Chapter 5 - The Woman Vincent Buried Twice
For twenty-four hours, Evan refused to speak to either of us.
I couldn't blame him.
My mother's sentence had done what no threat, forged ledger or dead woman's photograph had managed to do.
It had made him question his own name.
Vincent denied it immediately.
“Evan is my son.”
Not I believe he is.
Not I raised him.
My son.
But Evan heard only the question beneath the certainty.
“What if you're wrong?”
Vincent's face had gone white.
“I’m not.”
“How do you know?”
“Because Alessandra told me.”
Evan laughed bitterly.
“Apparently Mom told a lot of people things you didn't know.”
That ended the conversation.
He left the mansion.
Vincent didn't send anyone after him.
That surprised me.
“You're letting him go?”
“He has security.”
“Does he know?”
“No.”
I stared at him.
“You learned nothing.”
Vincent's jaw tightened.
“They are not there to control him.”
“He'll see it that way.”
“I'd rather have an angry son than—”
“An alive one. Yes. I've heard the speech.”
His expression hardened.
Then softened.
“You're right.”
I hated how quickly those words disarmed me.
“Stop doing that.”
“What?”
“Admitting when I'm right.”
“I can disagree if it makes you more comfortable.”
“It might.”
For the first time since the gala, a real smile appeared.
Then it disappeared.
Because his son still didn't know who his father was.
We went to see Mom.
Lucidity came and went.
That afternoon, however, she remembered more.
Vincent stayed outside until she specifically asked for him.
Mom looked at his silver hair.
“You should have married someone boring after Alessandra.”
Vincent almost smiled.
“She would've hated that advice.”
“Yes.”
Mom's gaze moved to me.
“So would Claire.”
“Mom.”
“What?”
I had no idea how dementia could erase breakfast but preserve my emotional humiliation.
Vincent looked almost amused.
I pointed at him.
“Don't.”
He became serious immediately.
Mom squeezed my hand.
“Evan is Vincent's.”
Vincent exhaled.
“Thank you.”
“But Lorenzo told Dominic otherwise.”
There it was.
Vincent leaned forward.
“Why?”
Mom closed her eyes.
“Dominic couldn't have children.”
I stared.
“Your brother?”
Vincent nodded slowly.
“He and his wife tried for years.”
Mom continued.
“Lorenzo was cruel.”
Vincent's face became dark.
That description apparently required no argument.
“He told Dominic that Alessandra had been with him before Vincent.”
Vincent stood.
“What?”
Mom opened her eyes.
“He wanted them to hate each other.”
“Why would my father say that?”
“Control.”
One word.
I looked at Vincent.
His own description of Dominic returned to me.
He cared about being the man who decided who got things.
Perhaps Lorenzo had been the same.
Mom explained in fragments.
Years earlier, before Alessandra married Vincent, she had briefly dated Dominic.
Vincent knew that part.
“She ended it,” he said.
“Before I started seeing her.”
Lorenzo later told Dominic that Alessandra's pregnancy had begun earlier than she admitted.
It wasn't true.
But Dominic believed Evan might be his biological son.
Alessandra refused a paternity test because, according to Mom, she considered the accusation insulting.
Vincent didn't need one.
“He was born eight months after our wedding,” Vincent said.
“That proves nothing,” I said carefully.
“It proved enough to me.”
Mom smiled sadly.
“Dominic didn't want the company.”
“He wanted Evan,” I said.
“He wanted a son.”
The entire story changed.
Dominic had spent years resenting Vincent not just for power, but for a child he believed had been stolen from him.
When Alessandra began investigating financial crimes, she discovered Dominic had been paying people to collect information about Evan.
School records.
Medical records.
Blood type.
She confronted him.
He threatened her.
Five days later, she died.
Vincent stood beside the window.
“Why didn't she tell me?”
Mom looked at him with heartbreaking clarity.
“She was going to.”
“Why not immediately?”
“Because she thought you would kill your brother.”
Vincent said nothing.
That silence answered.
Mom reached for him.
To my surprise, Vincent moved closer and allowed her to take his hand.
“She loved you.”
His eyes became wet.
“I know.”
“She was afraid of what loving Evan would make you do.”
Vincent closed his eyes.
“She should have trusted me.”
Mom gave a faint laugh.
“You wanted everyone to trust you while telling nobody anything.”
I covered my mouth.
Even Vincent almost laughed.
“That sounds familiar,” I said.
He gave me a look.
Mom drifted after that.
We left her sleeping.
Outside, Vincent stopped beside the parking lot.
For a man whose name frightened half the city, he looked suddenly tired.
“I spent twelve years believing Alessandra didn't trust me.”
“She did.”
“Not enough.”
“Maybe she trusted exactly who you were.”
He looked at me.
“What does that mean?”
“She knew if Dominic threatened Evan, you might kill him.”
His jaw tightened.
“She wasn't wrong.”
“No.”
“Does that frighten you?”
“Yes.”
I answered honestly.
Something softened in his face.
“Good.”
“Good?”
“You should be frightened by certain things about me.”
I stared.
“That isn't romantic.”
“I am not trying to be romantic.”
“Also good.”
Neither of us moved.
The space between us felt dangerous for reasons that had nothing to do with Dominic.
I had resigned formally that morning.
Vincent accepted it.
He gave me three months' severance.
I tried to refuse.
He showed me the employment contract I'd signed years earlier.
It was standard for management staff.
“You planned that?”
“Three years ago?”
“Yes.”
“I was attracted to you, Claire. I was not clairvoyant.”
That had been awkward enough.
Now I was no longer his employee.
No longer Evan's girlfriend.
Every practical reason to keep distance was disappearing.
Except the largest one.
Evan.
“I’m moving out of the mansion,” I said.
