Chapter 7 - The War Inside the Family
Patricia Vale was seventy-three years old and looked nothing like a woman who had spent forty years married to a man rumored to frighten judges, businessmen and criminals.
She wore flat shoes.
A camel coat.
No visible jewelry except a wedding ring.
We met at a law office chosen by her attorney.
Vincent sat beside me.
Marcus stood near the door.
Patricia looked at Vincent first.
“You have your father's eyes.”
“That has rarely been intended as a compliment.”
“It wasn't.”
I liked her immediately.
Gideon Vale apparently did not know she was there.
That made Vincent suspicious.
It made me terrified.
Patricia opened a leather handbag and removed a stack of letters.
“Gideon believes Dominic is loyal to him.”
“He isn't?” Vincent asked.
“No.”
“What does Dominic want?”
“You.”
Vincent's face did not change.
Patricia looked at me.
“And Evan.”
My stomach tightened.
“Why Evan if the DNA test proves Vincent is his father?”
“Because Dominic no longer cares about biology.”
She folded her hands.
“He has spent more than twenty years believing Lorenzo robbed him of a son.”
“Evan isn't his,” I said.
“I know.”
“Does Dominic?”
“Yes.”
We stared.
“How?” Vincent asked.
Patricia gave a tired smile.
“Gideon had the same test done years ago.”
“And didn't tell Dominic?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because a man who believes he is fighting for his stolen child is easier to control than a man who knows he has nothing left.”
Even Vincent looked disgusted.
Patricia continued.
“Gideon kept Dominic angry. Useful. Dependent.”
“Why are you telling us?”
She looked at me.
“Because my husband has decided Claire's mother is expendable.”
Vincent became very still.
Patricia lifted one hand.
“She is safe today.”
“How do you know?”
“Because Gideon still listens to me occasionally.”
“Occasionally?”
“Marriage becomes complicated after forty-six years.”
Understatement apparently belonged to women married to dangerous men.
“What does he want?” I asked.
“Samuel's ledger and Alessandra's recording.”
“Why?”
“Because they connect Gideon to old financial crimes.”
“Statute limitations may have expired,” Vincent said.
“Some.”
Patricia nodded.
“Not all consequences are criminal.”
“What else is he hiding?”
She looked toward her attorney.
The attorney nodded.
Patricia answered.
“Gideon's legitimate company was built partly with money diverted through your family businesses.”
Vincent's eyes narrowed.
“How much?”
“Enough to destroy his public empire if shareholders discover it.”
I thought of Vale Logistics.
Publicly traded.
Thousands of employees.
“Does the evidence prove that?”
“The St. Catherine's records would have.”
“Those burned.”
“Yes.”
Something about the way she said it bothered me.
“You don't sound worried.”
Patricia looked at me.
“Because Alessandra gave me copies.”
Vincent stood.
“What?”
Patricia did not flinch.
“Your wife came to me two weeks before she died.”
“You knew?”
“Yes.”
“And you said nothing for twelve years?”
“My husband threatened my children.”
The words came hard.
Silence.
Patricia had two daughters and a son.
All adults now.
“At first I thought he was bluffing,” she continued. “Then Alessandra died.”
Vincent sat again.
The anger didn't disappear.
But he understood.
So did I.
Families like these had taught everyone the same terrible lesson.
Silence was survival.
Patricia reached into her bag.
“I kept one packet.”
“Where?” Vincent asked.
“Not somewhere Gideon can reach.”
“What do you want?”
“Protection for my grandchildren.”
Vincent shook his head.
“I cannot promise—”
“I know.”
Her gaze moved to me.
“I want Claire to decide.”
I blinked.
“Why me?”
“Because every man involved in this has spent years deciding what women should know for their own safety.”
Vincent looked away.
Patricia smiled faintly.
“You've noticed.”
“Yes.”
“What do you want me to decide?”
“Whether to give the documents to federal investigators now.”
“Why wouldn't you?”
“Because they will destroy Gideon's company.”
“That isn't your responsibility.”
“Seven thousand people work there.”
My stomach dropped.
The pattern repeated.
Criminal men made decisions.
Employees carried consequences.
Patricia looked at me.
“I know Gideon deserves what happens to him. I am less certain his truck drivers do.”
I understood.
Too well.
We spent two hours discussing options with attorneys.
The solution was not dramatic.
It was responsible.
Patricia would provide evidence through counsel.
Regulators could move against individuals while arrangements were made to stabilize legitimate operations.
No guarantees.
No magical protection.
But avoiding accountability entirely to protect employees would only preserve the same cycle.
Before she left, Patricia looked at Vincent.
“Dominic will ask for a meeting.”
“How do you know?”
“Because Gideon plans to give him up.”
Vincent frowned.
“Why?”
“My husband now understands Dominic cannot recover the ledger.”
“So?”
“He needs someone to blame.”
