Chapter 4 - Selian Ashford’s Second Warning
The photograph sat between them on the library table at two thirty in the morning.
Saraphene had looked at it so many times that she could see Elias Ashford’s smile even when she closed her eyes.
He resembled Selian.
Not completely.
Elias looked younger, gentler, less guarded.
But the eyes were unmistakable.
“Tell me you put that photograph in my closet.”
Selian stood beside the fireplace.
“If I had, I would tell you.”
“That was not reassuring.”
“It wasn’t intended to be.”
Adrian had taken the photograph to check for fingerprints, then returned it inside a clear evidence sleeve.
Now Saraphene stared at the handwriting on the back.
Elias Ashford.
“How does a photograph of your brother end up in my apartment?”
“There are only a few possibilities.”
“Give me the least terrifying one.”
“Trent planted it.”
“Why?”
“To frighten you.”
“He never mentioned Elias.”
“Then perhaps he didn't expect you to find it.”
Saraphene’s gaze lifted.
“You think it was hidden.”
“It was on the upper shelf behind a box you said you hadn't opened since moving.”
She nodded.
“Trent helped me move.”
Selian’s face hardened.
“So he had access.”
“But why hide a photograph there?”
Adrian entered carrying a laptop.
“Because the photo isn't the important part.”
He placed it on the table and enlarged a high-resolution scan.
“Look at the lower-right corner.”
Saraphene leaned closer.
Behind Elias was a brick building.
One window reflected a sign from across the street.
The lettering appeared backward.
Adrian flipped the image.
WINTERS CLOCK REPAIR
Saraphene froze.
“No.”
Selian looked at her.
“What?”
“That was my grandfather’s shop.”
Silence.
“Where?” Adrian asked.
“Wexler Street.”
Selian’s eyes sharpened.
“214 Wexler?”
“Yes.”
The property from Trent’s search records.
Saraphene pressed a hand to her forehead.
“My grandfather repaired clocks and watches. The shop closed after he died. My mother sold the building years ago.”
“Who bought it?” Selian asked.
“I have no idea.”
Adrian typed.
A property record appeared.
The buyer had been an LLC.
Three transfers later, the building now belonged to another holding company.
Adrian looked up.
“Company traces back to Lane Holdings.”
“Victor Lane,” Saraphene said.
Selian nodded.
The room seemed to contract around them.
Elias.
Trent.
Victor.
Her grandfather.
The antique music box.
Nothing felt accidental anymore.
“Did Elias know your grandfather?” Selian asked.
“I don’t know.”
“How old were you when he died?”
“Twenty.”
“And Elias disappeared?”
“Three years ago.”
Saraphene calculated.
“My grandfather was still alive.”
Selian walked toward the fire.
“Elias collected mechanical watches.”
She looked up.
“He did?”
“Yes. He used the same repair shop for years.”
“Winters Clock Repair?”
“I never knew the name.”
A memory surfaced.
Her grandfather standing behind his counter, magnifying lens clipped over one eye.
A young man in a blue coat waiting beside the register.
Saraphene had brought lunch.
She remembered laughing because the customer had made a joke about a watch costing less than the repair.
Could that have been Elias?
“I might have met him.”
Selian turned quickly.
“When?”
“I’m not sure. Years ago. There was a customer my grandfather liked. He called him Eli.”
Selian sat opposite her.
“Describe him.”
Saraphene looked again at the photograph.
Her chest tightened.
“I think that was him.”
Selian’s mask cracked.
Only slightly.
But she saw it.
Hope was more painful on his face than grief.
“Did your grandfather ever mention anything strange before Elias disappeared?”
Saraphene searched through old memories.
Her grandfather had become nervous near the end.
He had installed an extra lock.
Started closing early.
Once told Saraphene, “Some things are valuable because of what they prove, not what they're worth.”
At the time she had thought he meant watches.
She repeated it.
Selian looked at Adrian.
“The ledger.”
“Maybe,” Adrian said.
Saraphene leaned forward.
“What exactly is in this ledger?”
Selian hesitated.
