Chapter 4 - The Man Who Lied for Twenty-Two Years
“Move away from the tube,” Samuel said.
Elena could not breathe.
Dante did not move.
“You’re disappointing me, Samuel.”
“This isn’t personal.”
“It became personal when you pointed a gun at me.”
Margaret stepped from behind the curtain.
“Samuel?”
His face twisted.
“I’m sorry.”
Margaret looked devastated rather than frightened.
“You gave Elena Arthur’s letter.”
“I had to.”
“Why?”
“Because Victor stopped trusting me.”
Elena finally understood.
Samuel had not come to confess.
He had come to locate what Arthur hid.
“You used me.”
Samuel nodded.
“Arthur never told me where the deed was. I knew the letter might lead his daughter to it.”
Dante shifted slightly.
Samuel raised the gun.
“Don’t.”
Elena clutched the metal tube.
“What happens if I give this to you?”
“You walk away.”
“And Dante?”
Samuel did not answer.
That was answer enough.
Elena looked at Dante.
His eyes stayed on Samuel.
“Do you trust me?” Elena whispered.
“Odd time to ask.”
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
Elena threw the tube.
Not to Samuel.
Straight upward.
Every eye followed it.
Dante moved.
He struck Samuel’s wrist.
The gun fired into the ceiling.
Margaret screamed.
Elena dove for the tube.
Samuel and Dante crashed into scenery.
The backstage door burst open again.
Detective Ruiz entered with officers.
“Police! Hands where I can see them!”
Samuel froze.
Within seconds he was on the floor.
Elena sat against the stage wall, holding the metal tube to her chest.
Dante approached.
“You all right?”
“Yes.”
“You threw our only evidence into the air.”
“You said you trusted me.”
“I’m reconsidering.”
She laughed.
It came out half hysterical.
He crouched beside her.
For one strange second, in a ruined theater surrounded by police, Elena felt safer than she had in years.
Ruiz opened the tube.
Inside was the original deed.
Arthur Vale: sixty percent.
Salvatore Moretti: forty.
A second document established a trust.
If either partner died, ownership transferred proportionally to their legal heirs.
Elena looked at Dante.
“So we own this place together.”
“Apparently.”
“That’s awkward.”
“Considering I proposed before learning we shared real estate?”
“You did not propose.”
“I offered a performance-based contract.”
Despite everything, Elena smiled.
Then Ruiz found another document.
A list of payments.
Samuel Crane’s name appeared repeatedly.
So did Victor Calder’s.
Samuel finally confessed.
Victor had paid him to replace the contract pages.
But Samuel insisted he had not killed Arthur.
“Victor wanted him frightened,” Samuel said during questioning. “Not dead.”
“Why should anyone believe you?” Elena asked.
“Because Arthur called me ten minutes before the crash.”
The room went still.
Samuel described the call.
Arthur had sounded terrified.
He said someone was following him.
Then he said a name.
“Whose?” Elena asked.
Samuel hesitated.
Ruiz leaned forward.
“Whose name?”
“Salvatore Moretti.”
Dante went rigid.
Elena looked at him.
His father.
Samuel continued.
“Arthur said, ‘Salvatore found me.’ Then the line went dead.”
Dante left the room.
Elena found him on the stage.
He stared into the empty seats.
“My father died six years ago,” he said.
“I know.”
“If he killed yours—”
“We don’t know that.”
“He was capable of terrible things.”
The admission sounded expensive.
Elena sat beside him.
“My father spent twenty years teaching me that people are more complicated than their worst mistake.”
Dante looked at her.
“Your father sounds kinder than mine.”
“Maybe.”
“Or more foolish.”
“Definitely.”
A small silence passed.
Then Dante said, “I meant what I said.”
“About what?”
“The marriage.”
Elena stared.
He laughed quietly.
“I’m joking.”
“That wasn’t funny.”
“It was slightly funny.”
She shoved his shoulder.
Dante caught her hand.
The movement stopped both of them.
His fingers were warm.
Elena became painfully aware of how close they were.
Then Ruiz called from the aisle.
“We found something.”
They returned backstage.
Police had opened an old storage cabinet.
Inside were reels of audio tape.
Arthur labeled everything.
One reel read:
A.V. / S.M.—FINAL MEETING.
Dante stared at it.
Ruiz found an old recorder.
The tape hissed.
Arthur’s voice emerged.
“If anything happens to me, this recording proves who stole the theater.”
Another voice answered.
Salvatore Moretti.
“You don’t understand what Victor is planning.”
“I understand enough.”
“No, Arthur. You don’t.”
A door slammed on the recording.
Then a third voice spoke.
Elena stopped breathing.
She knew that voice.
She had heard it at Blackthorn Manor only hours earlier.
The recording continued.
“You should have taken the money, Arthur.”
Elena looked at Dante.
Neither of them spoke.
Because the third man was the distinguished older host from the ballroom.
May you like
Sebastian Blackthorn.
And he had just walked into the theater behind them.
