Chapter 1 - The Hands Beneath the Table
Emma Hale pointed beneath the banquet table and whispered:
“Look under there, sir.”
Adrian Marlowe lowered the white tablecloth and saw Sophia’s diamond ring wrapped around another man’s hand.
There was a black dot inked on the stranger’s cuff.
Adrian recognized the mark.
This was not an affair.
Three hundred people were still applauding.
That was the part Adrian would remember afterward.
Not Sophia’s hand.
Not the stranger.
Not even the terror in Emma’s enormous brown eyes.
The applause.
It rolled through the ballroom as the orchestra finished a song and champagne glasses rose beneath the crystal chandeliers. Men Adrian had known for half his life smiled toward him. Women embraced Sophia and congratulated her. Cameras flashed.
Six weeks from tonight, everyone in that room expected Adrian Marlowe to marry Sophia Bennett.
And beneath the table, Sophia had been holding the hand of a man Adrian had never seen.
Adrian let the linen fall.
His expression did not change.
Emma hugged her drawing pad against her little white dress.
Her mother, Clara, stood several feet away in her black housekeeper’s uniform. She had not yet noticed that her daughter had approached Adrian.
Emma pressed a finger to her lips.
Adrian crouched.
“Did he see you looking?”
She shook her head.
“Did Sophia?”
Another shake.
Adrian rested his hand gently on her shoulder.
“Thank you.”
Emma’s breathing eased.
He stood.
Sophia was beside him.
Her champagne glass trembled.
“Everything all right?” she asked.
Adrian looked into the face of the woman he loved.
“Perfect.”
The lie came easily.
That frightened him more than anything else.
Across the ballroom stood Victor Rowan.
Victor had served Adrian’s father before serving Adrian. Twenty years of loyalty had turned him into something more complicated than an employee. He had been beside Adrian at funerals, negotiations, hospital beds, and wars nobody outside their world would ever know existed.
Adrian touched two fingers to his champagne stem.
Victor moved immediately.
“What happened?” he murmured when he reached Adrian.
“The man sitting to Sophia’s left.”
Victor glanced toward the stranger.
Silver hair.
Black tuxedo.
Thin scar across the right eyelid.
“Follow him when he leaves,” Adrian said. “Quietly.”
Victor nodded.
“No one can know.”
“Of course.”
Victor walked away.
Adrian turned toward Sophia.
She was staring after him.
For half a second, fear crossed her face.
Then she smiled.
“Dance with me?”
Adrian almost laughed at the absurdity.
Instead, he took her hand.
The same hand that had been beneath the table.
They moved onto the floor.
Sophia rested her cheek near his shoulder.
“Your heart is beating fast,” she whispered.
“So is yours.”
She became still.
Around them, guests watched the celebrated couple dance.
“You're frightening me,” Sophia said.
“I haven't done anything.”
“That’s why.”
Adrian looked down at her.
Sophia knew him well.
Perhaps too well.
“You could tell me now,” he said.
“Tell you what?”
“Whatever you're afraid I'll discover later.”
Her eyes lifted to his.
Pain appeared there.
Real pain.
“I love you.”
“That wasn't my question.”
Her fingers tightened around his.
“Sometimes loving someone means not telling them everything.”
Adrian stopped dancing.
Sophia nearly collided with him.
Around them, couples continued moving.
“Who taught you that?”
She paled.
Before she could answer, a waiter accidentally dropped a tray near the ballroom doors.
The crash drew every eye.
The silver-haired stranger was gone.
So was Victor.
Adrian checked the time.
9:42 p.m.
He waited.
Ten minutes.
Twenty.
Forty.
At 10:31, Victor returned alone.
“He used the kitchen exit,” Victor said. “Got into a black sedan. No plates.”
“And?”
“We followed him to the highway.”
“We?”
“Daniel drove.”
“Where's Daniel?”
Victor hesitated.
“He stayed with the car.”
Adrian watched him.
Victor continued.
“The sedan went beneath the Halston overpass. A second vehicle was waiting. We lost both.”
“You lost him.”
“Yes.”
In twenty years, Victor Rowan had never lost anyone Adrian ordered him to follow.