“Names. Payments. Shell companies. Evidence that Halden Ridge moved money for people who did not want their transactions visible.”
“Your family?”
“Some.”
Saraphene stared.
Selian did not look away.
“Elias discovered transactions linked to my father’s old organization, politicians, corporate executives and criminal groups.”
“That could destroy people.”
“Yes.”
“And Trent knew.”
“Yes.”
“Victor knew.”
“We believe so.”
“And my grandfather may have hidden it.”
“That now appears possible.”
Saraphene stood.
“Then Trent didn’t spend eight months following me because he wanted me back.”
Selian’s voice was quiet.
“Maybe not entirely.”
The realization was strangely painful.
She had spent months fearing Trent’s obsession.
Now she discovered that some of it might have been calculation.
She had been afraid of a love that wasn’t love and a pursuit that might not even have been about her.
Selian watched her.
“Sit down.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re shaking.”
“I said I’m fine.”
Selian did not move.
Saraphene laughed once, without humor.
“Sorry. I’m having trouble deciding which part of my life was fake.”
“Trent’s behavior was real.”
“That’s supposed to help?”
“No.”
He walked toward her but stopped several feet away.
“The reasons behind a person’s cruelty do not make what they did to you less real.”
Saraphene looked at him.
The words struck somewhere deep.
“You sound like you know that.”
Selian’s expression closed.
“I know many things I wish I didn’t.”
Before she could ask, Adrian’s phone rang.
He answered.
Listened.
Then his posture changed.
“When?”
Selian looked over.
Adrian ended the call.
“We found the sedan.”
“Where?”
“Abandoned near the river.”
“And?”
“Registered to a woman named Bethany Cole.”
“Relation?”
“No.”
Adrian’s voice flattened.
“Bethany Cole died six years ago.”
Saraphene closed her eyes.
Stolen identity.
Of course.
Selian’s phone buzzed next.
A message.
He read it.
His expression became lethal.
“What?” Saraphene asked.
He handed her the phone.
A photograph.
The Beaumont Gallery restroom.
Taken from the hallway security camera.
It showed Saraphene entering.
Then Selian.
Below it:
You should have stayed out of this, Ashford.
A second message arrived.
This one was for Saraphene.
A photograph of her old apartment.
Taken from inside her bedroom.
He cannot protect you forever.
Selian took the phone.
“No.”
Saraphene looked at him.
“What?”
“He’s wrong.”
His voice was very quiet.
“I don’t need forever.”
Something about the way he said it frightened her.
“Selian.”
He turned toward Adrian.
“Find Morrison.”
“No.”
Both men looked at her.
Saraphene stepped between them.
“You told me I could make informed decisions.”
“You can.”
“Then I’m making one. Nobody does anything reckless because of me.”
Selian’s eyes darkened.
“This is not because of you.”
“It’s becoming because of me.”
“Morrison broke into your home.”
“Then we use police.”
“Police have had eight months.”
“And what are you going to do?”
Silence.
Saraphene held his gaze.
“That’s what I thought.”
Selian’s jaw tightened.
Finally he said, “We find evidence.”
“Legally.”
“As legally as possible.”
“That sentence needs work.”
Adrian coughed into his fist.
Selian ignored him.
Saraphene looked toward the photograph of Elias.
“Start with Wexler Street.”
“We will.”
“I’m coming.”
“No.”
She folded her arms.
Selian stared at her.
Saraphene waited.
Finally, with visible effort, he said, “Would you consider remaining here?”
“No.”
Adrian turned away again.
Selian’s eyes narrowed.
“You enjoy this.”
“A little.”
For the first time that night, Saraphene smiled.
The expression surprised all three of them.
It disappeared quickly.
But Selian had seen it.
And something in his face softened.
Only for a moment.
Then his phone rang.
He answered.
“Talk.”
His expression changed.
“Repeat that.”
Adrian stepped closer.
Selian disconnected.
“What happened?” Saraphene asked.
He looked directly at her.
“Morrison is at 214 Wexler Street.”
“Right now?”
“Yes.”
“Doing what?”
Selian’s voice dropped.
May you like
“Waiting for us.”
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