Chapter 5 - The Secret Her Grandmother Took to the Grave
Maren had not spoken to her father in fourteen years.
Thomas Vale disappeared from her life when she was twenty.
Not physically at first.
Emotionally.
Financially.
Then literally.
He blamed Maren’s grandmother for everything.
Evelyn controlled the family money.
Thomas wanted access.
Evelyn refused.
Arguments became threats.
One Christmas morning, Thomas left.
No goodbye.
No forwarding address.
No phone call.
Maren eventually learned to stop waiting.
Now his face stared back from a photograph beside Ryan Keller.
“This was taken seven years ago,” Maren said.
Dante examined the date printed on the back.
“Two years before your grandmother died.”
Maren nodded.
Ortiz opened another folder.
“There’s correspondence.”
She handed Maren several printed emails.
Thomas Vale to Ryan Keller.
Piermont parcel must remain in family until transfer conditions are satisfied.
Another.
My mother will never sell willingly.
Another.
Maren can be persuaded.
Her throat tightened.
Dante read over her shoulder.
“Your father knew Ryan.”
“Apparently.”
Ortiz said, “More than knew.”
“What does that mean?”
“We traced Keller Urban Holdings farther.”
Maren looked at her.
“Thomas owned thirty percent.”
Everything went quiet.
Maren sat on the warehouse steps.
Her legs had stopped cooperating.
“My father tried to take my property.”
Ortiz sat beside her.
“Looks that way.”
“Did he know about the fire?”
“We don’t know.”
“Is he alive?”
“Yes.”
Maren looked up sharply.
Ortiz continued.
“He lives in Arizona under his middle name.”
“You found him?”
“We found an address.”
Dante asked, “Has anyone contacted him?”
“Not yet.”
Maren laughed once.
It carried no humor.
“Fourteen years.”
Ortiz waited.
Maren looked at the photograph.
“My whole life, I thought he left because he didn’t care.”
Dante’s expression softened.
“That may still be true.”
She looked at him.
“That was terrible comfort.”
“I’m not very good at this.”
Surprisingly, she smiled.
By noon, Maren returned to Dante’s home.
She showered.
Changed bandages.
Slept for two hours.
When she woke, she found a voicemail from the hospital.
Evan wanted to speak to her again.
She deleted it.
Then restored it from deleted messages.
Then became angry at herself for caring.
At four, Detective Ortiz arrived.
She brought news.
“Ryan’s passport was flagged.”
“Do you think he left the city?”
“Probably not.”
“Why?”
“He wants the property.”
“Can’t he just run?”
“People like Ryan don’t think they lose.”
Dante sat across the room.
“They think everyone else eventually makes a mistake.”
Ortiz nodded reluctantly.
“Correct.”
Maren asked about her father.
Ortiz set down a recorder.
“We reached him.”
Her heart beat harder.
“And?”
“He claims he hasn’t spoken to Ryan in years.”
“Do you believe him?”
“No.”
“Did he know about the fire?”
“He denied it.”
“Did he know Ryan wanted my property?”
“He refused to answer without counsel.”
Maren stared at the floor.
Typical.
Not grief.
Not concern.
Lawyers.
Dante said, “There’s something else.”
Maren looked up.
He placed a letter on the table.
Old stationery.
Evelyn Vale’s handwriting.
Maren recognized it immediately.
“Where did you get this?”
“My investigator found a safe-deposit box registered to your grandmother.”
“How?”
“Long story.”
“Legal?”
Dante paused.
Maren narrowed her eyes.
“Never mind.”
She opened the letter.
My dearest Maren,
If you are reading this, then someone has finally come after Piermont.
Maren stopped.
Her heart pounded.
She continued.
The warehouse is worth more than its walls. Years ago, your father became involved with men who believed the riverfront could be turned into luxury towers. I refused to sell because their plan required forcing dozens of small businesses from the neighborhood.
Thomas never forgave me.
