Chapter 7 - The Second Sinclair
Victoria survived.
Barely.
Someone had entered Room 1704 using a housekeeping master key.
There were no signs of forced entry.
No missing valuables.
Only an empty water glass and a hotel notepad containing three numbers.
4.
5.
6.
Doctors refused to let us see her.
Police sealed the floor.
By evening, every news network in the city knew something had happened at the Sinclair Grand.
Marcus's removal from executive control leaked within hours.
So did our marital problems.
Photographs of Vanessa wearing my robe appeared online.
For once, I didn't care.
I sat beside Victoria's hospital bed after midnight.
She remained unconscious.
Her father was still missing.
The silver case was still missing.
And somewhere, according to Victoria, another granddaughter of Thomas Sinclair existed.
Samuel entered quietly.
"We decoded the numbers."
I looked up.
"Already?"
"They correspond to properties."
Hotel number four.
Floor eleven.
Room twenty-seven.
I knew the property.
The Sinclair Regent in Boston.
My father had lived there for six months during a renovation.
"We leave tonight."
Samuel shook his head.
"Police want you protected."
"I've spent eleven years being protected by secrets."
I stood.
"I'm done."
Marcus was waiting in the hallway.
"No."
I stared at him.
"No what?"
"You're not going to Boston alone."
"I don't remember asking you."
"Then don't."
His voice hardened.
"But whoever attacked Victoria has access to Sinclair systems."
I stepped toward him.
"And whose mistress had access to those systems?"
He looked away.
"Vanessa is missing."
That stopped me.
"What?"
"She left the hotel through the kitchen two hours ago."
"Security?"
"She changed clothes with a catering employee."
I almost admired the desperation.
Almost.
Marcus continued.
"Her phone was found in a trash bin."
Samuel looked at him.
"Did she contact you?"
"No."
I studied his face.
"You expect me to believe that?"
"Believe whatever you want."
His eyes met mine.
"But if Vanessa was part of this, she knows I no longer have anything to offer her."
I understood immediately.
"Which makes her dangerous."
"Or expendable."
We flew to Boston under private security.
At 4:20 a.m., we entered room 1127.
It had been unused for months.
Dust covered the furniture.
Samuel checked the walls.
Marcus searched the bathroom.
I stood in the center of the room, trying to remember my father.
Then I noticed the painting.
A harbor scene.
The same harbor where Thomas supposedly died.
Behind the frame was a small recessed safe.
The brass key from my suite fit perfectly.
Inside were letters.
Dozens of them.
All addressed to me.
None mailed.
My hands shook as I opened the first.
My father had written it two weeks before he died.
Amelia.
If you are reading this, then the people I failed to stop have returned.
Charles knows Thomas survived.
He knows about both girls.
He will eventually use one of them against you.
Do not mistake blood for loyalty.
And do not mistake betrayal for the absence of love.
Marcus made unforgivable mistakes.
But the worst thing he did was not the thing you think.
I stopped reading.
Marcus stood behind me.
"What?"
I handed him the letter.
His face changed.
"What did my father mean?"
Marcus sat on the edge of the bed.
For a long time, he said nothing.
May you like
Then he looked at me.
"Your father didn't die of a heart attack."
