Chapter 8 - The Camera That Vincent Never Installed
By midnight, my mansion was sealed.
Every guard was accounted for.
Every gate checked.
Every vehicle searched.
No intruder found.
That meant either someone had entered and escaped through a route we didn't know existed, or the threat was already inside.
Neither option helped me sleep.
The photograph had been taken from approximately four hundred yards away using a long lens.
The angle suggested the cliffside woods east of the property.
My security team searched for footprints.
Rain had destroyed most traces.
They found one thing.
A miniature wireless camera fixed to a tree.
Professional equipment.
Encrypted transmission.
Not mine.
Dominic brought it into the security room.
“You were being watched from outside.”
“For how long?”
“Impossible to know.”
“Check the trees.”
“Already doing it.”
Clara stood at the doorway.
“You should take Matteo somewhere else.”
“No.”
“This place is compromised.”
“Everywhere is compromised until I know by whom.”
“Then send him somewhere they don't expect.”
“He stays with me.”
She stared.
“Is that about his safety or yours?”
“Not tonight, Clara.”
“You think keeping him beside you means you're protecting him.”
“I said not tonight.”
She stepped closer.
“Then when?”
I turned.
“You were in the photograph.”
“Exactly.”
“They may be watching you too.”
“I know.”
“Which means wherever you go, danger could follow.”
Her face hardened.
“So now I'm a threat again.”
“I didn't say that.”
“You didn't need to.”
Before the argument escalated, Matteo called from upstairs.
“Dad!”
I was in his room seconds later.
He sat in bed holding the silver-bird photograph from the storage locker.
“I remember him.”
My pulse quickened.
“Who?”
“This guy.”
He pointed to the blurry figure standing behind Samuel Hayes.
“You saw his face?”
“No.”
“Then what do you remember?”
“The way he walked.”
I sat beside him.
“Tell me.”
“He limped.”
“Which leg?”
Matteo thought.
“Right.”
Clara entered quietly.
Matteo continued.
“At Uncle Dominic's birthday, the man with red shoes bumped into me.”
I looked toward Dominic, who had followed us.
“What happened?”
“He dropped a coin.”
“A coin?”
Matteo nodded.
“He told me to keep it.”
“Do you still have it?”
“I put it in my dinosaur box.”
We found the box in the closet.
Inside were old arcade tokens, foreign coins, bottle caps, and small treasures only children understand.
Matteo searched.
Then held up a silver-colored coin.
Not currency.
A metal token.
One side showed the Argent Wing bird.
The other had a number stamped into it.
27.
Dominic took it.
“I've seen these.”
I turned.
“Where?”
“Argent field staff used numbered access medallions before switching to digital badges.”
“Can the number identify someone?”
“Maybe.”
Luca, still held downstairs under guard, knew more.
He examined the token.
“Number twenty-seven.”
His face changed.
“You know him.”
“I knew of him.”
“Name.”
“Elias Vane.”
“What did he do?”
“Former military medic. Later private security. Specialized in medical extraction.”
“Where is he now?”
“No idea.”
“Did he work with Samuel?”
“Yes.”
Clara went pale.
“How closely?”
“Very.”
Luca looked at her.
“Your father trusted him.”
“That man followed my family?”
“He may have been protecting your father.”
“Or threatening him.”
Luca nodded.
“Or both.”
Dominic found an archived Argent personnel file.
Elias Vane.
Forty-four.
Brown hair.
Gray eyes.
Old injury to right knee.
Walked with slight limp.
Matteo identified him from a group of photographs, not by face.
“That's him.”
“How do you know?” I asked.
“The red shoelaces.”
The photograph was seven years old.
He was wearing military-style boots.
With red cord woven through the eyelets.
Matteo remembered.
Children remember strange things.
Sometimes more accurately than adults.
We searched for Elias.
He had no active address.
No phone.
No bank activity.
No recent employment.
Legally, he barely existed.
Then Dominic found something.
A vehicle registered to an Elias Vane had received a parking citation two months earlier.
Location: St. Anne's Medical Center.
The same hospital where Clara's sister Rebecca had once been treated.
Clara grabbed her phone.
“What are you doing?”
“Calling Rebecca.”
No answer.
Again.
No answer.
Clara's face drained.
“She always picks up.”
“Could be sleeping.”
“Not when I call twice.”
She tried a third time.
Voicemail.
Then her phone rang.
Unknown number.
Clara answered.
“Hello?”
Static.
Then a man's voice.
“Clara Hayes?”
She froze.
I took one step closer.
“Yes.”
“Your sister is safe.”
Clara's hand shook.
“Who is this?”
The voice ignored her.
“Vincent Rossi is standing beside you.”
Not a question.
Everyone looked around.
Somewhere, someone was watching.
The caller continued.
“Tell him Elena Rossi did not die because of the secrets she discovered.”
My blood went cold.
“Who are you?”
The man heard me.
He gave a quiet laugh.
“She died because she trusted the wrong person.”
The line went dead.
Then every monitor in my security room went black at once.
Except Monitor Four.
It flickered.
A live image appeared.
Not Matteo's bedroom.
A room I had never seen.
A woman sat in a chair facing the camera.
Her hair was gray at the temples.
Her face pale.
Her hands trembled.
I recognized her from old photographs.
Clara gasped.
“Dad?”
Samuel Hayes lifted his head toward the camera.
May you like
And whispered:
“Vincent, your wife was murdered by someone who is still living inside your house.”
