Chapter 4 - The Escape
The shooter was found bleeding in the west corridor.
He had been one of the temporary catering staff.
The bullet had entered his shoulder after Marcus fired back.
Raymond disappeared through a service tunnel built beneath the original estate during Prohibition.
The tunnel had not appeared on any modern floor plan.
But Raymond had grown up in the house.
He knew every hidden door.
By midnight, police units had roadblocks on three highways.
Adrian’s security teams searched private airfields.
Federal contacts checked border crossings.
Raymond vanished anyway.
Claire sat in Adrian’s bedroom while Dr. Rowan examined a bruise on her hip.
“The baby is fine,” he said.
Adrian stood six feet away looking as if he wanted to arrest gravity.
Claire noticed.
“Stop staring.”
“I’m not staring.”
“You’ve been staring for forty minutes.”
“I’m monitoring.”
Dr. Rowan smiled.
Claire pointed at him.
“Don’t encourage him.”
Adrian ignored both of them.
“Any bleeding?”
“No.”
“Pain?”
“Normal soreness.”
“Could stress—”
“Adrian,” Rowan said patiently, “she is pregnant, not made of glass.”
Adrian’s expression suggested glass would be easier.
After Rowan left, Claire stood.
Adrian immediately stepped forward.
She held up a hand.
“I can walk.”
“I know.”
“Then stop acting like I’m carrying a live grenade.”
His eyes dropped to her stomach.
“That metaphor is unhelpful.”
Despite everything, Claire laughed.
The laugh broke something open between them.
Adrian sat on the edge of the bed.
His shoulders dropped.
For the first time all night, he looked tired.
Claire sat beside him.
“You said you love me.”
“Yes.”
“You tore up a legally expensive contract in front of your entire family.”
“Yes.”
“You also tackled me into a marble floor.”
“I apologized.”
“You did not.”
“I’m apologizing now.”
She leaned against him.
For a minute, neither spoke.
Then Claire said, “I love you too.”
Adrian closed his eyes.
His forehead touched hers.
Those four words frightened him more than bullets.
She could see it.
“Claire.”
“I know.”
“No. You don’t.”
“Then tell me.”
He looked at her.
“Everyone I’ve loved has either died, left, or been used against me.”
Claire’s expression softened.
“My mother died when I was eighteen. My father trusted people who betrayed him. My fiancée when I was twenty-seven sold information about me to the press after someone paid her.”
Claire knew pieces of the story.
Not this.
Adrian continued.
“So when I asked you to marry me, I chose a contract because contracts have exits. Terms. Limits.”
“And love doesn’t.”
“No.”
Claire touched his face.
“Then you’re in trouble.”
A faint smile appeared.
“Yes.”
By morning, the police had identified the shooter as Martin Kells, a former private contractor who had received $80,000 from a shell company connected to Raymond.
Kells asked for a lawyer.
Then he asked for protection.
That was more interesting.
“He’s afraid of Raymond?” Claire asked.
Marcus shook his head.
“No.”
“Then who?”
Marcus looked at Adrian.
“Kells says Raymond isn’t running this.”
The room went still.
Claire frowned.
“Who is?”
“Kells won’t say until he has federal protection.”
Adrian paced once across the study.
Claire watched him.
“What if Raymond was never the top of this?”
Adrian stopped.
“That would explain how he had access to old medical systems without leaving traces.”
“And how he disappeared despite roadblocks.”
Marcus nodded.
“And how a temporary caterer with no family connection got inside a supposedly secure event.”
Claire’s stomach tightened.
“Someone in Vale Meridian?”
Adrian’s face hardened.
“Someone high enough to control logistics.”
They reviewed internal access logs.
Six executives had that level of authority.
Five were in Manhattan during the attack.
One was at the estate.
Eleanor Vale.
Raymond’s daughter.
Claire stared at the screen.
“No.”
Adrian said nothing.
“Eleanor looked terrified when Raymond admitted nothing.”
“People can act.”
“She screamed when the gun went off.”
“People scream.”
Claire turned toward him.
“You think she helped her father.”
“I think I don’t trust coincidence.”
But Eleanor surprised them.
She arrived at the study ten minutes later carrying a flash drive.
“I know what you think,” she said.
Adrian’s eyes narrowed.
“What do I think?”
“That I helped him escape.”
“Did you?”
“No.”
She placed the drive on the desk.
“But I know who did.”
Claire stood.
Eleanor looked pale.
“My father has been afraid of someone for years.”
Adrian’s expression shifted.
“Who?”
“I didn’t know until last night.”
She pointed to the drive.
“My father kept private audio recordings. Insurance. He called them his lifeboat.”
Marcus inserted the drive into an isolated laptop.
Dozens of files appeared.
The oldest was nine years old.
The newest was three days old.
One filename made Adrian freeze.
VINCENT VALE.
Claire looked at him.
“Who is Vincent?”
Adrian’s face had gone completely blank.
“My father.”
Claire stared.
“Your father is dead.”
“Yes.”
“Since when?”
“Twelve years.”
Eleanor shook her head.
“No.”
Adrian turned toward her.
She swallowed.
“That’s what Dad was terrified of.”
Claire felt the room tilt.
Eleanor whispered, “Your father didn’t die twelve years ago.”
May you like
Adrian did not move.
“He disappeared.”
