Chapter 10 - The Night Everything Kent Built Began to Collapse
The man on the live feed lifted my photograph toward the camera.
Then he smiled.
Roman leaned closer to the screen.
“Pause it.”
I did.
My mother's hand flew to her mouth.
“You know him,” I said.
She didn't answer.
“Mom.”
Roman's voice was colder.
“His name is Thomas Vane.”
I looked at him.
“Who is that?”
“A dead man.”
Of course he was.
Everyone in this nightmare seemed to be dead until they suddenly weren't.
“He looks alive to me.”
Roman stared at the frozen face.
“Thomas worked for my father.”
“Doing what?”
“Problems.”
“What kind of problems?”
“The kind Adrian Mercer calls consulting.”
My stomach tightened.
“Was he involved with Harrow?”
Roman nodded.
“He disappeared after the car bombing.”
“Dad's warning saved you from that bombing.”
“Yes.”
“And Thomas?”
“He was the man I suspected of planting it.”
My mother finally spoke.
“Daniel suspected him too.”
I turned toward her.
“You knew Thomas?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“He came to North Harbor.”
“When?”
“Several times.”
“For Charles?”
“No.”
She swallowed.
“For Adrian.”
I looked back at the screen.
Thomas Vane stood inside my bedroom holding a photograph of me.
The brown briefcase rested on the bed behind him.
“He's been living in my house.”
“Maybe,” Roman said.
“The recording said someone was.”
“We don't know for how long.”
My skin crawled.
I thought about nights alone.
Showers.
Changing clothes.
Sleeping.
Every ordinary private moment suddenly felt contaminated.
“I'm going home.”
Roman shook his head.
“No.”
“There may be evidence there.”
“There may be Thomas Vane there.”
“Then the police can arrest him.”
“If he stays.”
As if he'd heard us, Thomas looked directly into the hidden camera.
Then he reached toward it.
The feed went black.
SIGNAL LOST.
I grabbed my coat.
Roman didn't stop me this time.
He called ahead instead.
“Send police. Nobody enters until they arrive.”
My mother followed us.
I turned.
“No.”
“Claire—”
“You stay here.”
“I won't.”
“You disappeared for six years. I can survive thirty minutes without you.”
Pain crossed her face.
I hated myself for enjoying it.
But not enough to take the words back.
Roman handed her a phone.
“Stay here. Lock the door.”
She looked at him.
“Keep her safe.”
“I intend to.”
I walked downstairs before either of them could say anything else.
The drive home took fourteen minutes.
Roman made it in nine.
Police vehicles were already outside.
My house glowed beneath flashing lights.
The front door stood open.
Again.
I hated the sight of it.
An officer approached.
“No one should enter yet.”
“Thomas Vane?” Roman asked.
The officer frowned.
“How do you know that name?”
“You found identification?”
“A wallet.”
“Where?”
“Master bedroom.”
I stared at him.
“He left his wallet?”
The officer nodded.
“That doesn't make sense,” Roman said.
No.
It didn't.
A man who'd successfully disappeared for seventeen years didn't accidentally leave identification on my bed.
“He wanted us to know his name.”
Roman looked at me.
“Yes.”
The officer continued.
“We haven't located anyone inside.”
“The service corridor?”
“What corridor?”
I explained.
His expression hardened.
“That wasn't in the earlier search.”
“Because I didn't know it existed.”
He called two officers over.
Roman gave them the likely layout based on what my mother had told us.
Ten minutes later, one returned.
“We found an opening behind the master closet.”
My stomach twisted.
“How big?”
“Enough for a person.”
“Where does it go?”
“Between the walls. Looks like it connects several rooms.”
Roman looked at me.
“Claire.”
I knew what he was thinking.
Someone could have moved through my house without being seen.
I walked upstairs after police cleared the main rooms.
The closet panel had been removed.
Behind it was darkness.
An officer shone a flashlight inside.
Narrow wooden boards formed a passage.
There were wires.
Cameras.
Monitors.
A mattress.
Food wrappers.
Bottled water.
Someone had lived there.
Not for hours.
For weeks.
I felt sick.
Roman saw it.
“Outside.”
“No.”
“Claire.”
“No.”
I stepped inside.
The passage smelled stale.
Photographs covered one wall.
Me.
Kent.
Vanessa.
Roman.
My mother.
Some had dates.
Some had handwritten notes.
One photograph showed Roman leaving the Alder Room three months ago.
“Someone was watching you too.”
Roman studied it.
“Yes.”
Another showed Vanessa entering Kent's office.
Six months ago.
Another showed Kent withdrawing documents from a bank.
Four months ago.
Everything connected.
I found a notebook.
Roman put on gloves before picking it up.
Inside were times.
Dates.
My routines.
