Chapter 4 - Seven Days to Disappear
By the third day, Cordelia had stopped thinking of Elena as Dante’s mistress.
She had become something more dangerous.
A witness.
Rachel traced Elena’s authorization through two offshore companies. Lucian traced the hotel surveillance. Dante traced her last phone.
All three trails ended at the same place.
Port Mercer.
Cordelia hated the symmetry.
At 6:40 that evening, Lucian found her standing in the townhouse kitchen eating crackers directly from a box.
“You have a chef.”
“I fired him for hovering.”
“He was asking what you wanted for dinner.”
“Exactly.”
Lucian opened the refrigerator.
“You’ve eaten crackers for six hours.”
“You’re hovering.”
He closed the refrigerator.
“Understood.”
He walked away.
Cordelia smiled despite herself.
“Lucian.”
He turned.
“Thank you.”
“For leaving?”
“For letting me tell you to.”
His expression softened.
“You’ve had enough men confusing control with care.”
The sentence landed deeper than she wanted.
Before she could answer, the security alarm chirped.
Lucian changed instantly.
“Upstairs.”
“No.”
“Cordelia.”
“You promised.”
“I promised control over your movements within security limits. This qualifies.”
She hated that he was right.
A guard entered.
“Vehicle at the east gate.”
“Who?”
“Moretti.”
Cordelia closed her eyes.
Dante.
“Let him in.”
Lucian looked at her.
“My decision.”
A beat.
Then he nodded.
Dante entered ten minutes later carrying no weapon and looking as though he had not slept since their wedding.
His eyes found Cordelia.
For one second, neither spoke.
Then he noticed the crackers.
“You haven’t eaten.”
Cordelia laughed.
Lucian almost did.
Dante frowned.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
Cordelia put down the box.
“Why are you here?”
Dante placed a folder on the counter.
“Elena’s alive.”
Cordelia straightened.
“Where?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then how—”
“She used an emergency code we established years ago.”
Pain flashed through Cordelia.
Dante saw it.
“I’m sorry.”
“Keep going.”
“She sent coordinates.”
Lucian opened the folder.
“Port Mercer.”
“Warehouse Twelve.”
Lucian’s eyes sharpened.
“That warehouse belongs to Ashford.”
Cordelia frowned.
“No. We sold Twelve three years ago.”
“On paper,” Dante said.
He showed her a corporate record.
The buyer was another shell company.
Rachel’s forensic work had already found the name.
Cordelia whispered, “My father still owns it.”
Dante nodded.
They went together.
Cordelia refused to remain behind.
Warehouse Twelve smelled of salt, oil, and old timber.
No Elena.
No kidnappers.
Only a chair.
A phone.
And an envelope bearing Cordelia’s name.
Dante reached for it.
She stopped him.
“Mine.”
Inside was a photograph.
Cordelia at seventeen.
Henry stood beside her.
Behind them was Port Mercer.
On the back, someone had written:
THE WRONG ASHFORD INHERITED THE PORT.
Cordelia read it twice.
“What does that mean?”
Lucian looked toward a locked office.
“I think we need to ask Henry.”
Dante tried the door.
Locked.
Cordelia noticed scratches near the keyhole.
Fresh.
Someone had been inside recently.
Lucian’s men forced it open.
The office contained a desk and an old filing cabinet.
Inside the cabinet were decades-old corporate documents.
Cordelia found her grandfather’s will.
She had seen a copy before.
This one was different.
A codicil had been attached.
Port Mercer did not belong to Henry.
It had been placed in trust.
For Cordelia.
Her twenty-first birthday should have triggered transfer.
It never happened.
“My father stole it.”
Dante looked at her.
“Yes.”
Cordelia sat down.
Every sacrifice Henry claimed to make for her suddenly changed shape.
The company.
The wedding.
The debt.
He had not been protecting her inheritance.
He had been spending it.
Lucian found another document.
His expression hardened.
“What?”
He handed it to Cordelia.
It was an insurance policy.
Her name.
Her life.
Beneficiary: Ashford Holdings.
Effective date:
Seven days after her marriage.
Cordelia looked at Dante.
“When?”
He understood.
“The seventh day is Tuesday.”
Three days away.
Her phone vibrated.
Unknown number.
A photograph appeared.
Henry sat tied to a chair.
Behind him stood a woman in a burgundy dress.
Elena.
Cordelia’s breath caught.
A message followed.
YOUR FATHER LIED TO ALL OF US.
Then another.
COME ALONE IF YOU WANT TO KNOW WHY.
Cordelia looked toward the warehouse door.
May you like
It slowly began opening.
Someone was standing on the other side.
