Chapter 4 - The Voice of a Dead Woman
Nora could not move.
Her mother had been dead seven years.
She had stood beside the hospital bed.
She had signed paperwork.
She had scattered Claire Quinn’s ashes along the Oregon coast because that was what Claire had requested.
Yet the voice beyond the hotel door had belonged to her.
“Eleanor?”
Adrian opened the door.
Nobody stood there.
Only an old digital recorder rested on the carpet.
Its red light blinked.
Nora’s knees nearly gave out.
Adrian caught her.
She allowed it this time.
He picked up the recorder with a handkerchief from his pocket.
The message played again.
“Eleanor?”
Then Claire’s voice continued.
“If you are hearing this, Marcus is dead.”
Nora gripped Adrian’s arm.
The recording crackled.
“I hoped this would never reach you. I hoped I could give you another life.”
Claire breathed shakily.
“Your name was Eleanor Vale for six weeks. Marcus wanted you recognized as his daughter. I refused.”
Nora stared at the recorder.
Adrian’s face had become unreadable.
Claire continued.
“Marcus was not your father.”
Nora’s eyes widened.
Adrian looked at her.
“He claimed you because your real father was more dangerous.”
The recording clicked.
Stopped.
Nora whispered, “No.”
Adrian pressed play again.
Nothing.
The rest of the file had been deleted.
Nora looked at him.
“More dangerous than your father?”
“I don’t know.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know.”
A knock sounded.
Adrian moved instantly.
Security identified themselves.
One of Adrian’s men entered.
“Mr. Vale, Victor Moretti has disappeared.”
“What do you mean disappeared?”
“The cameras lost him in the service corridor.”
Adrian’s expression turned cold.
“Lock down the hotel.”
“Already happening.”
Nora laughed softly.
The guard looked at her.
She shook her head.
“Sorry. I just found out my mother renamed me to hide me from a man more dangerous than a billionaire accused of dealing with organized crime. Apparently laughing is where my brain went.”
Adrian dismissed the guard.
Then crouched slightly so he was eye level with Nora.
“We leave.”
“Where?”
“My house.”
She almost laughed again.
“No.”
“Nora.”
“You’re a Vale. My mother literally wrote do not trust the Vale family.”
“And she left that warning in my father’s hotel.”
That stopped her.
Adrian continued.
“Someone wanted us to find this.”
“You think Victor?”
“Maybe.”
“Why?”
“That’s what I intend to learn.”
Nora looked at the photo.
Her mother.
Marcus Vale.
Baby Eleanor.
Her entire childhood suddenly felt edited.
Questions Claire refused to answer.
Unexpected moves.
Different schools.
No photographs before Nora was four.
Claire’s insistence that they never post addresses publicly.
She had called it privacy.
Maybe it had been survival.
Nora followed Adrian downstairs.
The wedding had stopped.
Police stood near the ballroom.
Guests whispered.
Ethan rushed toward Nora.
“What happened?”
“Not now.”
“Nora, please.”
She looked at him.
“You knew someone was looking for me.”
“I knew someone wanted you here.”
“And you said nothing.”
“I thought I was protecting you.”
For years those words had excused everything.
Tonight Nora finally recognized how much she hated them.
“No. You were deciding for me.”
Ethan flinched.
Vanessa approached slowly.
She had removed her veil.
Mascara streaked one cheek.
“Nora.”
Nora looked at the bride.
“I’m sorry.”
Vanessa nodded.
“I deserve that.”
“No. I mean I’m sorry your wedding became this.”
Vanessa gave a broken laugh.
“So am I.”
Nora turned toward Adrian.
“Take me somewhere safe.”
They left through a private exit.
Adrian’s residence occupied the top floors of an unmarked building overlooking the river.
Nora expected sterile billionaire minimalism.
Instead she found books.
Old photographs.
Warm wood.
A piano.
A kitchen that looked used.
It disturbed her more than marble would have.
Humanizing Adrian felt dangerous.
He poured her water.
“No whiskey?”
“You’ve made enough questionable decisions around whiskey.”
She almost smiled.
Then she noticed a photograph on a shelf.
Adrian at perhaps seventeen.
Beside him stood Marcus Vale.
And beside Marcus stood a third man.
Nora walked closer.
Something about him felt familiar.
Not his face.
His eyes.
She removed the frame.
“Who is this?”
Adrian looked.
His expression changed immediately.
“My father’s attorney.”
“Name?”
“Jonathan Quinn.”
The glass nearly fell from Nora’s hand.
“Quinn.”
“Yes.”
“My mother’s surname.”
Adrian stood.
“Nora.”
She turned the photograph over.
Writing covered the back.
Marcus, Adrian, Jonathan. Bellamy opening. 2004.
Below that, in different ink:
Claire knows.
Nora’s heart slammed.
“Jonathan Quinn.”
Adrian reached for his phone.
“Don’t.”
He stopped.
“Tell me what you know.”
Adrian looked toward the window.
“Jonathan disappeared shortly before my father died.”
“Disappeared?”
“His car was found near the Canadian border.”
“Body?”
“No.”
“So he could be alive.”
“Yes.”
Nora looked at the man again.
Jonathan had dark hair.
Strong jaw.
Eyes painfully similar to hers.
“Could he be my father?”
Adrian did not answer quickly enough.
“You’ve thought of that.”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you say?”
“Because resemblance is not proof.”
“My mother took his last name.”
“Yes.”
“She knew him.”
“Yes.”
“And your father claimed me.”
“Yes.”
Nora felt dizzy.
Her phone vibrated.
Unknown number.
She expected another warning.
Instead, an image loaded.
A live photograph.
Taken through a window.
Of Nora standing inside Adrian’s apartment.
She looked instinctively toward the glass.
Adrian crossed the room and pulled her away.
A message followed.
ASK ADRIAN WHAT HIS FATHER DID TO JONATHAN QUINN.
Then another.
ASK HIM WHY YOUR MOTHER RAN.
Nora looked at Adrian.
His face had gone very still.
“You know.”
He didn’t deny it.
“What did Marcus do?”
Adrian opened his mouth.
Before he could answer, the apartment intercom buzzed.
Security spoke through it.
“Mr. Vale, there’s a man downstairs asking for Ms. Quinn.”
Adrian’s gaze sharpened.
“Name?”
A pause.
Then:
“Jonathan Quinn.”
Nora stopped breathing.
May you like
Security continued.
“He says he’s her father.”