6:40 — Claire wakes.
7:25 — leaves.
18:10 — home.
23:15 — bedroom.
My stomach turned.
Then the notes changed.
KENT SEARCHED STUDY.
KENT MOVED FILE.
KENT CONTACTED V.C.
KENT TRANSFER INITIATED.
KENT KNOWS TOO MUCH.
I stopped.
“What does that mean?”
Roman read over my shoulder.
“He was watching Kent.”
“Why?”
“Maybe Kent wasn't working for Harrow.”
“He sent eight million dollars through their accounts.”
“To activate Daniel's escrow.”
“He lied to me for ten years.”
“That doesn't mean every lie served the same purpose.”
I hated that answer because it was reasonable.
We moved farther down the corridor.
It ended behind Kent's office.
The framed wedding photograph had been removed.
Behind it was a small safe.
Open.
Empty.
“Kent said the access file was here.”
Roman crouched.
“Someone got here first.”
I looked around.
“No.”
“What?”
“The live feed showed Thomas in the bedroom after we left the warehouse.”
“Yes.”
“If he wanted this file, why was he holding Dad's briefcase?”
Roman understood.
“Because the file wasn't his target.”
“What was?”
I thought about the break-in.
The missing briefcase.
The key.
The hidden corridor.
Then my father's video.
Everything had been designed to make us look in one direction.
“Me.”
Roman stood.
“Possibly.”
My phone rang.
Kent.
I answered.
“Kent?”
Nothing.
Then breathing.
“Claire?”
He sounded weaker.
“Where are you?”
“I don't know.”
“Can you see anything?”
“Dark.”
“Are you hurt?”
“Yes.”
Roman held out his hand for the phone.
I shook my head.
“Kent, listen to me. Thomas Vane is alive.”
Silence.
Then:
“Who told you that name?”
“Roman.”
“Claire, get away from him.”
Roman heard.
His expression didn't change.
“Why?”
“Because Thomas worked for Roman.”
“Roman told me.”
“No.”
Kent coughed.
“You don't understand.”
“Then explain.”
“Thomas didn't disappear after the bombing.”
Roman's face hardened.
“What?”
Kent continued.
“He worked for Vale Security until 2016.”
I looked at Roman.
“That isn't true.”
His answer came immediately.
Kent heard him.
“Yes, it is.”
Roman took the phone.
“Where did you get that?”
“My father's files.”
“Charles died before 2016.”
“He had records set to release after his death.”
Roman's jaw tightened.
“What records?”
“Payroll.”
Roman went still.
I noticed.
“Roman?”
He looked at me.
“Vale Security is not the same company it was then.”
“That wasn't my question.”
“I never saw Thomas after 2009.”
Kent laughed weakly through the phone.
“But someone paid him.”
Roman's expression turned dangerous.
“Who?”
“Your company.”
Silence.
Roman handed the phone back.
“Claire, whoever paid Thomas used internal accounts.”
“You didn't know?”
“No.”
“Can you prove that?”
“Yes.”
“Then do it.”
He nodded.
No argument.
Kent whispered, “Claire.”
“I'm here.”
“They're coming back.”
“Who?”
“I don't know.”
A door opened on his end.
Kent's breathing changed.
“Listen to me.”
“I'm listening.”
“There's another account.”
“What?”
“The eight million wasn't the only transfer.”
“How much?”
“Thirty-two million.”
I nearly dropped the phone.
“Whose money?”
“Mine.”
I stared at the wall.
“You have thirty-two million dollars?”
“Had.”
“What does that mean?”
“I moved everything.”
“Where?”
“Into the Bennett escrow.”
My anger exploded.
“You put thirty-two million dollars into an account in my name?”
“To keep Mercer from taking it.”
“You used my identity again.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
“I was trying to finish what Daniel started.”
“You don't get to use my father as an excuse.”
“I'm not.”
His voice broke.
“I was trying to give you leverage.”
“Against whom?”
“Everyone.”
A sound came through the phone.
Footsteps.
Kent whispered quickly.
“The transfer triggered disclosure packages.”
“What disclosure packages?”
“My company's records.”
My stomach dropped.
“What records?”
“Everything.”
His business.
Ashby Consulting.
The company Kent had built for eleven years.
“Tax records?”
“Yes.”
“Clients?”
“Yes.”
“Harrow transfers?”
“Yes.”
“Your father's files?”
“Yes.”
I closed my eyes.
“You destroyed your own company.”
“If that's what it takes.”
“Why?”
Kent was silent for one second.
Then:
“Because I finally understood why Daniel built the system.”
“Why?”
“To force the truth into daylight.”
A man's voice sounded behind Kent.
“Enough.”
The call ended.
“Kent!”
Nothing.
I called back.
No answer.