“When will Dominic realize?”
“Soon.”
She looked toward the door.
“When he does, he will come for Evan.”
My stomach turned.
Vincent immediately called his son.
No answer.
Again.
No answer.
Vincent's face changed.
Marcus tried.
Nothing.
Security tracking showed Evan's car near his office.
Vincent stood.
We drove there.
The car sat in the underground garage.
Empty.
Evan's phone lay beneath the driver's seat.
Vincent became terrifyingly calm.
Marcus checked cameras.
Evan had entered the garage at 10:14.
A black SUV arrived three minutes later.
Two men approached.
The cameras failed for exactly eight minutes.
When they returned, the SUV was gone.
So was Evan.
Vincent stared at the screen.
“No.”
His voice was barely audible.
I touched his arm.
He looked at me as if he had forgotten I was there.
Then his phone rang.
Unknown number.
He answered.
Dominic's voice came through the speaker.
I had never heard it before.
It resembled Vincent's.
That was the most disturbing part.
“Little brother.”
Vincent's hand tightened around the phone.
“If you hurt him—”
“You've said that before.”
“Dominic.”
“Do you still have Samuel's book?”
Vincent looked at me.
“Yes.”
“And Alessandra's recording?”
“Yes.”
“Bring both.”
“Where?”
Dominic laughed softly.
“You know.”
St. Catherine's.
The burned school.
Vincent's face hardened.
“You touch Evan and nothing on this earth keeps you alive.”
“There you are.”
Dominic sounded pleased.
“The brother I remember.”
Then another voice came through.
Evan.
“Dad, don't—”
The line went dead.
Vincent moved immediately.
I grabbed his arm.
“No.”
He turned.
“Claire.”
“Alessandra literally recorded herself telling you not to go there if Dominic returned.”
“He has my son.”
“Which is exactly why he knows you'll stop thinking.”
“Let go.”
“No.”
His eyes became dangerous.
Not to me.
To the world.
“I already buried his mother.”
“And if you walk into a burned building alone carrying the only evidence against Dominic, Evan may bury you.”
Vincent's breathing became heavy.
I stepped in front of him.
“Look at me.”
“Claire.”
“Look at me.”
He did.
“You asked me what I was willing to do.”
His jaw tightened.
“I’m asking you now.”
“What?”
“Are you willing to trust someone else with Evan's life?”
Pain moved through his face.
He hated the question because the answer had always been no.
Marcus stepped forward.
“Sir.”
Vincent looked at him.
“We have options.”
“I will not gamble with my son.”
Marcus answered quietly.
“You pay me because you trust me to bring people home.”
Vincent's eyes closed.
For a second, the feared man disappeared.
Only a father remained.
“Bring him home.”
“We will.”
I watched Vincent surrender control perhaps for the first time in his adult life.
It nearly broke him.
The plan involved law enforcement because Patricia's documents had already opened an active federal investigation.
Dominic wanted evidence connected to that case.
Nobody told me operational details.
I didn't ask.
I knew only that Vincent would go to the meeting because refusing might endanger Evan.
But he would not go alone.
The ledger Dominic received would be a copy.
The recording too.
The real evidence was already in legal custody.
Two hours later, Vincent left for St. Catherine's.
Before he got into the car, I stopped him.
“What?”
he asked.
I kissed him.
Not elegantly.
Not carefully.
He froze.
Then held my face.
“I love you,” I said.
His eyes closed.
“Claire.”
“Don't make me regret finally saying it.”
He rested his forehead against mine.
“I love you too.”
Then he left.
Waiting was worse than danger.
Danger gave you something to do.
Waiting gave imagination complete freedom.
I sat beside Marcus's communications coordinator in a secure office.
Patricia Vale waited with me.
Neither of us spoke much.
Twenty-three minutes passed.
Then thirty-seven.
Then fifty.
A phone rang.
The coordinator answered.
His face changed.
My heart stopped.
“What?”
He looked at me.
“They found Evan.”
I stood.
“Alive?”
“Yes.”
My knees almost gave way.
“And Vincent?”
The coordinator hesitated.
“He's alive.”
The hesitation destroyed the relief.
“What happened?”
“I don't have full information.”
“Is he hurt?”
“Yes.”
Everything blurred.
“How badly?”
“We don't know.”
Patricia caught my arm.
I didn't remember nearly falling.
Then another call came.
The confrontation at St. Catherine's had collapsed almost immediately.
Dominic discovered the documents were copies.
He became violent.
Evan fought one of the men holding him.
Vincent moved to protect his son.
A gun fired.
One shot.
Vincent was hit.
Dominic tried to flee.
He was arrested less than a mile away.
Evan rode with his father to the hospital.
May you like
By the time I arrived, the most feared man in Cincinnati was in surgery.
And his son sat in the hallway wearing Vincent's blood on his shirt.