If he returns promising reconciliation, be careful.
If anyone named Keller approaches you, be more careful.
And if they ever tell you the warehouse is worthless, understand that means it is worth more than they want you to know.
Maren swallowed.
The letter continued.
I made mistakes with your father. I tried to fix his character with money and then punish his failures by withholding it. Neither worked.
Do not repeat my mistake.
Property is not love.
Money is not loyalty.
And family is not proven by blood.
It is proven by who remains when staying becomes difficult.
Love,
Grandma.
Maren pressed the letter to her chest.
For several moments, she couldn’t speak.
Dante looked away.
Ortiz quietly excused herself to make a call.
Maren whispered, “She knew.”
“Yes.”
“She knew they might come after me.”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t she tell me?”
“Maybe she hoped they never would.”
Maren wiped her eye.
“She always thought she could protect everyone.”
Dante gave a faint smile.
“Sounds familiar.”
She looked at him.
“Are you calling me reckless?”
“I’m implying subtle similarities.”
Maren folded the letter.
“Do you know what I want?”
“What?”
“I want my life back.”
Dante’s expression changed.
“That may take time.”
“No. I don’t mean before the fire.”
She stood.
“I don’t want that life.”
Dante watched.
“I want one that belongs to me.”
The first step came the next morning.
Maren met with an independent attorney.
She froze all accounts linked to the insurance settlement.
Filed fraud claims.
Revoked every power of attorney Evan possessed.
Filed a formal complaint regarding the forged property contract.
Then she called the surgeon whose appointment she had postponed because Evan told her they couldn’t afford it.
“I’d like to reschedule.”
The receptionist checked.
“We have an opening next month.”
“I’ll take it.”
Next, she met with the warehouse tenants.
There were six.
A mechanic.
A furniture restorer.
A community theater company.
Two artists.
A nonprofit bicycle repair shop.
Ryan’s proposed development would have removed all of them.
Maren stood before the group.
“I’m not selling.”
Applause broke out.
She almost cried.
That night, Dante drove her home.
Police had cleared the apartment.
Evan’s remaining belongings had been collected.
The dining table was still there.
So was the candle.
Maren stared at the chair where she had sat the night he left.
Dante hovered near the doorway.
“You want company?”
“I think I need to do this alone.”
He nodded.
She hesitated.
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“Showing up.”
His expression softened.
“You showed up first.”
After he left, Maren cleaned.
Not because the apartment was dirty.
Because she needed every trace of that dinner gone.
She threw away the flowers.
Washed the dishes.
Removed Evan’s framed photographs.
At midnight, she stood before the bathroom mirror.
Slowly, she removed the bandage from her face.
She had avoided looking for days.
The scar ran from her temple across the left side of her cheek.
Pink.
Uneven.
Real.
She stared.
For the first time, she did not look away.
“You saved someone,” she whispered to her reflection.
Then she corrected herself.
“You survived.”
Her phone rang.
Unknown number.
She nearly ignored it.
Something made her answer.
“Hello?”
Silence.
Then a man spoke.
“Maren.”
Her blood ran cold.
She knew the voice.
Fourteen years had changed it.
Not enough.
“Dad.”
Thomas Vale exhaled.
“You need to leave New York.”
Her fingers tightened around the phone.
“Why?”
“Because Ryan isn’t the one you should be afraid of.”
Maren stopped breathing.
“What are you talking about?”
“He didn’t order the fire.”
“Then who did?”
A long silence.
“Maren, listen to me. Your grandmother made enemies you don’t understand.”
“Who ordered the fire?”
“I can’t tell you over the phone.”
“Then come here.”
“I can’t.”
“Why?”
Another pause.
“Because they’re watching me too.”
The line crackled.
Maren walked toward the window.
“Who?”
Thomas whispered a name.
Maren froze.
Behind her, the apartment door clicked.
May you like
Slowly.
Someone was unlocking it from the outside.
