Chapter 4 - The Name Written Inside the Dress
After the call, Declan looked at me.
“What was in the first dress?”
I didn't answer.
He waited.
“Norah.”
I swallowed.
“When I opened the first returned dress, there was a note sewn into the hem.”
“What did it say?”
I looked at him.
“Your husband isn't safe.”
He nodded.
“I know that.”
“There was more.”
“What?”
“Your father knew what was coming.”
Declan's expression changed.
“My father?”
I nodded.
“The note was written by someone who knew your family.”
“Who?”
“I don't know.”
“You do.”
I looked away.
He stepped closer.
“Norah.”
I sighed.
“The name was Sullivan.”
His face drained.
“What?”
“The note said…”
I reached for my phone.
Then showed him the photograph.
YOUR HUSBAND ISN'T SAFE.
THE DEBT YOUR FATHER LEFT ISN'T FINANCIAL.
ASK DECLAN ABOUT THE WOMAN WHO NEVER LEFT THE FAMILY.
He stared.
“What woman?”
“I don't know.”
He looked at the message again.
Then at me.
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“Because I thought if I did, you'd start looking everywhere except where you should.”
“Where?”
“At home.”
That was when we heard a noise upstairs.
A door closing.
Declan immediately reached for his weapon.
But I stopped him.
“Wait.”
We listened.
Footsteps.
Then silence.
Tommy appeared.
“Boss?”
Declan looked at him.
“Search the house.”
Men spread through the halls.
Minutes later, they returned.
Nothing.
No intruder.
No broken window.
No open door.
Then Mae began crying.
I ran to her room.
Declan followed.
The baby monitor had turned on by itself.
The screen showed Mae's crib.
Empty.
My heart stopped.
Declan rushed forward.
Then he looked inside.
Mae was there.
Sleeping.
The monitor had simply malfunctioned.
But on the screen, a message had been written in red.
YOU ARE NOT LOOKING AT THE RIGHT FAMILY.
Declan stared.
“This system is offline.”
Tommy looked frightened.
“That shouldn't be possible.”
I realized something.
“They've had access to our cameras for months.”
Declan turned toward me.
“How did they get into the system?”
“Through someone you trusted.”
He nodded.
The investigation widened.
Then an old name appeared.
Evelyn Sullivan.
Declan's aunt.
His father's older sister.
Everyone believed she had died twelve years ago.
She hadn't.
She had disappeared.
And she was the last person to have access to the original Sullivan records.
Declan found her in a private retirement facility outside Milwaukee.
He went alone.
I refused to stay behind.
We traveled with security.
Evelyn looked at me when we arrived.
Then she smiled.
“You look like your mother.”
Declan froze.
“You knew my mother?”
“Yes.”
“What happened to her?”
Evelyn sighed.
“Your father killed her.”
Silence.
Declan stared.
“What?”
“He didn't shoot her.”
She shook her head.
“Your father killed her spirit first.”
Evelyn explained.
Declan's father had used the family to move money.
He had forced people into marriages.
Used children as leverage.
He had even arranged Daniel's first alliance.
But there had been a hidden ledger.
It contained proof.
Evelyn had stolen it.
Then disappeared.
“Where is it?” Declan asked.
She looked at him.
“Your wife has it.”
I stared.
“What?”
Evelyn smiled.
“The dresses.”
My heart stopped.
“What do you mean?”
“The dresses were never random gifts.”
Declan turned toward me.
Evelyn continued.
“Your father used luxury purchases to move coded information.”
Each item carried a transaction pattern.
Certain designers represented certain accounts.
Certain colors represented certain names.
The dresses I had returned were not just dresses.
They were messages.
And the person sending them had been using Declan's own spending habits to communicate with me.
The reason I had received so many gifts was because someone was trying to build a map.
A map to the ledger.
I remembered every dress.
Every date.
Every refund.
Every receipt.
I spread them across the table.
Numbers began lining up.
Dates.
Amounts.
Stores.
Addresses.
Then I saw it.
A pattern.
Each purchase corresponded with one of Declan's properties.
Except one.
A property in Cicero.
I pointed.
“That one.”
Declan looked.
“I don't own it.”
“Exactly.”
The company buying the dresses did.
He stared at me.
“Then we go there.”
We did.
The property was an abandoned textile warehouse.
Inside, we found dozens of boxes.
And photographs.
Of Declan.
Of me.
Of Mae.
Of our wedding.
Of my pregnancy.
Someone had been watching us for years.
Then we found the ledger.
It was hidden beneath the floor.
A black leather book.
Declan opened it.
Names filled every page.
But one name appeared again and again.
Patrick Vale.
And beneath his name:
SON OF VICTOR SULLIVAN'S FIRST WIFE.
May you like
Declan looked at me.
“Patrick is my half-brother.”
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