Chapter 4 - THE ACCIDENT THAT WAS NEVER AN ACCIDENT
By breakfast, Vincent had doubled the guards.
By lunch, he had fired three employees.
By sunset, I had decided I no longer cared how wealthy or powerful he was.
I wanted answers.
And I wanted them immediately.
"You knew someone might come after Lily," I accused.
We were standing in his study.
Marcus waited outside.
Vincent's expression was exhausted.
"I suspected someone might come after the evidence."
"My daughter is not evidence!"
"No," he said sharply. "She's not."
"Then stop talking about her like she's part of some business problem."
His jaw tightened.
I expected anger.
Instead, he lowered his head.
"You're right."
That was becoming a disturbing habit.
The most feared man in the city kept agreeing with me.
And somehow it made everything harder.
"Who broke into her room?"
"We're investigating."
"That's what people say when they don't want to answer."
Vincent looked up.
"The glove belonged to my family's security division."
"Your men?"
"Possibly."
"Then why should I trust any of them?"
He was silent.
I grabbed my purse.
"I'm taking Lily somewhere safe."
"Where?"
"Somewhere you don't know about."
"Elena, the person who entered her room may know more about your life than I do."
"That doesn't mean I have to stay."
"No."
He stepped away from the door.
"But before you leave, there's something I need to show you."
The original accident photographs were spread across his desk.
I recognized Daniel's truck immediately.
The blue cab.
The white delivery box.
The dent near the passenger door he'd complained about for months.
Then I saw the guardrail.
And the ravine.
And the twisted metal.
My breath caught.
Vincent moved the worst photographs aside.
"You don't have to look."
"Yes," I whispered. "I do."
A man entered carrying a folder.
He was introduced as Thomas Keene, a retired accident reconstruction specialist.
His gray hair was neatly combed.
His voice was gentle.
"Mrs. Reyes, I'm sorry for your loss."
I nodded.
He pointed toward a photograph.
"The official report attributed the crash to brake failure."
"Yes."
"But the inspection records are inconsistent."
"What does that mean?"
"The brake assembly photographed at the scene was not the same assembly listed in the maintenance records."
I stared.
"Could that be a mistake?"
"Possibly. But there's more."
He opened another page.
"Someone accessed the truck's maintenance file forty-eight hours before the crash. The authorization came from an executive account."
Vincent's face darkened.
"Which account?"
Keene hesitated.
Then slid the paper across the desk.
I read the name.
Julian Marquette.
Vincent's younger brother.
I expected Vincent to explode.
Instead, he became very still.
"Are you certain?"
"The login is documented," Keene replied. "It doesn't prove who physically used the account."
Vincent nodded.
"Understood."
I looked between them.
"Your brother?"
Vincent didn't answer.
"Your brother had access to Daniel's truck?"
"Yes."
"And you never knew?"
"No."
The room tilted.
I gripped the desk.
For three years, I had imagined Daniel's final moments.
The rain.
The guardrail.
His fear.
His last thought.
Had he thought of Lily?
Of me?
Had he known someone wanted him dead?
I pressed a hand over my mouth.
Vincent came around the desk.
"Elena."
"Don't."
He stopped.
I stared at him.
"If your family killed my husband, I will never forgive you."
His expression changed.
Not with anger.
With something closer to acceptance.
"You shouldn't."
That evening, Vincent confronted Julian in the west drawing room.
I wasn't supposed to hear it.
But the door stood slightly open.
And I had spent too many years being kept outside important conversations.
"Why did you access Daniel Reyes's maintenance file?" Vincent asked.
Julian laughed.
"Good evening to you too."
"Answer me."
"I oversee dozens of transportation contracts."
"That wasn't my question."
Julian set down his glass.
"Are you accusing me of something?"
"I'm asking why your credentials were used two days before Daniel died."
Silence.
Then Julian said, "You've been spending too much time with the maid."
I felt my face burn.
Vincent's voice dropped.
"Her name is Elena."
"Of course it is."
"Don't."
Julian laughed softly.
"Look at you. Forty-eight years old and falling apart over a housekeeper and her little girl."
A chair scraped.
Vincent spoke so quietly I could barely hear him.
"Daniel Reyes saved my life."
Julian stopped laughing.
"And if I discover that you had anything to do with his death, being my brother won't protect you."
I backed away before anyone saw me.
But Julian's final words followed me into the hallway.
"Careful, Vincent. Some ghosts should stay buried."
Later that night, I found Lily sitting beneath the kitchen table.
She had made a small house out of blankets.
Captain Buttons sat beside her.
"What are you doing?"
"Hiding."
My stomach tightened.
"From what?"
She shrugged.
"The angry voices."
I crawled under the table beside her.
The space was cramped.
My knees protested.
Lily handed me a plastic teacup.
"Tea?"
"Thank you."
She studied my face.
"Mommy, did Daddy go away because he was bad?"
My heart stopped.
"No, sweetheart."
"Then why didn't he come back?"
I pulled her into my lap.
"Because something terrible happened."
She considered this.
"Did he forget the way home?"
I closed my eyes.
"No, baby. He loved us very much."
She hugged her rabbit.
"Mister looks like he forgot the way home."
I looked at her.
"What do you mean?"
"His eyes are always lost."
I didn't know what to say.
Then a shadow appeared beside the table.
Vincent.
He was carrying a plate of pancakes.
Lily brightened.
"Mister!"
He crouched.
"Am I allowed inside?"
She considered him.
"Did you wash your hands?"
"Yes."
"Did you yell?"
"Not today."
"Then yes."
Vincent lowered himself onto the floor.
His expensive trousers wrinkled.
He didn't seem to care.
He placed the pancakes between us.
For a few minutes, we ate beneath a kitchen table like an ordinary family.
And for a few minutes, the world felt safe.
Then Vincent's phone vibrated.
He glanced at the screen.
His face hardened.
"Marcus found something," he said.
I followed him into the hallway.
Marcus was waiting with a sealed evidence bag.
Inside lay a small metal component.
"The mechanic who serviced Daniel's truck kept this," Marcus explained.
Vincent examined it.
"What is it?"
"A replacement fitting. The mechanic says someone ordered him to install a defective part."
"Who?"
Marcus swallowed.
"He says he never saw the man's face."
"Then how did he identify him?"
Marcus held out a photograph.
"The man wore a ring."
A heavy silver ring.
A crowned letter M.
The same emblem found on the intruder's glove.
Vincent stared at the photograph.
Then he whispered a name.
"Arthur."
I frowned.
"Who's Arthur?"
Vincent looked at me.
"Arthur Bellamy."
His voice sounded hollow.
"My oldest friend."
"And?"
Vincent swallowed.
"The man who has been responsible for protecting this family for twenty-five years."
Across the estate, Arthur Bellamy stood in a dark office.
He was sixty-one.
Tall.
Silver-haired.
Impeccably dressed.
He had worked for the Marquettes since Vincent was a teenager.
And he was watching security footage of Lily beneath the kitchen table.
He paused the recording.
Zoomed in on Captain Buttons.
Then made a phone call.
"We have a problem," he said.
A voice answered.
"Has Vincent found the evidence?"
"Not yet."
"Then get the rabbit."
Arthur looked at the screen.
"And the child?"
A long silence.
Then the voice replied.
"If necessary."
Arthur closed his eyes.
For the first time in twenty-five years, his hand trembled.
May you like
Because the voice on the phone belonged to Julian Marquette.
And Julian had just ordered the death of a four-year-old girl.
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