Chapter 6 - Vivienne's Test
“Move away from her, Conrad.”
He didn't.
“Vivienne.”
“I said move.”
Fay stared upward.
The dead woman looked older, scarred along one side of her face, but unmistakably alive.
Conrad positioned himself between the gun and Fay.
Vivienne laughed bitterly.
“There he is. Victor's son.”
“Put the gun down.”
“You don't know what she has.”
“She has nothing.”
“She has everything.”
Adrian smiled.
That was when Fay understood.
Vivienne wasn't aiming because she wanted Fay dead.
She was frightened.
“She's bluffing,” Fay said.
Conrad glanced back.
Fay stepped around him.
“Vivienne doesn't want to shoot me.”
“You seem confident.”
“If she wanted me dead, she had eight months.”
Vivienne's gun remained steady.
Fay continued.
“You sent the dresses.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“To see what Conrad would do.”
Conrad's eyes hardened.
“You tortured my wife to test me?”
“I needed to know whether you were Victor.”
Fay felt anger rise.
“So you humiliated me.”
“I needed pressure.”
“You needed therapy.”
Even Luca, tied to a chair, looked startled.
Vivienne lowered the weapon slightly.
Fay climbed the metal stairs.
“Every note made me hate myself.”
“I didn't know—”
“No. You didn't bother knowing.”
Vivienne's face shifted.
Fay stopped several feet away.
“You wanted to know whether Conrad was cruel? Congratulations. You became cruel yourself.”
Silence.
Then Vivienne lowered the gun.
Adrian moved.
Conrad saw it.
He lunged.
The gunshot echoed.
Luca threw himself sideways.
Adrian fell.
Not dead.
Shot through the shoulder by Vivienne.
Police sirens approached.
Conrad stared at his aunt.
“You called them?”
Vivienne nodded.
“I've spent eleven years collecting enough evidence to destroy what Victor and Adrian built.”
“Why hide?”
“Because Adrian controlled judges, officers, politicians. I couldn't know who was clean.”
“And Fay?”
“She was the final key.”
Fay looked disgusted.
“I am a person. Not a key.”
Vivienne accepted that without defense.
“You're right.”
Adrian survived.
The evidence triggered investigations reaching far beyond the Harwick family.
But Fay's marriage remained broken in quieter places.
Three days later, she packed a suitcase.
Conrad stood in the bedroom doorway.
“Where are you going?”
“My father's old house.”
“For how long?”
“I don't know.”
His face barely changed.
His eyes did.
“Are you leaving me?”
“I need space.”
“I can give you space here.”
“You own every wall here.”
“Our walls.”
She looked at him.
“You keep saying ‘our’ after making decisions alone.”
He had no answer.
Fay picked up her suitcase.
Conrad took it.
She glared.
“I'm carrying it downstairs.”
“Oh.”
“I am capable of one non-controlling gesture.”
“Debatable.”
He carried it.
At the front door, she waited for him to ask her to stay.
He wanted to.
She could see it.
Instead he said, “The car is armored.”
“Of course it is.”
“Luca will—”
“No guards.”
“Fay.”
“One.”
“Three.”
“One.”
“Two.”
She sighed.
“Fine.”
He opened the door.
Fay stepped outside.
Then turned.
“Conrad?”
“Yes?”
“The dress Rosa made?”
“What about it?”
“I kept it.”
Something flickered across his face.
She left.
For the next two weeks, Conrad did something almost impossible for him.
Nothing.
He did not appear at her door.
He did not send gifts.
He did not send flowers.
He sent one text each evening.
Home safe?
Fay answered.
Yes.
That was all.
Until the fifteenth night.
Conrad's message didn't arrive.
Fay noticed at 9:07.
By 9:30 she was irritated at herself for noticing.
At 10:15, Luca called.
“Fay.”
Something in his voice made her stand.
“What happened?”
“Conrad's missing.”
Her blood went cold.
“Since when?”
“Three hours.”
“Where was he?”
“Rosa's shop.”
“Why?”
Luca hesitated.
“Fay, you need to come here.”
She drove herself.
At Rosa's studio, the front window was broken.
Blood marked the floor.
Not much.
Enough.
On the sewing table lay a garment bag.
Fay opened it.
Inside was a dress.
Not designer.
Not selected by an assistant.
A simple dark-green gown.
A note was pinned to it in Conrad's handwriting.
I asked Rosa what you chose when nobody was watching.
Fay pressed her hand to her mouth.
Then she saw the second note.
Different handwriting.
IF YOU WANT YOUR HUSBAND BACK, WEAR THE RED ONE.
A photograph fell from the garment bag.
Conrad was on his knees.
Someone stood behind him.
Fay turned the photograph over.
May you like
An address was written there.
And beneath it was a name she had not seen since her mother's funeral.
