Chapter 3 - The Woman Who Welcomed Vincent Home for Twenty Years Was the One Person He Was Told Never to QuestionEvelyn Vale invited us to dinner.

That alone terrified me.

Vincent didn't appear concerned.

He wore a dark suit.

No tie.

His expression was unreadable.

I wore a simple black dress.

Evelyn welcomed us with a smile.

"My dear."

She kissed Vincent's cheek.

"You've been away too long."

Vincent's eyes remained cold.

"I've been busy."

"Business?"

"Always."

Her gaze moved toward me.

"And you must be Evelyn."

"No."

I smiled politely.

"I'm Claire."

She looked surprised.

"Of course."

She knew my name.

I noticed.

Vincent noticed too.

At dinner, Evelyn asked harmless questions.

My work.

My family.

My childhood.

Every answer seemed to interest her.

Then she asked:

"Did your father ever discuss the Morettis?"

My fork stopped.

Vincent looked at her.

"No."

She smiled.

"Such a shame."

"Why?"

"History is wasted on people who don't ask enough questions."

Her tone was pleasant.

But I could feel the danger underneath.

After dinner, Vincent followed me into the hallway.

"You shouldn't have come."

"You brought me."

"I know."

"Do you trust her?"

"No."

That was the first honest answer we'd shared about her.

Then a woman screamed.

A glass shattered.

We ran toward the sound.

Evelyn stood in the study.

A body lay on the floor.

Her assistant.

Dead.

Vincent looked at the windows.

"Security."

"They're all down."

I froze.

Evelyn looked directly at me.

"Run."

Vincent grabbed my hand.

We moved.

Shots exploded behind us.

We escaped through a side corridor.

The house was under attack.

Not from outsiders.

From someone who knew the building.

Someone who knew where every camera was.

Someone who knew where every guard stood.

We reached the garage.

Vincent shoved me into the car.

"Stay down."

"What about you?"

"I'm coming."

He ran back.

I heard gunfire.

Then silence.

Minutes later, the driver's door opened.

Vincent got in.

Blood covered his sleeve.

"You're hurt."

"Not badly."

"You keep saying that."

"You keep worrying."

"I have reasons."

He stared at me.

Then smiled.

Just a little.

"I like your reasons."

We drove away.

At the safe house, he let me clean his wound.

"You don't have to."

"I know."

"Then why?"

"Because someone has to."

He looked at me.

For a moment, neither spoke.

Then he said:

"You're different from what I expected."

"What did you expect?"

"Someone who would be terrified."

"I was."

"And now?"

"I'm mostly angry."

He laughed.

"That's better."

The next morning, Tobias contacted Vincent.

Alive.

His voice came through an encrypted line.

"Al."

Vincent froze.

"Where are you?"

"Not far."

"Why did you disappear?"

"Because our father ordered it."

Vincent went silent.

"What?"

"He wanted to protect the family."

"From whom?"

"From Evelyn."

I stared.

Tobias continued.

"She wasn't working alone."

"Who?"

A pause.

"Your mother."

My heart stopped.

"What?"

Tobias corrected himself.

"Claire's mother."

Vincent looked at me.

"My mother?"

Tobias continued.

"Your mother and Evelyn worked together."

I couldn't breathe.

"My mother died when I was fifteen."

"Yes."

"What did she do?"

"She discovered the truth about the Moretti money."

"Then why didn't she tell me?"

"Because she was protecting you."

"From what?"

"From your father's enemies."

The line crackled.

Then Tobias said:

"Your mother hid the final ledger inside the locket."

My hand moved toward my neck.

"The locket is the ledger?"

"Not exactly."

"Then what?"

"The photograph opens a hidden compartment."

I looked at Vincent.

He stood beside me.

We opened the locket.

A tiny metal mechanism clicked.

A second compartment appeared.

Inside was a strip of microfilm.

Vincent stared.

"The real ledger."

Tobias said:

"If Evelyn gets that film, everyone dies."

Then the call ended.

We had ten hours.

Maybe less.

But someone had already found us.

The safe house exploded at sunset.

Vincent pushed me through a side door.

We ran into the woods.

Behind us, the house burned.

He took my hand.

We ran until we reached the river.

I slipped.

He caught me.

For a moment, we stood there soaked and breathless.

His arms were around me.

His forehead touched mine.

"Are you okay?"

"Yes."

His eyes searched my face.

"I won't let them take you."

"You can't promise that."

"I can promise I'll try."

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That was more honest than any vow.

And somehow more frightening.