Chapter 6 - THE BRIDE WHO WAS NEVER GOING TO BE A BRIDE
Elizabeth Hale had spent her entire life believing humiliation was something that happened to other people.
Ara decided to correct that assumption.
The next morning, every major Chicago newsroom received an anonymous package.
Not evidence of murder.
Not yet.
Something smaller.
Financial records proving the Hale Foundation had diverted charitable donations into private accounts.
By noon, reporters surrounded Richard Hale’s offices.
By one, federal investigators publicly confirmed they were reviewing the foundation.
At 1:17, Elizabeth called Dorian.
He ignored her.
At 1:19, she called again.
At 1:24, Ara’s phone rang.
“How did you get this number?” Ara asked.
“You stupid little bitch.”
“Good afternoon, Elizabeth.”
“You think this is funny?”
“No. I think it’s overdue.”
“My father will destroy you.”
“Your father seems busy.”
Elizabeth breathed hard.
Ara could imagine her pacing.
“Marcus dies tonight.”
“Then the files go everywhere.”
Silence.
That was the lie.
They had only sent the charity records.
Richard did not know how much evidence Marcus had gathered.
Ara continued.
“If my father isn’t alive at midnight, everything is released.”
“You’re bluffing.”
“Maybe.”
Elizabeth hung up.
Dorian watched from across the room.
“She believed enough of it.”
“Good.”
“You enjoyed that.”
“Immensely.”
A faint smile appeared.
It disappeared when his security chief, Mateo Ruiz, entered.
“We found Victor Sloane.”
“Where?”
“An apartment in River North.”
“Alive?”
“Yes.”
Dorian stood.
Ara followed.
“No.”
She folded her arms.
“We’ve discussed that word.”
“This isn’t a restaurant argument.”
“My father is being held because of information I carried into your life.”
“Marcus was in my life before you were.”
“Wonderful. Shared custody.”
Mateo hid a smile.
Dorian glared at him.
Forty minutes later, they entered Sloane’s apartment.
It was empty.
But not abandoned.
Maps covered a table.
Photographs of Dorian.
Routes.
Vehicles.
Security schedules.
And one photograph of Ara.
Taken eleven months earlier.
Her first week at the Velour Room.
Ara stared at it.
“They knew I was there.”
Dorian picked up another photograph.
Marcus entering an apartment building.
Eight months ago.
“They’ve been watching both of you.”
Mateo opened a laptop.
“Boss.”
An email remained on screen.
Sender: EHale.
Dorian read it.
Change of plan. DeLorenzo remains alive until marriage documents are signed. Father needs controlling interest first.
Ara looked at him.
“Controlling interest in what?”
“My shipping company.”
“Why?”
Dorian understood.
“Ports.”
Marcus’s files had shown Richard moving illegal cargo through companies he did not officially control.
Dorian had spent twelve years closing those channels.
Marriage to Elizabeth would give the Hales legal leverage over his holdings if something happened to him.
His death afterward would make Elizabeth one of the richest women in Illinois.
“She never intended to marry you because she loved you,” Ara said.
“I never believed she did.”
“Did you love her?”
“No.”
The answer came too quickly.
Ara looked at him.
Dorian looked back.
Something passed between them.
Mateo very deliberately walked into the other room.
Ara almost laughed.
“This is a terrible time.”
“Yes.”
“For whatever that look is.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You don’t have to.”
Dorian stepped closer.
“I’ve spent most of my life around people who say what they think I want to hear.”
“And then you met a waitress who told your fiancée no.”
“Exactly.”
His hand rose toward the bruise at her collarbone but stopped before touching it.
Ara’s breath changed.
“Dorian.”
“I know.”
He lowered his hand.
The restraint affected her more than contact would have.
Mateo returned.
“I hate to interrupt whatever extremely professional investigation is happening here.”
Ara stepped back.
“What?”
“I found an address.”
Sloane’s laptop contained a recurring GPS location.
An abandoned paper mill twenty miles outside Chicago.
They drove there after dark.
Dorian brought six men.
Ara remained in the vehicle.
For approximately forty seconds.
Then she got out.
The mill smelled of wet concrete and rust.
They entered through a loading bay.
No guards.
Too easy.
Ara knew it.
“So does this feel like a trap to everyone, or just me?”
Dorian signaled his men to spread out.
They found a chair in the center of the warehouse.
Rope lay on the floor.
Blood marked one armrest.
Marcus had been there.
On the wall behind it, someone had painted:
MIDNIGHT MEANS MIDNIGHT.
Ara approached.
Then she heard a phone ringing.
An old cellphone sat beneath the chair.
Dorian answered.
Richard Hale.
“You should have brought my daughter-in-law.”
Dorian’s face hardened.
“She’ll never be your daughter-in-law.”
“Then Marcus dies.”
“You kill Marcus, your files become public.”
Richard laughed.
“You mean the files I allowed him to collect?”
Dorian and Ara looked at each other.
“What?”
“You still think Marcus infiltrated my organization?”
Richard sounded almost amused.
“He worked for me.”
Ara felt the floor disappear beneath her.
“No,” she whispered.
Richard heard her.
“Ah. There she is.”
Ara took the phone.
“You’re lying.”
“Ask your father why your mother was really at Lake Geneva.”
Ara’s fingers tightened.
“He told you Katherine discovered my operation?”
“Yes.”
“That part is true.”
Richard paused.
“But who do you think brought her there?”
Ara stopped breathing.
“Marcus.”
“No.”
“Your father was my most trusted operative for eighteen years.”
The phone trembled in her hand.
Richard delivered the final blow gently.
“The man you’re trying to save is the man who gave me the order to silence your mother.”
The line disconnected.
Ara stood motionless.
Then behind them came a slow clap.
They turned.
Marcus Vale emerged from the shadows.
No ropes.
No guards.
No injuries except the bruise Ara had heard him receive over the phone.
May you like
He looked at his daughter.
And he was holding a gun.
