Chapter 4 - THE PHOTOGRAPH FROM THIRTEEN YEARS AGO
By sunrise, Vincent had locked down the estate.
Nobody left.
Nobody entered.
Thirty-two employees surrendered their phones.
Security footage was copied.
Cars were searched.
Tony personally inspected every room on the second floor.
Emma sat in Vincent's kitchen wearing an oversized sweatshirt Isabella had given her.
The photograph lay on the table.
Vincent stared at it.
“Where did you get this?”
“It was with me when I was abandoned.”
Isabella sat beside Emma.
“You were a baby?”
“Three months old.”
Vincent picked up the photograph.
His eyes moved to the lighthouse.
Then to the woman.
Something changed.
“Tony.”
Tony entered.
Vincent handed him the photograph.
Tony's face lost its color.
Emma noticed.
“You know her.”
Tony said nothing.
“You know her!”
Vincent looked at Tony.
“Answer her.”
Tony slowly sat down.
“I knew someone who looked like her.”
“What was her name?”
Tony looked at Vincent.
That frightened Emma.
Vincent nodded once.
“Claire.”
Emma forgot how to breathe.
“Claire what?”
“Claire Bennett.”
Emma stood.
The chair fell backward.
“No.”
Isabella reached for her.
Emma moved away.
“You're lying.”
“Emma—”
“My mother's name was Claire.”
Vincent's eyes sharpened.
“How do you know?”
“St. Catherine's file. I saw it once. Before Mr. Cole caught me.”
Vincent leaned forward.
“What else was in the file?”
“Nothing. Most of it was blacked out.”
Tony stared at the photograph.
“Boss.”
“I know.”
Emma looked between them.
“What?”
Vincent's voice became quiet.
“Claire Bennett worked for my father.”
Emma's heart stopped.
Thirteen years earlier, Claire Bennett had disappeared.
Two weeks later, Vincent's father had been murdered.
And according to every Romano record, Claire had stolen something before she vanished.
A ledger.
Not money.
Names.
Judges.
Police officers.
Businessmen.
Men who had spent thirteen years believing the evidence against them was gone.
Vincent looked at Emma.
“If Claire Bennett was your mother, you were not abandoned by accident.”
Emma touched the lighthouse pendant.
Isabella saw it.
Then she looked at the photograph.
“Vincent.”
He followed her eyes.
The pendant.
The lighthouse.
The photograph.
Vincent reached for the necklace.
Emma slapped his hand away.
“Don't.”
He stopped.
Isabella whispered, “The box.”
“What box?”
“The pendant was in a silver box.”
Vincent's eyes met hers.
“Bella, where did you get it?”
“Your mother gave it to me.”
The kitchen became silent.
Vincent's mother had been dead for eleven years.
Emma's skin prickled.
Isabella stood.
“She told me to keep it. She said someday I would know who needed it.”
Vincent stared at the pendant around Emma's neck.
“Take it off.”
“No.”
“Emma.”
“No.”
“Take it off now.”
His urgency frightened her.
Emma unclasped the chain.
Vincent placed the pendant on the table.
Tony brought a small tool.
The gold lighthouse opened.
Inside was a tiny key.
And engraved beneath it were three numbers.
Tony whispered, “Dear God.”
Emma looked at him.
“What?”
Tony's face was gray.
“Three-seventeen was your mother's room at the Romano safe house.”
Vincent closed his hand around the key.
May you like
Thirteen years of secrets had just opened.
And someone had already killed to keep them closed.
