Chapter 3 - Vincent Discovered His Dead Father Had Left a Message for Claire, and the Truth Made Him Question Why His Mother Had Chosen Him
Margaret Rourke's private residence was hidden outside the city.
Vincent had not been there in fourteen years.
His mother had always preferred solitude.
When they arrived, the front door was already open.
Vincent raised his weapon.
“Stay behind me.”
Claire looked at him.
“Still giving orders.”
“I can stop.”
“No.”
She followed.
The house was dark.
Then Margaret appeared.
She looked older.
Tired.
But completely unsurprised.
“Claire.”
Claire stopped.
“You knew.”
Margaret nodded.
“I knew.”
Vincent stared.
“You knew she wasn't Claire Bennett.”
“Yes.”
“You knew she was Daniel Bell's daughter.”
“Yes.”
“You knew she was investigating us.”
“Yes.”
His anger rose.
“And you said nothing.”
Margaret walked toward him.
“I was trying to protect you.”
Vincent laughed bitterly.
“Everyone says that.”
Margaret's expression broke.
“This time it's true.”
Claire stepped forward.
“Tell him.”
Margaret looked at her.
“You found the files.”
“Yes.”
“You know what they contain.”
“Yes.”
“What don't you know?”
Claire hesitated.
“The reason Vincent's father hid them.”
Margaret turned toward her son.
“Your father discovered a network inside his own organization.”
Vincent frowned.
“A rival?”
“No.”
“Corruption?”
“No.”
“Then?”
Margaret whispered:
“People were using Rourke businesses to manipulate elections.”
Vincent stared.
“What?”
“Officials were being paid.”
“Politicians.”
“Judges.”
“Police.”
“All through shell companies.”
“And your father?”
“He wanted out.”
Vincent felt sick.
“My father built the network.”
“Yes.”
“But then he wanted to destroy it.”
“Yes.”
“Who stopped him?”
Margaret's eyes filled.
“His brother.”
Vincent froze.
“Uncle Marcus.”
“Yes.”
“But Marcus died fifteen years ago.”
“No.”
Vincent stared.
“He disappeared.”
“Exactly.”
Claire looked at him.
“The same pattern.”
People declared dead.
People vanished.
Names changed.
Records erased.
The entire family had been hiding the same thing for decades.
Vincent's father wasn't simply a criminal.
He had been trying to dismantle a system he had helped build.
And Marcus had taken control.
“What happened to my father?”
Margaret answered softly.
“He was poisoned.”
“By Marcus?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“Because Marcus threatened you.”
Vincent's jaw tightened.
“I was twenty-three.”
“He told me if I spoke, you would die.”
Claire looked at Vincent.
“You see why I was scared.”
Vincent nodded.
Then he turned toward his mother.
“Where are the files?”
Margaret looked at Claire.
“Her father took them.”
Claire froze.
“What?”
“Daniel Bell.”
Vincent stared.
“You said he was on our side.”
“He was.”
“Then why?”
“Because he believed hiding the evidence was safer than exposing it.”
Claire shook her head.
“My father never trusted me.”
Margaret smiled sadly.
“He trusted you more than anyone.”
She reached behind a painting.
A small compartment opened.
Inside was a letter.
For Claire.
Claire opened it.
Her father's handwriting appeared.
My daughter,
If you're reading this, then you have married Vincent.
Claire began crying.
The letter continued.
I am sorry.
I asked you to use him.
I was wrong.
Vincent is not the enemy.
The enemy is inside his family.
Vincent looked at Claire.
The letter ended:
Trust Margaret. Trust Vincent. Never trust Marcus.
Claire whispered:
“Marcus.”
Vincent stared.
“Why did he say never trust Marcus if Marcus is dead?”
Margaret did not answer.
A floorboard creaked upstairs.
All three looked up.
A man appeared on the staircase.
Older.
Gray-haired.
Holding a gun.
Vincent's breath stopped.
“Uncle.”
Marcus smiled.
“Hello, Vincent.”
Claire raised her weapon.
Marcus laughed.
“You two finally found each other.”
Vincent stepped forward.
“You killed my father.”
Marcus shrugged.
“He was weak.”
“You killed Daniel Bell.”
“No.”
“He's alive.”
“No.”
“Then where is he?”
Marcus smiled.
“You're asking the wrong question.”
Vincent's eyes narrowed.
“What question?”
Marcus pointed at Claire.
“You should ask her.”
Claire froze.
Marcus continued.
“She knows where Daniel is.”
Vincent looked at her.
Claire's face went pale.
“That's not true.”
Marcus laughed.
“You don't even remember.”
“What?”
Marcus smiled.
“Ask her about the night she was twelve.”
Claire's eyes widened.
Then her face changed.
A buried memory.
A hospital.
Her father.
A man standing beside the bed.
And Vincent's father.
Claire whispered:
“No.”
Marcus smiled.
May you like
“She remembers now.”
---
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