Vincent's expression hardened.
“No.”
“There it is.”
“You are being targeted.”
“I can stay somewhere secure.”
“Where?”
“Hotel.”
“No.”
“Apartment.”
“No.”
“My cousin's.”
“No.”
I folded my arms.
“You understand resignation means you no longer decide where I live.”
“I never decided where you lived.”
“You're attempting it now.”
“I’m attempting to keep you breathing.”
“I’m aware.”
I stepped closer.
“But if I stay in your house after telling you I want you, while your son is devastated, I become exactly the woman people will say I am.”
His eyes darkened.
“I don't care what people say.”
“I do.”
“Why?”
“Because I have to live inside my own choices.”
That silenced him.
“I will stay somewhere protected. Marcus can approve it. But not your house.”
Vincent looked as if he wanted to argue for another hour.
Then:
“All right.”
I smiled.
“You hate that.”
“Very much.”
That evening I moved to an apartment owned by the Marlowe Foundation near downtown.
It had secure access and no sentimental history.
Perfect.
Evan texted me around midnight.
Can we talk tomorrow?
I answered yes.
We met at a coffee shop.
He looked exhausted but calmer.
“I had a DNA test done years ago.”
I stared.
“What?”
“After Mom died.”
“Why?”
“Uncle Dominic sent me a letter.”
My skin crawled.
“What did it say?”
“That Dad wasn't my father.”
“Did you tell Vincent?”
“No.”
“Of course not.”
He laughed weakly.
“Apparently secrecy is genetic even if parentage isn't.”
“What did the test say?”
“Dad is my father.”
Relief moved through me.
“You knew all along?”
“Yes.”
“Then why did Mom's statement upset you?”
“Because I didn't know why Dominic believed otherwise.”
He looked down.
“I spent twelve years thinking Uncle Dominic was just trying to manipulate me.”
“He was.”
“Yes, but he believed it too.”
That distinction mattered.
“What did the letter say?”
“That Dad stole my mother and me from him.”
“Did Alessandra know?”
“No.”
“Why didn't you tell anyone?”
“I was twenty.”
He shrugged.
“I threw it away after the test.”
“Do you still have the results?”
“Yes.”
“Then give Vincent a copy.”
Evan looked out the window.
“I will.”
We sat quietly.
Then he said, “You really love him?”
I wasn't ready for the word.
“I don't know.”
“That means yes.”
“That's not fair.”
“Claire, I dated you for eleven months.”
He smiled sadly.
“I know every face you make when you don't want to admit something.”
My eyes filled.
“I never wanted to hurt you.”
“I know.”
“It doesn't make it better.”
“No.”
He stirred his coffee.
“Can I ask something terrible?”
“Probably.”
“If Dad weren't in the picture, would you have married me?”
I thought carefully.
“No.”
Pain crossed his face.
But then relief.
“Thank you.”
“For hurting you again?”
“For not making him the reason we were wrong.”
I reached across the table.
He looked at my hand.
Then took it.
“I loved what I thought we could be,” I said.
“Me too.”
“But I think you loved being needed.”
He laughed.
“That sounds like something Dad would say.”
“He never did.”
“Still sounds like him.”
“And I loved feeling safe.”
“With me?”
“Yes.”
“Dad doesn't make you feel safe?”
I thought about Vincent.
“Not in the same way.”
Evan smiled faintly.
“Because he sees through you.”
“Yes.”
“That sounds exhausting.”
“It is.”
For the first time, we laughed together without pretending.
Then Evan became serious.
“I want you to know something.”
“What?”
“I am not giving you permission.”
I stared.
“For my father.”
“Good.”
“You don't need it.”
“Correct.”
“But I'm also not going to punish either of you forever.”
My throat tightened.
“Evan.”
“Not today.”
He squeezed my hand.
“Probably not tomorrow.”
Then he let go.
“But someday.”
That afternoon, Marcus called.
Peter Callahan's daughter had been found.
Alive.
She had been traveling.
When Marcus explained why he needed to speak with her, she said her father had indeed left a locked metal case.
She had never opened it.
The case was in a bank vault in Chicago.
By evening, arrangements were made to retrieve it with her present.
Inside were photographs.
Copies of financial records.
A small digital recorder.
And a letter addressed to Vincent.
He played the recording in front of Evan and me.
Alessandra's voice came through first.
If you're hearing this, I was probably right to be afraid.
Vincent closed his eyes.
Evan started crying immediately.
She described Dominic's belief that Evan was his son.
She described Gideon Vale's accounts.
She described confronting Dominic.
Then:
Vincent, if anything happens to me, protect Evan before you come after Dominic. Promise me that. He wants you angry. He wants you reckless.
Vincent covered his mouth.
The dead woman he had believed hadn't trusted him had known him perfectly.
The recording continued.
Samuel has the financial ledger. Peter has this recording. Between them, you can prove enough to remove Dominic from the companies. But Gideon is the larger danger.
Then Alessandra said the sentence that changed everything again.
Gideon isn't financing Dominic because he wants Marlowe money.
He's financing him because Lorenzo kept evidence against Gideon for twenty years.
Vincent frowned.
“What evidence?”
Alessandra answered from twelve years in the past.
The original records are in St. Catherine's.
My pulse jumped.
Vincent stood.
Marcus had warned us.
Mom had warned us.
Don't let Vincent go to St. Catherine's.
Alessandra continued.
And Vincent, if Dominic ever returns to Cincinnati, do not go there.
Because that's where he will expect you to come.
The recording ended.
Silence filled the room.
Then Vincent's phone rang.
Marcus answered from across the table.
His face changed.
“What?”
Vincent asked.
Marcus lowered the phone.
“Fire department.”
May you like
My stomach dropped.
“St. Catherine's is burning.”
