Chapter 5 - The Man Standing at Dante’s Right Hand
For two days, Dante trusted no one.
Not his drivers.
Not his attorneys.
Not men who had worked for him since he was twenty-one.
Only Marcus remained inside the penthouse without being searched.
Caroline noticed.
“So you trust him.”
“With my life.”
“That seems dangerous considering recent events.”
Marcus looked up from his coffee.
“I appreciate the confidence.”
Caroline smiled faintly.
Dante did not.
He had slept four hours in two nights.
The darkness beneath his eyes made him look more dangerous rather than less.
Caroline worked at the dining table, decoding Arthur’s ledger.
It became easier once she recognized his system.
Measurements were money.
Fabric numbers were addresses.
Alteration dates were meetings.
Arthur had turned forty years of Chicago corruption into tailoring instructions.
At three in the morning, Caroline found something.
“Dante.”
He came immediately.
She pointed.
Three entries.
A.V.—November 1998.
A.V.—March 2004.
A.V.—September 2015.
“What happened in 2015?”
Dante’s face changed.
“My father died.”
Caroline looked at him.
“You said twelve years ago.”
“Heart attack.”
“Are you sure?”
Silence answered.
She turned another page.
There was a notation beside Adrian’s initials.
LINING CHANGED. ORIGINAL RETAINED.
“What does that mean?”
Caroline thought.
Then she stood.
“My grandfather sometimes hid client notes inside unfinished jacket linings.”
“Why?”
“He said pockets were for thieves.”
She searched the old archived garment bags.
Nothing.
Then Thomas remembered.
“Arthur kept one jacket he refused to deliver.”
“Whose?”
Thomas looked at Dante.
“Michael Baker’s.”
The jacket was still in the basement.
Wrapped in brown paper.
Dante’s father’s name was written across it.
Caroline opened the package.
A charcoal dinner jacket.
Hand-stitched.
Never worn.
She examined the lining.
One section had been resewn.
Her grandfather’s stitches were nearly invisible.
Caroline opened the seam.
Inside was a microcassette.
Dante stared.
“Your grandfather really didn’t trust clouds.”
“He barely trusted microwaves.”
They found an old player.
Michael Baker’s voice filled the room.
“Adrian, sit down.”
Another voice.
Younger.
Adrian.
“You know.”
“Yes.”
“Michael—”
“My wife died because you opened that gate.”
Silence.
Then Adrian said, “Rourke had my sister.”
Dante’s eyes narrowed.
Caroline listened.
“He said he would kill her.”
“You chose my wife instead.”
“I didn’t know Evelyn would be in the car.”
“You knew someone would.”
Adrian began crying.
The sound made the betrayal uglier.
Human.
Michael’s voice remained cold.
“I should kill you.”
“Yes.”
“But you’re going to live.”
Adrian’s breathing stopped.
“You’re going to work for me.”
The recording continued.
Michael Baker blackmailed Adrian.
Forced him to feed information.
Forced him to betray Rourke repeatedly.
And over the years, Adrian became Michael’s most useful weapon.
Then Michael said one final thing.
“If anything happens to me, Arthur has the original records.”
The tape ended.
Dante stared at the machine.
Caroline touched his arm.
“Your father made him what he became.”
“No.”
Dante’s voice was quiet.
“He gave him a choice.”
“Death or servitude is not much of a choice.”
“No.”
Dante looked at her.
“But Adrian still made his own choices after.”
Caroline could not argue with that.
The problem was Adrian was not their only enemy.
Somebody else inside Dante’s organization had leaked the safehouse.
Marcus investigated quietly.
By evening, he had narrowed access to four people.
One was Adrian.
One was Marcus himself.
The third was Dante’s attorney, Samuel Price.
The fourth was Elias Shaw, Dante’s driver.
Caroline stared at the list.
“Elias?”
Dante’s expression hardened.
“He has driven me for nine years.”
“Which means he knows everything.”
“Yes.”
Marcus checked Elias’s finances.
Nothing.
Price’s accounts were clean.
Adrian had disappeared.
Then Greg called.
Caroline answered immediately.
“Are you okay?”
“I’m alive.”
“That is a low standard.”
“Recent events have adjusted my expectations.”
She smiled.
“What happened?”
“I remembered something.”
Greg lowered his voice.
“Before they grabbed me, I found payments from Marston to a company called Northline Consulting.”
Dante moved closer.
“Who owns it?”
“That’s the thing. Paper trail ends in Delaware.”
Marcus was already typing.
Greg continued.
“But one payment description was E.S. security.”
Caroline looked at Dante.
Elias Shaw.
Dante’s driver.
Twenty minutes later, Elias was gone.
His apartment was empty.
His phone was disconnected.
And his garage contained enough cash to prove loyalty had a price after all.
Dante stood in the garage staring at the money.
Caroline watched his face.
“Say something.”
“I should have seen it.”
“You are not psychic.”
“I’m supposed to know my people.”
“You knew him for nine years.”
“That makes it worse.”
“No. It makes the betrayal worse.”
Dante looked at her.
“You always correct people?”
“When they’re wrong.”
“That must be exhausting.”
“Mostly for everyone else.”
His mouth almost smiled.
Then Marcus found a second phone taped beneath Elias’s workbench.
Messages connected him directly to Rourke.
The most recent:
GALA FRIDAY. BAKER WILL COME FOR VALE. GIRL WILL BE WITH HIM.
Caroline read it twice.
“What gala?”
Dante looked irritated.
“A charity event.”
“You attend charity events?”
“I own tuxedos.”
“That does not answer the question.”
“Children’s hospital.”
Caroline blinked.
“You donate to a children’s hospital.”
“Try not to sound shocked.”
“I’m learning you contain multitudes.”
