincent’s team moved.
The next thirty seconds became noise.
Shouting.
Footsteps.
Glass breaking.
I dropped behind a concrete barrier.
Someone fired.
Then Vincent appeared through the darkness.
He reached Evan first.
Cut the ropes.
Then came for me.
Silas escaped through the river exit.
Again.
But Evan was alive.
That mattered more.
Outside, paramedics examined him.
He refused the ambulance until he saw me.
“You came.”
“Of course.”
“You shouldn’t have.”
“I know.”
A weak smile touched his mouth.
“That might be the first honest thing you’ve said to me tonight.”
“I’ve been honest with you.”
“Eventually.”
Fair.
Then his expression changed.
“The payments in the ledger.”
“We saw them.”
“I didn’t take money from Vale.”
“I believe you.”
He stared at me.
“Dad won’t.”
“He will when you explain.”
Evan looked toward Vincent.
“No. He’ll investigate me first.”
Vincent heard.
“Yes.”
Evan laughed bitterly.
“See?”
“But I’ll investigate the evidence, not assume your guilt.”
Evan’s expression shifted.
It was a tiny thing.
But something between father and son moved half an inch toward repair.
The payments were eventually traced to an account opened with Evan’s stolen identity.
Vale had been preparing to frame him.
But Silas’s accusation about my employment remained.
At sunrise, I confronted Vincent in his office.
“Did you arrange my interview?”
He did not lie.
“Yes.”
My chest tightened.
“Why?”
“Thomas contacted me anonymously three years ago.”
I stared.
“My father sent me to you?”
“No. He asked me to make certain you were financially secure.”
“So you gave me a job.”
“I gave you an interview.”
“Don’t play semantics.”
“You competed against eleven candidates.”
“But you put my résumé in the room.”
“Yes.”
“And then spent three years pretending you didn’t know my father.”
“Yes.”
Anger burned hotter than heartbreak.
“Was any part of my career mine?”
“All of it.”
“How can I know?”
“Because I tried to fire you twice.”
I blinked.
“What?”
“The first month you worked here, you publicly corrected my projections in front of the executive committee.”
“They were wrong.”
“I know. That was irritating.”
Despite myself, I almost laughed.
He continued.
“Then you stopped a contract I had already approved because you discovered the supplier was falsifying safety reports.”
“They were.”
“Yes.”
“You threatened to fire me.”
“And Margaret told me I would be an idiot.”
“That sounds like Margaret.”
“You earned every promotion after that.”
I wanted to believe him.
That was the problem.
“Why didn’t you tell me about my father?”
“Because Thomas begged me not to.”
“You chose his wishes over mine.”
“Yes.”
“That was wrong.”
“Yes.”
No defense.
No excuse.
Just the truth.
It disarmed me.
Vincent came around the desk but stopped several feet away.
“Claire, I have spent twenty-six years believing protection justified secrecy.”
“And now?”
“Now I have a son who hates me and a woman I—”
He stopped.
My heartbeat stumbled.
“A woman you what?”
His eyes held mine.
“Don’t.”
“You started that sentence.”
“I shouldn’t finish it.”
“Why?”
“Because Evan is upstairs with stitches in his face because a man exploited our family, and you rejected him less than twelve hours ago.”
“That doesn’t change what I feel.”
“It changes what I’m willing to do about it.”
I stepped closer.
“So you do feel something.”
Vincent looked exhausted.
“Yes.”
One word.
Three years.
My eyes burned.
“How long?”
“Long enough that I should have transferred you to another division.”
“But you didn’t.”
“No.”
“Why?”
His laugh was almost silent.
“Because apparently I am not nearly as disciplined as everyone believes.”
I stood close enough now to see the scar beside his eyebrow.
“Did you ever plan to tell me?”
“No.”
That hurt more than expected.
“Never?”
“You were seventeen years younger than me. My employee. Then my son fell in love with you.”
“I’m thirty-four, Vincent.”
“I’m aware.”
“I decide what age difference bothers me.”
“And I decide what kind of father I want to be.”
There it was.
The impossible wall.
Evan.
I stepped away.
“Then we have nothing else to discuss.”
I reached the door.
“Claire.”
I stopped.
“If circumstances were different—”
I turned.
“They aren’t.”
Then I left.
That afternoon I submitted my resignation.
Vincent accepted it.
No argument.
No manipulation.
Just his signature.
That somehow hurt worst of all.
Three days later, I packed my office.
Evan appeared in the doorway.
His bruises were fading.
“I heard you quit.”
“Yes.”
“Because of Dad?”
“Because I need to know who I am when I’m not standing between two Marlowe men.”
He nodded.
“That’s probably smart.”
I closed a box.
“I’m sorry.”
“I know.”
“I never wanted to humiliate you.”
“I know that too.”
He looked toward the empty hallway.
“Do you love him?”
I could have softened it.
I didn’t.
“Yes.”
Evan swallowed.
Then he nodded.
“Does he love you?”
“I don’t know.”
Evan gave me a sad smile.
“Yes, you do.”
Before I could answer, his phone rang.
He looked at the screen.
Unknown number.
He answered.
His face changed.
“What?”
Then he put the call on speaker.
Silas Vale’s voice filled the office.
“Tell your father I have Thomas Bennett.”
May you like
My blood turned cold.
“And if Claire wants her father alive, she should ask Vincent what really happened the night Caroline died.”
