Chapter 6 - The Man My Father Trusted
Dominic didn't defend his uncle.
That mattered.
He simply asked, “What proof do you have?”
Thomas removed a photograph.
Parking garage.
Timestamp.
December 17.
10:18 p.m.
My father stood beside his car.
Across from him was an older man.
Salvatore Rossi.
Dominic's uncle.
My stomach dropped.
“You knew?” I asked Dominic.
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
Thomas watched him.
“Arthur met Salvatore because Wexler had been using Rossi-connected businesses to move money without the family's knowledge.”
Dominic studied the photograph.
“Why would Arthur trust him?”
“He didn't.”
Thomas pulled out another document.
“He needed information.”
“What information?”
“Who Wexler worked for.”
I sat on the edge of the bed.
“David?”
Thomas shook his head.
“David was a client. Wexler had dozens.”
“Then who ordered my father's death?”
Thomas looked at me.
“That is the question Arthur was trying to answer before he died.”
I stared at him.
“You're saying he knew someone was planning it?”
“He knew somebody had tampered with his car once already.”
“The mechanic found nothing.”
“The mechanic lied.”
Thomas handed me a printed email.
From Peter Lawson.
To Martin Wexler.
Inspection completed. Nothing documented.
My hands tightened.
“Why would Dad keep driving the car?”
“He wasn't supposed to.”
“What?”
“Salvatore offered him another vehicle after the meeting.”
“Why didn't he take it?”
“Arthur got a phone call.”
“From whom?”
Thomas opened another folder.
“Claire.”
The room disappeared.
“What?”
“Someone called him pretending there was an emergency involving you.”
I couldn't breathe.
“What emergency?”
“A hospital.”
“I wasn't in a hospital.”
“No.”
“Who called?”
“We traced it later to a disposable phone.”
“Who bought it?”
Thomas looked at me.
“David.”
Silence.
Dominic turned away.
I stared at Thomas.
“You're sure?”
“We have store footage.”
He opened a laptop.
Grainy surveillance video.
David.
Three days before Dad died.
Buying a prepaid phone.
I felt strangely calm.
Maybe there was a point beyond shock where your body stopped cooperating.
“Play everything.”
“Claire—”
“Everything.”
For the next hour, I watched my marriage die a second death.
Emails.
Transfers.
Recordings.
David had discovered Dad was preparing to expose Wexler.
He had warned Wexler.
Wexler arranged for Peter Lawson to access Dad's car.
But there was still no direct instruction from David ordering murder.
Then Thomas played another recording.
Wexler:
“Your father-in-law is becoming a problem.”
David:
“I don't care how you solve it. I need him away from Claire and away from those files.”
Wexler:
“That's a dangerous sentence.”
David:
“Then forget you heard it.”
I closed my eyes.
Not a confession.
But close enough to destroy whatever remained of the man I thought I'd married.
“Did David know Wexler would kill him?”
Thomas answered carefully.
“I don't know.”
That distinction mattered.
I hated it.
But it mattered.
“What happened after the phone call?”
“Arthur believed you had been injured. He left the garage in his own car.”
“And the brakes failed.”
“Yes.”
“Where was Salvatore?”
“He tried to follow.”
“Did he?”
“For several miles.”
“Then?”
“He lost Arthur in the storm.”
“So Salvatore didn't kill him.”
“I can't prove a negative. But the evidence we have points elsewhere.”
Dominic sat down.
For the first time, he looked shaken.
“My uncle never told me.”
“Arthur asked him not to involve you.”
“Why?”
“You were twenty-nine. Your father had just died.”
Dominic looked up sharply.
“My father?”
Thomas froze.
That was the first time I saw fear on his face.
Dominic stood.
“What about my father?”
Thomas closed the laptop.
“We're here for Claire.”
“No. You said my father.”
“Dominic.”
“What happened?”
Thomas looked at me, almost apologizing.
“Wexler wasn't only cleaning up Arthur.”
Dominic went very still.
“Say it.”
“Your father's death six months earlier may have been connected.”
Dominic stared at him.
I understood something then.
This wasn't a powerful man arriving to rescue a helpless woman.
Dominic was standing inside the same kind of room I was.
A room where the past changed shape.
He sat again.
“Continue.”
Thomas explained that Wexler had built a network around wealthy clients, political consultants, compromised employees, and financial intermediaries.
Dad had found fragments.
Enough to scare people.
Not enough to prosecute everyone.
His death ended the investigation.
Thomas had taken the third copy and disappeared after someone burned his apartment.
“Why didn't you come forward later?” I asked.
“Because two people connected to Arthur were dead.”
“You let me marry David.”
“You were already married.”
“You let me stay with him.”
Thomas looked ashamed.
“Yes.”
Anger rose in me.
Evelyn.
Richard.
Thomas.
Everyone had reasons.
Everyone had fear.
And I had paid the price for their silence.
“You all decided what I could handle.”
Nobody answered.
“You were protecting evidence while I was living with him.”
“Claire—”
“No.”
I stood.
“My father tried to protect me by collecting facts. You protected yourselves by hiding them. Those are not the same thing.”
Thomas lowered his head.
“You're right.”
I was tired of hearing that too.
My prepaid phone rang.
Unknown number.
I answered.
David.
“How did you get this number?”
“Come home.”
“No.”
“Claire, Wexler knows you have the files.”
My blood chilled.
“How?”
“He called me.”
“When?”
“Ten minutes ago.”
Thomas stood.
Dominic reached for his phone.
David continued.
“You think this is about me. It isn't anymore.”
“Where is Wexler?”
“I don't know.”
“You worked with him.”
“I haven't seen him in months.”
“Did you have my father killed?”
“No.”
“Did you tell Wexler to stop him?”
Silence.
“David.”
“I wanted Arthur out of our lives.”
“You bought the phone.”
Another silence.
“How do you know that?”
“I know everything now.”
“No, you don't.”
His voice cracked.
“You don't know what happened after the crash.”
I froze.
“What do you mean?”
David began crying.
Real crying.
“I got there.”
“Where?”
“The crash.”
My knees weakened.
“You were there?”
“I followed him.”
“Why?”
“I wanted to stop Wexler.”
“Stop him from what?”
“I didn't know what he'd done until Arthur called me.”
My pulse hammered.
“My father called you after the crash?”
“He was alive, Claire.”
Everything stopped.
“How long?”
“I don't know.”
“What did he say?”
David sobbed.
“He said your name.”
My hand covered my mouth.
“And you left him?”
“No.”
“What happened?”
A sound came through the phone.
David stopped crying.
“David?”
Silence.
Then footsteps.
“David?”
He whispered:
“Someone's in the penthouse.”
A door opened on his end.
David breathed once.
Then said a name.
May you like
“Martin.”
The line went dead.
