Chapter 6 - MY FATHER’S LAST SAFE
I didn’t go home alone.
I simply allowed whoever was watching to believe I did.
Jonas left by the rear entrance with Ewan.
A doctor we trusted arranged transportation.
I returned through the main gates forty minutes later.
The estate looked normal.
That was the dangerous part.
No broken windows.
No armed men outside.
No screaming.
Only silence.
I entered my mother’s bedroom.
Her bed was empty.
On the pillow lay Celeste’s silk scarf.
The same one she had used on Delia.
My phone rang.
Celeste.
I answered.
“Where is she?”
“Such a terrible way to greet your future wife.”
“You stopped being that last night.”
“Did I?”
Her voice remained light.
“That depends on how attached you are to thirty-one percent of your company.”
“So that’s what you wanted.”
“I wanted security.”
“You wanted Ewan’s shares.”
“Ewan is dead.”
“Are you sure?”
Silence.
It lasted less than a second.
But I heard it.
Then Celeste laughed.
“Delia hit her head harder than I thought.”
I walked toward the cellar.
“You should have killed her if you wanted her quiet.”
“I’m glad you finally understand the stakes.”
“No.”
I opened the cellar door.
“I’m explaining your mistake.”
The lights below were on.
I descended slowly.
Our cellar held wine, archived documents, and an old steel safe built into the foundation.
My father had used it before moving most records elsewhere.
Celeste stood beside it.
My mother sat in her wheelchair ten feet away.
Vincent stood behind her.
I looked at him.
For one second I believed he had betrayed me.
Then I saw the small cut above his eyebrow.
And the gun pressed against his ribs.
The man holding it was Celeste’s brother, Julian Vandermark.
Celeste extended her hand.
“The key.”
“What does it open?”
“Don’t pretend.”
“I’m not.”
Her smile disappeared.
“Ewan stole something from my father six years ago.”
“Apparently everyone knows my family better than I do.”
“Your father knew.”
There it was again.
My father.
Celeste stepped closer.
“Antonio and my father built the dock arrangement together.”
“Then why kill Ewan?”
“Because your brother believed principles mattered.”
A strange anger filled me.
Not hot.
Cold.
“He discovered the missing manifests.”
“He discovered too much.”
“And my father ordered his own son dead?”
Celeste shrugged.
“Powerful men make difficult decisions.”
My mother stared at her with hatred.
I noticed her right hand resting against the wheelchair arm.
One finger moved.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Pause.
Again.
She was tapping.
A code from childhood.
Ewan and I used it when our father made us sit through business dinners.
Three short.
Two long.
Three short.
Behind.
I shifted my eyes.
Behind Celeste stood a wine rack.
Behind that rack was an old service corridor.
Someone was inside it.
I looked back at Celeste.
“What happens if I give you the key?”
“You sign the agreement.”
“And my mother?”
“She lives.”
“Vincent?”
“I don’t care.”
“And Delia?”
Celeste smiled.
“She should have learned her place.”
That sentence ended whatever mercy remained in me.
I reached into my pocket.
Celeste watched my hand.
So did Julian.
I pulled out the brass key marked 317.
Celeste frowned.
“That isn’t it.”
“No.”
I dropped it on the floor.
“It isn’t.”
The service door behind her burst open.
Jonas came through first.
Two of my men followed.
Julian turned.
Vincent drove his shoulder into Julian’s chest.
The gun hit the floor.
Celeste ran.
Not toward the stairs.
Toward the safe.
And that was when my mother did something I had not seen her do since her stroke.
She lifted her hand.
And pointed directly at Celeste.
Then she forced one broken word through her throat.
“Kill…er.”
Celeste stopped.
Everyone did.
My mother had spent four years unable to speak.
May you like
And the first word she fought back into the world was an accusation.
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