Rourke would attend.
Adrian might attend.
Dante had been scheduled for months.
Caroline saw the opportunity immediately.
“No.”
She hadn’t spoken yet.
She stared at him.
“You don’t even know what I was going to say.”
“Yes, I do.”
“Then congratulations. You’re finally psychic.”
“You are not coming.”
“Elias’s message says they expect me.”
“Which is why you are not.”
“Which is exactly why I should.”
Dante stepped closer.
“Caroline.”
“If I stay away, they know we discovered the leak.”
“They already know Elias ran.”
“Maybe. Maybe not.”
She pointed to the ledger.
“Grandpa’s notes mention a locker at the Lakeshore Hotel.”
The gala’s location.
Dante looked down.
Caroline continued.
“I think he hid something there.”
The locker number was encoded as a sleeve measurement.
Forty-two.
The Lakeshore had forty-two private wine lockers beneath its ballroom.
Dante exhaled.
“I dislike how useful you are becoming.”
“That sounds personal.”
“It is.”
Friday night, Caroline wore black.
Not because Dante suggested it.
Because he did not.
The dress was simple.
Long.
Bare shoulders.
No glitter.
No diamonds.
Caroline preferred clothing that didn’t beg for attention.
It waited for attention to come to it.
Dante waited in the penthouse living room wearing the tuxedo she had altered herself.
Forty-four inches through the chest.
He had finally surrendered to mathematics.
When Caroline entered, he looked at her.
And kept looking.
She stopped.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Your face says something.”
“My face doesn’t say anything.”
“Your face just wrote an entire paragraph.”
Marcus walked past.
“For what it’s worth, I heard the paragraph.”
Dante looked at him.
Marcus kept walking.
Caroline smiled.
“Ready?”
“No.”
“Good.”
The ballroom glittered with money.
Politicians.
CEOs.
Judges.
Donors.
Men who smiled for cameras while pretending not to recognize Dante Baker.
Dante placed one hand at Caroline’s lower back.
Not possessive.
Protective.
She hated how much she liked it.
“Rourke at eleven o’clock,” he murmured.
She saw him.
Silver-haired.
Smiling.
Then another man.
Adrian Vale.
He stood beside a senator.
Calm as if he had not betrayed two generations of Bakers.
Dante’s hand tightened.
Caroline covered it with hers.
“Not here.”
“I know.”
“You look like you forgot.”
“I remember.”
A string quartet began playing.
Dante turned toward her.
“Dance.”
“What?”
“We need to cross the room without looking like we’re crossing the room.”
“I don’t dance.”
“You sew.”
“That is not remotely related.”
“Both require counting.”
Before she could argue, he took her onto the floor.
Dante was irritatingly good.
Caroline followed.
“One, two, three,” he murmured.
“I know how counting works.”
“Your foot disagrees.”
“You are wearing steel-toed emotional armor. You’ll survive.”
He almost smiled.
They turned.
For one moment, the enemies vanished.
Caroline felt his hand at her waist.
His breath near her temple.
“Do you still not have a boyfriend?” he asked.
Her eyes lifted.
“You cannot possibly be asking me this now.”
“I’m curious.”
“You broke a measuring tape last time.”
“I’m unarmed.”
“You are never unarmed.”
“Fair.”
She looked at him.
“No.”
Something dangerous warmed in his expression.
“Not yet?”
Caroline’s heart stumbled.
“Dance, Dante.”
He obeyed.
They reached the basement wine lockers fifteen minutes later.
Locker forty-two was old.
The key from Arthur’s safe-deposit box fit.
Inside was an envelope.
A flash drive.
And another photograph.
Caroline opened the envelope.
Payment records.
Rourke.
Adrian.
Elias.
And Samuel Price.
Dante’s attorney.
Caroline’s stomach dropped.
“Two traitors.”
Dante’s face went cold.
Behind them, the basement door closed.
Adrian Vale stood at the bottom of the stairs.
Alone.
He looked older than his photographs.
Tired.
“You found Arthur’s locker.”
Dante moved in front of Caroline.
Adrian smiled sadly.
“Still protecting women from mistakes your father made.”
Dante’s voice was deadly.
“You opened the gate.”
“Yes.”
“My mother died.”
“Yes.”
“You stood beside my father afterward.”
“Because he gave me no other option.”
“You stood beside me.”
“That was different.”
“How?”
Adrian looked at him.
“Because I loved you.”
The answer stunned everyone.
Adrian’s eyes shone.
“You were ten years old, Dante. Your father turned grief into a weapon. I watched him teach you that power meant never needing anyone.”
Dante said nothing.
“I tried to keep you alive.”
“You sold my safehouse.”
“No.”
Dante froze.
“Elias did.”
“Then Samuel?”
“Rourke owns Price.”
“Why should I believe you?”
“You shouldn’t.”
Adrian looked at Caroline.
“But she should know one thing.”
“What?” Caroline asked.
“Arthur Jones didn’t die of natural causes.”
Caroline’s heart stopped.
Dante stepped forward.
“Who killed him?”
Adrian looked directly at Caroline.
“Your father knows.”
A gunshot exploded.
Adrian jerked.
Blood appeared across his shoulder.
Rourke’s man stood at the top of the stairs.
Dante pulled Caroline down.
More shots.
Lights shattered.
When Marcus reached them moments later, the shooter was gone.
Adrian was bleeding heavily.
But alive.
As paramedics carried him out through a service corridor, he caught Caroline’s hand.
“Ask Thomas,” he whispered.
“Ask him who was there the night Arthur died.”
Caroline looked across the corridor.
Her father stood with Marcus.
His face had gone white.
May you like
And that was when Caroline knew.
Whatever happened the night her grandfather died, Thomas Jones had been there.
