Chapter 3 - Vincent Discovered That the Betrayal Began Nine Years Ago With His Dead BrotherBy sunrise, Vincent Callahan had turned his mansion into a fortress.
No cars left.
No employees entered.
Every phone belonging to a member of senior staff had been collected.
The gates remained closed.
The housekeeper staff had been sent to locked rooms under Frank Doyle's supervision.
But none of that made Vincent feel safer.
It made him feel watched.
Because if someone had been inside his house for years, then every familiar face now carried the possibility of betrayal.
At seven thirty, Vincent sat in Julian's old study.
Molly sat across from him with hot chocolate.
She had refused to leave.
Vincent had tried.
She had pointed out that she knew where the secret passage was.
He had asked how.
She said, “Your house is very old.”
It was difficult to argue with that.
Hannah stood behind her daughter.
“You don't have to do this,” Vincent told her.
Hannah shook her head.
“Yes, I do.”
“Why?”
“Because my daughter is already involved.”
Vincent looked at Molly.
“That is exactly why I want her uninvolved.”
Hannah's voice softened.
“She has spent eight years believing grown-ups can fix everything.”
Vincent raised an eyebrow.
“And?”
“She just learned that sometimes grown-ups cause the problem.”
Vincent had no answer.
Frank entered.
“Sir.”
“What?”
“We found Adrien's car.”
“Where?”
“Three blocks from the harbor.”
“Empty?”
“Yes.”
“Any blood?”
“No.”
“Then he's alive.”
Frank placed a photograph on the desk.
Adrien's abandoned vehicle.
The driver's door was open.
On the seat lay a black envelope.
Vincent opened it.
Inside was a photograph of Molly.
Taken outside school two weeks earlier.
His hand tightened.
Hannah saw it.
She immediately pulled Molly behind her.
Vincent's voice became dangerously quiet.
“He's been watching her.”
Frank nodded.
“Apparently.”
“Find the photographer.”
“We're working on it.”
Vincent looked at Molly.
“Sweetheart, did you ever see anyone following you?”
She thought.
“A man with a blue umbrella.”
Vincent frowned.
“It was sunny.”
Molly nodded.
“He stood outside the school anyway.”
“When?”
“For three days.”
Hannah covered her mouth.
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“You were busy.”
That answer broke something in her mother.
She knelt and hugged her.
Vincent looked away.
He had spent half his life believing vulnerability was a weakness.
Watching Hannah hold her daughter made him wonder whether he had misunderstood strength entirely.
Frank returned to business.
“We traced the black ring.”
“And?”
“It belonged to an organization called The Crown.”
Vincent frowned.
“I know the name.”
“You should.”
Frank placed another file down.
“Because your brother investigated them.”
Vincent opened it.
Julian had drawn the same symbol.
A crown.
Underneath it:
NOT A FAMILY. A MARKET.
Vincent read the notes.
People.
Information.
Contracts.
Blackmail.
Influence.
Everything was bought and sold.
Frank pointed to one line.
“Your brother believed the Crown Broker arranged the destruction of several major criminal organizations.”
Vincent looked up.
“Why?”
“To consolidate them.”
“And now?”
“The same pattern is happening on your waterfront.”
Vincent understood.
Warehouses were being attacked.
Contracts were changing hands.
Employees were being turned.
Rivals were becoming allies.
Someone was buying instability.
And Vincent was the final prize.
“Why keep me alive?”
Frank didn't answer.
Molly did.
“Because dead people can't tell secrets.”
Vincent looked at her.
Frank stared.
Vincent almost smiled.
“She's right.”
Then the study lights flickered.
The recording device on the desk activated by itself.
A voice emerged.
“Vincent.”
Everybody froze.
Julian.
“No matter what you think,” the voice said, “do not confront Adrien alone.”
Vincent stood.
“That's impossible.”
The file continued.
“He isn't the real traitor.”
Frank's hand moved toward his gun.
The voice became distorted.
“Look at the person closest to you.”
Then static.
Vincent stared at the machine.
“Closest to me,” he repeated.
Hannah looked frightened.
Frank looked defensive.
Molly looked toward Vincent.
“What?”
“She doesn't mean distance,” Molly said.
Vincent glanced at her.
“What does she mean?”
Molly shrugged.
“My teacher says when people say someone is close, they mean someone they trust.”
Vincent slowly turned toward Frank.
Frank's face tightened.
“You think it's me?”
“No.”
“But you looked at me.”
“I look at everyone now.”
Frank nodded.
“Fair.”
Before either could say more, the door opened.
A young woman entered.
She had auburn hair, tired blue eyes, and a leather folder.
Vincent knew her.
“Dr. Evelyn Hart.”
She had been Julian's forensic accountant.
He had not seen her since the funeral.
“What are you doing here?”
She placed the folder on the desk.
“Trying not to die.”
Frank stepped between them.
Evelyn said, “Your brother hired me six weeks before he died.”
Vincent stared.
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“Because Julian told me you'd be next.”
She opened the folder.
Inside were photographs.
Bank transfers.
Names.
Dates.
One account appeared repeatedly.
CALLAHAN FAMILY TRUST — INTERNAL DISBURSEMENT
Vincent frowned.
“That account doesn't exist.”
Evelyn nodded.
“It does.”
“Who controls it?”
She looked at him.
“You do.”
Vincent froze.
“What?”
“The account is registered through a private trust using your biometric authorization.”
Frank whispered, “Someone has been moving money under your identity.”
Evelyn nodded.
“Millions.”
“How long?”
She swallowed.
“Nine years.”
Vincent looked at Julian's photograph on the wall.
Nine years.
The same year Julian died.
His brother had spent years investigating someone inside the organization.
And Vincent had believed the official story because he trusted the wrong people.
Adrien.
The board.
The lawyers.
Maybe even himself.
Then Molly spoke.
“There are two accounts.”
Everyone looked at her.
“What?”
She pointed at the folder.
“You turned the page.”
Evelyn blinked.
Molly pointed.
“That number was on the recorder.”
Vincent looked down.
Seven.
Three.
One.
Seven.
The same code.
Evelyn checked another document.
Her face changed.
“Oh my God.”
“What?”
“That is not an account number.”
“What is it?”
“A vault designation.”
Vincent stood.
“Whose vault?”
Evelyn looked frightened.
“Yours.”
Vincent stared.
“My what?”
“Your family's emergency vault beneath the old church on Pratt Street.”
Frank said, “That vault was sealed.”
Evelyn shook her head.
“Not according to these records.”
Vincent looked at the wall.
Julian's portrait seemed to stare back.
He understood.
Julian had not been stealing.
He had been hiding something.
And whoever killed him had never found it.
Vincent turned to Frank.
“Prepare the car.”
Hannah stood.
“We're coming.”
“No.”
Molly looked at him.
“Why?”
“Because this may be dangerous.”
Molly frowned.
“Everything is dangerous.”
Vincent paused.
She was right.
He looked at Hannah.
“Stay behind Frank.”
Hannah nodded.
They left.
But before Vincent reached the front door, he noticed something scratched into the marble.
A tiny crown.
Fresh.
He knelt.
Beneath it were four words.
I KNOW WHERE SHE SLEEPS.
Vincent's blood went cold.
He looked at Molly.
Then at Hannah.
Then at the house.
May you like
The enemy wasn't waiting outside.
The enemy was already inside.
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