Roman was already speaking to one of his people.
“Trace it.”
My phone started vibrating repeatedly.
Email notifications.
News alerts.
Messages.
Dozens.
Then hundreds.
I opened the first.
ASHBY CONSULTING SUSPENDS OPERATIONS AMID FINANCIAL INVESTIGATION.
Another.
LEAKED DOCUMENTS LINK SEATTLE CONSULTANCY TO OFFSHORE NETWORK.
Another.
FEDERAL AUTHORITIES REVIEW ASHBY FINANCIAL RECORDS.
Kent had done it.
He had burned his own empire.
Roman looked at his phone.
“My companies are in the files too.”
“What?”
He showed me.
VALE SHIPPING RECORDS INCLUDED IN MASSIVE DATA RELEASE.
“You're exposed.”
“Yes.”
“Did Kent know?”
“Apparently.”
“Are you angry?”
Roman stared at the headline.
“No.”
That surprised me.
“Why not?”
“If my people committed crimes, I want to know.”
His phone rang.
He answered.
Listened.
Then his face changed.
“How many?”
A pause.
“Freeze everything.”
He ended the call.
“What happened?”
“Three senior executives tried to move money out of Vale accounts ten minutes ago.”
“Harrow?”
“Maybe.”
“You have people inside your company working for Mercer.”
“Yes.”
The scale of it became clear.
This wasn't one affair.
One murder.
One criminal organization.
It was a network hidden inside legitimate lives.
My father's system had just turned on the lights.
Roman's phone vibrated again.
He read a message.
“Police found Adrian's warehouse office empty.”
“But he was detained.”
“He was questioned.”
“And?”
“His lawyers arrived.”
My stomach sank.
“He walked?”
“For now.”
“Vanessa?”
“Gone.”
“Margaret?”
“With police.”
“Evelyn?”
“Still missing.”
I laughed bitterly.
“Wonderful.”
An officer called from the corridor.
“Mrs. Ashby?”
We turned.
He stood beside a small hatch in the floor.
“We found another compartment.”
My heartbeat quickened.
Inside was a black hard drive.
And a photograph.
Roman picked up the photograph with gloved hands.
My wedding day.
Again.
But this picture had been taken from inside the church.
My father was dead by then.
Someone had been watching.
On the back were three words.
HE CHOSE HER.
“Who chose me?”
Roman stared at the writing.
“I don't know.”
The hard drive contained one video.
Recorded three days ago.
We played it.
Kent sat in his office.
Alone.
He looked directly into the hidden camera.
“I know you're watching.”
My skin prickled.
Kent continued.
“You've been inside this house for months.”
He knew.
“I know what you want.”
He placed a folder on his desk.
“But Claire doesn't have it.”
A pause.
“And neither do I.”
Kent leaned closer.
“If you touch her, everything goes public.”
The video skipped.
Thomas entered the office.
My breath stopped.
Kent didn't look surprised.
They knew each other.
Thomas sat opposite him.
“You sound like Daniel.”
Kent answered:
“I'll take that as a compliment.”
Thomas laughed.
“You shouldn't.”
Then he placed the brown briefcase on Kent's desk.
The one supposedly stolen during the break-in.
Kent opened it.
Inside was not a ledger.
It was a stack of photographs.
Kent picked up the first.
His face changed.
“What is this?”
Thomas smiled.
“Proof your wife was selected before you ever met her.”
The video ended.
I stared at the black screen.
Roman swore quietly.
My phone vibrated.
One new message.
No number.
Just an attached photograph.
Kent.
Alive.
Tied to a chair.
A newspaper lay across his lap.
Tomorrow's date had been handwritten at the top.
Beneath the photograph was one sentence.
TRADE THE SECOND LEDGER FOR YOUR HUSBAND BEFORE MIDNIGHT.
Then another message arrived.
A location.
Roman read it.
His face went white.
I had never seen Roman Vale look afraid.
“What?”
He didn't answer.
“Roman.”
He slowly turned the phone toward me.
The location wasn't a warehouse.
It wasn't a hotel.
It wasn't one of Adrian Mercer's properties.
It was an address Roman knew by heart.
His childhood home.
Then my phone rang.
I answered.
“Hello?”
No voice.
Only a recording.
My father's voice.
“Claire, if they take you to the Vale house, do not let Roman open the basement door.”
The message ended.
Roman stared at me.
From downstairs came a heavy knock.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
An officer opened the front door.
Then called up.
“Mrs. Ashby? There's someone here asking for you.”
I stepped into the hallway.
“Who?”
The officer looked toward the visitor.
Then back at me.
“He says his name is Thomas Vane.”
Roman reached for me.
Too late.
Thomas stepped into view.
May you like
He smiled.
And in his hand was the key to Roman Vale's basement.
