Chapter 7 - The Price of Trust
Alex woke beneath white blankets.
For one terrifying second, she remembered only water.
Then Roman appeared beside the hospital bed.
His hair was still damp.
A cut crossed his temple.
“You look terrible,” she whispered.
Relief changed his entire face.
“So do you.”
“Charming.”
“You jumped into the East River.”
“You dragged me.”
“You’re welcome.”
She smiled.
Then remembered.
“My father.”
Roman’s humor disappeared.
“We’ll find the truth.”
“Your father too.”
“Yes.”
Something had changed between them in the river.
Maybe before.
Alex reached for his hand.
Roman looked at their fingers as if physical affection were more dangerous than bullets.
“Roman.”
“Yes?”
“Why did you come after me that first night?”
He could have lied.
He didn’t.
“I intended to use you.”
Her fingers loosened.
Roman continued.
“For approximately seven minutes.”
Despite herself, she laughed.
“What changed?”
“You.”
“That’s annoyingly vague.”
“You were devastated, and instead of asking me to destroy Preston, you asked me to help you expose him.”
Roman looked at her.
“You wanted truth more than revenge.”
“And you?”
“I wanted revenge.”
“Past tense?”
His gaze held hers.
“Mostly.”
The door opened.
Daniel entered with terrible news.
Charles Kensington was dead.
His body had been discovered inside his Manhattan office.
Single gunshot.
The police were calling it suicide.
Roman did not believe it.
Neither did Alex.
“Convenient,” she said.
Daniel nodded.
“And the private server?”
“Gone.”
Preston and Sabrina arrived an hour later.
Sabrina looked devastated.
Whatever Charles had done, he had still been her father.
Alex understood that contradiction better now than she wanted to.
Preston stood awkwardly near the door.
“I owe you an apology.”
Alex stared at him.
“One?”
He lowered his eyes.
Fair.
“I used your credentials. I told myself nobody would prosecute you because Kensington would control the investigation.”
“You gambled my life on Charles protecting me.”
“Yes.”
“And Sabrina?”
Preston looked at her.
“I thought marrying her would make me untouchable.”
Alex felt no jealousy.
Only disappointment.
“You loved power more than either of us.”
Preston swallowed.
“Yes.”
Sabrina closed her eyes.
That truth hurt her now.
Alex almost felt sorry for her.
Almost.
Preston handed Alex a key.
“What is this?”
“Safe-deposit box.”
“Whose?”
“Mine.”
He looked ashamed.
“I kept something Charles wanted destroyed.”
Inside the box was an old leather notebook.
Thomas Carter’s notebook.
Alex recognized her father’s handwriting immediately.
Her knees weakened.
Page after page documented suspicious antiquities.
Dates.
Buyers.
Shell companies.
Names.
At the end was one sentence.
If anything happens to me, Giovanni Costa knows the rest.
Alex looked at Roman.
Their fathers had known each other.
More than that.
They had been working together.
The revelation rearranged twenty years of both their lives.
Daniel turned several pages.
“There’s a symbol repeated here.”
A small crown.
Roman recognized it.
“My father used that mark for one person.”
“Who?”
Roman’s expression changed.
“The Broker.”
Preston frowned.
“Charles?”
“No.”
Roman shook his head.
“Someone above him.”
Alex stared.
Charles Kensington had not been the mastermind.
He had been another piece.
“Who is the Broker?”
Roman closed the notebook.
“I don’t know.”
Then Preston’s phone rang.
He answered.
His face drained.
“What?”
He looked at Alex.
“Sabbes.”
Her heart stopped.
“What about it?”
“Federal agents are there.”
“That was expected.”
“No.”
Preston shook his head.
“They arrested your director.”
Alex stared.
“Martin?”
Martin Ellison had hired Alex straight out of graduate school.
Mentored her.
Promoted her.
Defended her work.
Preston continued.
“They found Charles Kensington’s missing server in Martin’s office.”
Roman stood.
Alex understood before anyone said it.
Martin Ellison.
The man who controlled every appraisal database.
The man with access to her signature.
The man who knew her father.
The man who had hired her.
“Oh my God.”
Roman looked at her.
“What?”
Alex remembered something Martin once told her.
At her first promotion.
Your father would be proud.
At the time, she thought it was kindness.
Now it sounded different.
“How did Martin know my father?”
Nobody answered.
Alex reached for her laptop.
She searched archived photographs from Sabbes.
Twenty-two years earlier.
A charity dinner.
There was Thomas Carter.
Giovanni Costa.
Charles Kensington.
Preston’s father.
And standing behind them—
Martin Ellison.
Roman stared.
“The Broker.”
Alex whispered:
“He hired me because of my father.”
“No.”
Roman looked at the photograph.
“He hired you because he was afraid of what your father left you.”
Alex’s phone rang.
Unknown number.
She answered.
Martin’s familiar voice said:
“Alexandra.”
Her blood froze.
“Martin.”
“You’ve caused an extraordinary amount of trouble.”
“You killed my father.”
A pause.
Then:
“Your father made a choice.”
Roman reached for the phone.
Alex stopped him.
“Where are you?”
Martin laughed.
“You still think I’m under arrest?”
Alex looked at Daniel.
Daniel was already checking.
His expression confirmed it.
Martin had escaped.
Then Martin said:
“I have something you want.”
“What?”
“Your mother.”
Alex stopped breathing.
“She’s been dead eighteen years.”
“No, Alexandra.”
May you like
Martin’s voice softened.
“That is simply what I needed you to believe.”