Not once.
“Find him.”
Victor gave a short nod.
As he turned, Emma suddenly appeared again.
This time she did not approach Adrian.
She stared at Victor.
Her small face changed.
Victor noticed.
“Hello, sweetheart.”
Emma stepped backward.
Clara hurried over.
“Emma. Honey, I told you to stay near the kitchen.”
Victor smiled at Clara.
“She isn't bothering anyone.”
Emma hid behind her mother.
Adrian saw her fingers clutch Clara’s skirt.
Victor left.
Adrian approached them.
“Emma?”
She looked up.
“Did Mr. Rowan frighten you?”
“No.”
“Then why did you hide?”
Emma looked toward the doorway Victor had used.
Clara stroked her daughter's hair.
“She gets shy.”
Emma shook her head.
“No.”
Clara frowned.
“What is it?”
Emma lifted her drawing pad.
“I saw his picture.”
Adrian crouched again.
“Whose picture?”
“The man Mommy calls Mr. Victor.”
Clara went completely still.
Adrian noticed.
“Where did you see Victor's picture?”
Emma opened the pad.
The first pages held childish drawings of horses, flowers, Clara, the mansion, and a remarkably oversized sun.
Then Emma reached a blank page.
She drew a circle.
Inside it, she made a black dot.
Adrian felt cold.
“Emma,” Clara whispered.
The child looked at her mother.
“You said not to talk about the box.”
Adrian slowly stood.
“What box?”
Clara’s face had lost all color.
“Mr. Marlowe—”
“What box?”
Before she answered, Sophia called Adrian from across the ballroom.
Clara flinched.
That was enough.
“Take Emma upstairs,” Adrian said. “Do not leave the house.”
Clara swallowed.
“Yes, sir.”
“And Clara?”
She stopped.
“If you're protecting my family, I need to know.”
Tears appeared in her eyes.
“I don't know if I am anymore.”
Then she took Emma upstairs.
By midnight, the mansion was quiet.
Adrian found Sophia in his office.
He locked the door.
“Who was he?”
She stood beside the blue velvet chair.
“I can't tell you.”
Adrian placed the note from beneath the stranger’s dessert plate on his desk.
A single black dot marked one corner.
Sophia stared at it.
“What does this mean?”
“I don't know.”
“You're lying.”
“Adrian—”
“You held his hand.”
“He needed me to.”
“Why?”
“Because he was terrified.”
“Of me?”
Sophia’s eyes filled.
“No.”
“Victor?”
Her silence lasted less than a second.
But Adrian saw it.
He stepped closer.
“Sophia.”
“Please stop.”
“Why?”
“Because once you start asking these questions, he will know.”
“Who?”
She shook her head.
Adrian took her hands.
“Tell me.”
She whispered, “I can't.”
“Can't or won't?”
“Can't.”
“Why?”
A tear slipped down her cheek.
“Because someone dies every time the truth gets close to you.”
Adrian released her.
For several seconds neither moved.
Then he remembered Emma's words.
The box.
Adrian left Sophia in the office and went downstairs.
Clara’s staff apartment was empty.
Her bed was made.
Emma's little shoes were gone.
On the pillow lay a drawing.
Three stick figures.
Clara.
Emma.
Adrian.
Behind them stood a fourth figure.
A black dot covered its face.
Adrian turned the paper over.
Three words had been written in Clara's handwriting.
CHECK YOUR FATHER'S LEDGER.
Adrian ran to his father's old study.
The locked cabinet had not been opened since the funeral.
He found the ledger exactly where his father had left it.
Brown leather.
Cracked spine.
Adrian opened it.
Numbers.
Names.
Payments.
Then he found a sealed section.
He cut the binding.
One page fell free.
At the top was the same black dot.
Underneath it was a date from twenty years earlier.
And beneath the date was a name.
Adrian stared at it.
Footsteps stopped outside the study.
The handle slowly turned.
Then Victor Rowan said from the other side:
“Adrian? Open the door. We need to talk.”
May you like
And Adrian looked down once more at the name his father had written twenty years ago.
VICTOR ROWAN.
