Chapter 3 - Someone Wanted Clara Gone
The face on the screen belonged to Vincent Hale.
Nobody spoke.
Vincent looked at the monitor.
Then at Damian.
“That proves nothing.”
Marcus paused the recording.
“You entered the kitchen at 1:14 a.m.”
“I live half my life in this house.”
“You removed Clara’s envelope.”
“I remove documents constantly.”
Damian’s voice was quiet.
“From my private correspondence tray?”
Vincent’s mouth tightened.
“You asked me to handle household issues.”
“Not her medical records.”
“Maybe I thought it was an employment matter.”
“You forged my signature.”
Vincent laughed once.
“Careful.”
That single word changed the temperature of the room.
Damian approached him.
“For fifteen years, you’ve advised me when to be careful.”
“I’m advising you now.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re emotional.”
Damian’s eyes hardened.
“About my chef?”
Vincent studied him.
“That’s what you should be asking yourself.”
Meanwhile, Clara returned to her apartment.
Noah was sitting at the kitchen table with textbooks open.
He looked up.
“You’re home early.”
“I quit.”
His mouth fell open.
“You what?”
“Technically I was fired first.”
“Clara.”
“It’s fine.”
“It is absolutely not fine.”
She opened the refrigerator.
Half a carton of eggs.
Milk.
Mustard.
Three apples.
She closed it again.
Noah watched her.
“Was it because of the surgery?”
“No.”
“Does he know?”
“Apparently not.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means I filed the paperwork, and somehow it never reached him.”
Noah stood.
“You told me he denied it.”
“I thought he did.”
“Then who did?”
Clara leaned against the counter.
That question had followed her home.
She had spent two years in Damian’s mansion.
She knew the rhythms of that house better than most of its security team.
And one thing bothered her.
Vincent.
The morning after she filed her leave request, Vincent had casually asked whether she enjoyed working for Damian.
At the time she had thought nothing of it.
Then suppliers began complaining that her invoices were unpaid.
Her schedule changed without warning.
Her hospital envelopes disappeared.
Small things.
Always small enough to blame on mistakes.
Until they weren’t.
Her phone rang.
Unknown number.
Clara answered.
Silence.
“Hello?”
Breathing.
Then a distorted voice.
“Stay away from Cross.”
The call ended.
Noah stared at her.
“Who was that?”
Clara locked the door.
At the mansion, Damian’s interrogation of Vincent ended when Marcus received another message.
“Boss.”
He handed Damian his phone.
A traffic camera had captured the gray sedan from the hospital.
Its driver was one of Vincent’s private contractors.
Vincent saw the photograph.
His expression finally changed.
“Explain,” Damian said.
Vincent exhaled.
“All right.”
Marcus moved closer.
Vincent raised both hands.
“I had her followed.”
Mrs. Alvarez whispered something in Spanish that did not sound charitable.
Damian’s face became motionless.
“Why?”
“Because she was becoming a liability.”
“A chef?”
“A woman with access.”
“To vegetables?”
“To you.”
Damian’s gaze sharpened.
Vincent continued.
“You talked in front of her.”
“I talked in my kitchen.”
“Exactly.”
“She never asked questions.”
“She didn’t have to.”
Damian remembered midnight conversations.
Business calls taken at the island.
Names.
Numbers.
Arguments.
Clara always kept cooking.
Never reacted.
Never repeated anything.
“You thought she was spying.”
“I thought she could.”
“So you sabotaged her job?”
“I protected you.”
“You forged my signature.”
Vincent hesitated.
Damian saw it.
“That isn’t all.”
Vincent looked away.
Damian grabbed his collar.
“What did you do?”
“Nothing to her.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
Marcus stepped toward them.
Vincent spoke quickly.
“I redirected the leave request. That’s it.”
“And the hospital letters?”
“I don’t know.”
“The photograph?”
“Insurance.”
“Against what?”
Vincent’s eyes met Damian’s.
“Against what she knows.”
Damian released him.
Clara knew nothing.
Or at least Damian believed she knew nothing.
That was suddenly less comforting than it should have been.
His phone rang.
Clara.
He answered immediately.
“Clara.”
Her voice was controlled.
“Did you have someone follow me?”
“No.”
“Someone did.”
“I know.”
Silence.
Then:
“Damian, somebody called my apartment.”
His hand tightened around the phone.
“What did they say?”
“Stay away from Cross.”
Damian looked directly at Vincent.
“Lock your door.”
“I already did.”
“I’m sending Marcus.”
“No.”
“Clara—”
“I said no.”
“You’re being threatened.”
“And I spent two years working for a man who solves every problem by surrounding it with armed people. Forgive me if that isn’t comforting.”
Despite everything, Damian almost smiled.
Then Clara’s voice changed.
“Wait.”
“What?”
Someone knocked on her apartment door.
Three slow knocks.
Noah moved toward it.
Clara grabbed his arm.
“Don’t.”
The knocking came again.
Then a white envelope slid beneath the door.
Clara stared at it.
Her name was written across the front.
And underneath it were four words:
YOU MISSED YOUR SURGERY.
She bent down to pick it up.
Something inside moved.
Something heavy.
May you like
Something metallic.
And when Clara opened the envelope, she stopped breathing.
