Chapter 9 - The Valentine’s Day Lie
Iris did not agree to meet Samuel Reed alone.
She told Rebecca Hayes exactly what he had demanded.
And she made one thing perfectly clear.
“I'll speak to him,” she said. “But I'm not going anywhere without protection.”
Rebecca nodded.
“That's the only way this happens.”
The interview took place in a secured police facility.
Samuel sat behind a table.
His wrists were cuffed.
A bruise darkened his cheek.
He looked thinner.
Older.
And nothing like the friend Iris remembered.
When she entered, he lowered his eyes.
“Iris.”
She did not sit immediately.
“Sam.”
He swallowed.
“You look tired.”
“Don't.”
He nodded.
She sat across from him.
Rebecca stood behind the observation glass.
Two officers waited outside.
Samuel looked toward the camera.
“Are they recording?”
“Yes.”
He sighed.
“I was hoping we could speak privately.”
“No.”
He finally looked at her.
Something like sorrow crossed his face.
“I never wanted you hurt.”
Iris stared.
“That's a strange thing to say after everything that's happened.”
“I know.”
“Were you Wesley?”
Samuel closed his eyes.
Iris waited.
Finally, he nodded.
“Part of the time.”
Her chest tightened.
“Part of the time?”
“Martin's people managed the account. I gave them information about you.”
“Personal information.”
“Yes.”
“Things I told you because I trusted you.”
Samuel lowered his head.
“Yes.”
Iris felt tears rise.
She refused to look away.
“Why?”
Samuel hesitated.
“Because Martin had something on me.”
“What?”
“Years ago, I accepted money to bury an investigation.”
“The Archer Street fire?”
“No. Before that.”
Iris stared.
“How long?”
“Seven years.”
She swallowed.
“Seven years?”
Samuel nodded.
“He helped me with gambling debts. Then he made sure I could never walk away.”
“And you kept helping him.”
“Yes.”
“You let people die.”
Samuel flinched.
“I never ordered anybody killed.”
“But you knew.”
He said nothing.
Iris leaned forward.
“Did you know Daniel Porter was alive?”
“Yes.”
“Did you know he was being held?”
“Yes.”
“Did you help murder him?”
“No.”
“Did you try to save him?”
Samuel's silence answered.
Iris looked away.
For years, she had admired this man.
Now she could barely recognize him.
Samuel spoke quietly.
“I did try to get out.”
“When?”
“After Martin decided to use you.”
She turned back.
“Why me?”
“Because Joseph Vale left an encrypted evidence archive. Martin believed the key was hidden inside a visual reference related to the warehouse investigation.”
“My sketch.”
Samuel nodded.
“The original composite had annotations Joseph wanted someone to understand. Martin thought you'd remember the face, the reference image, and the unusual details.”
“So you created Wesley.”
“Yes.”
“Made me fall in love with someone who didn't exist.”
Samuel's eyes filled.
“Iris—”
“Don't.”
He stopped.
She took a breath.
“Did you write the messages telling me I was beautiful?”
Samuel looked down.
“Yes.”
“Did Martin tell you to?”
“He told me to keep you interested.”
The words hurt.
More than she wanted them to.
“And the eight thousand dollars?”
“That was supposed to make you come to the studio.”
Iris frowned.
“Why?”
“Because Martin believed Eleanor Vale would bring something from Joseph's old art collection. The money was supposed to be a distraction. His men planned to get you and the evidence in the same place.”
“Then why didn't Wesley come?”
“There was never going to be a Wesley.”
Iris swallowed hard.
Samuel continued.
“I was supposed to meet you outside afterward and tell you the date had been moved. Then Martin's men would take you somewhere private.”
She stared.
“You were going to kidnap me.”
Samuel closed his eyes.
“Yes.”
Silence.
Finally, Iris asked, “Where's Amelia?”
Samuel lifted his head.
“Martin has her at a property outside the city.”
“Where?”
“I'll give you the address.”
“Why now?”
“Because he's going to kill her.”
Iris felt her heart race.
“And you?”
Samuel looked down.
“I wanted somebody to know I tried to stop him.”
She stared at the man she had once trusted more than almost anyone.
“Then tell the truth.”
He nodded.
And he did.
Two hours later, police surrounded a private estate west of Chicago.
The property belonged to a shell company connected to Mercer Strategic Solutions.
Officers entered after obtaining a warrant.
Inside, they found Amelia Vale.
Alive.
Dehydrated.
Terrified.
But alive.
They also found financial records, surveillance equipment, forged contracts, and documents connecting Martin Mercer to the Archer Street fire.
Martin himself had already fled.
But Samuel gave investigators the name of a private airfield he used.
Federal agents were notified.
Flights were monitored.
And at 11:42 p.m., Martin Mercer was arrested while attempting to board a chartered aircraft under a false identity.
The news reached Theodore while he was sitting beside Eleanor in a hospital waiting room.
Amelia was undergoing an examination.
Iris sat a few chairs away.
Theodore looked at his phone.
Then at his mother.
“They got him.”
Eleanor closed her eyes.
For a moment, she couldn't speak.
Then she whispered, “Joseph.”
Theodore took her hand.
“I know.”
Eleanor began crying.
Iris moved closer.
And the three of them sat together.
Not celebrating.
Not yet.
Because justice could never bring Joseph back.
But it could finally tell the truth.
Three weeks later, Iris returned to work.
The internal investigation cleared her of wrongdoing.
Her credentials had been misused through a compromised workstation.
Samuel Reed was formally charged with corruption-related offenses and conspiracy counts.
Martin Mercer faced charges connected to fraud, kidnapping, murder, and the warehouse fire.
Victor was also charged for his role in the violence at The Painted Heart.
The investigation into the Vale family businesses expanded.
Theodore cooperated with authorities.
He handed over records.
Accepted independent audits.
And began dismantling the remaining criminal operations tied to his companies.
It cost him millions.
Some of his longtime associates walked away.
Others threatened him.
But he continued.
Because for the first time in years, he wanted a future that wasn't built entirely around fear.
And Iris Bennett had become an unexpected part of that future.
On a cold March evening, Theodore appeared at her apartment carrying a bouquet of red roses.
Iris opened the door.
Then laughed.
“Seriously?”
He looked down at the flowers.
“Too much?”
“A little.”
“I can try again.”
She took the bouquet.
“They're beautiful.”
He studied her face.
“There's something I need to tell you.”
Her smile faded.
“What?”
“I found your old sketch.”
Iris went still.
“The original one?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“Rebecca showed me a copy after the evidence review.”
“And?”
Theodore hesitated.
“The face you drew wasn't Victor's.”
Iris stared.
“What?”
“The witness had described someone else. Samuel altered the reference materials so your final sketch resembled Victor.”
She felt cold.
“Then who was the original witness describing?”
Theodore looked at her.
“Martin.”
Iris's mouth fell open.
“But the scar—”
“Was added through Samuel's reference photograph.”
She stared at him.
Then slowly nodded.
That was why the drawing had felt wrong.
Why the memory had never quite matched.
She had been manipulated.
Not because she lacked skill.
Because someone had deliberately contaminated the evidence.
Theodore continued.
“Your original notes were recovered. They helped establish that the witness had seen Martin near the warehouse.”
Iris closed her eyes.
For years, she had believed the error was hers.
Now the truth was finally clear.
Theodore stepped closer.
“Iris.”
She opened her eyes.
“You didn't fail.”
Tears slipped down her cheeks.
He lifted one hand.
Paused.
Waited.
She moved toward him.
And Theodore wrapped his arms around her.
For a long time, neither spoke.
Then Iris whispered, “You know what the worst part is?”
“What?”
“I spent Valentine's Day believing nobody wanted to sit across from me.”
Theodore held her tighter.
“I know.”
“And then you did.”
He pulled back slightly.
Looked into her eyes.
“I wasn't looking for a date.”
“I know.”
“I was trying to protect my mother.”
“I know.”
“And then I met you.”
Her heart beat faster.
May you like
Theodore smiled softly.
“And everything changed.”
