Chapter 5 - The House Behind Iron Gates
Pretending to be engaged to Nicolas Rinaldi was surprisingly boring.
At least for the first three days.
Clara expected reporters hiding in hedges.
There were.
She expected threatening phone calls.
Those came too.
What she did not expect was Nico leaving coffee outside her bedroom because Rosa had mentioned Clara hated talking before nine in the morning.
She didn’t expect him to remember she took two sugars.
She definitely didn’t expect him to knock before entering every room Clara used, even though he owned the house.
And she didn’t expect loneliness.
His.
She noticed it on the fourth evening.
Nico was seated alone at the long dining table, reading documents while eating dinner without looking at the food.
Clara entered.
“Do you always eat like you’re negotiating with the chicken?”
He looked up.
“I didn’t know chicken could negotiate.”
“You’re intimidating it.”
“Then it should cooperate.”
She sat across from him.
Rosa appeared carrying another plate.
Clara narrowed her eyes.
“You knew I’d stay.”
Rosa smiled.
“I hoped.”
After she left, Clara noticed a small velvet box beside Nico’s paperwork.
She pointed.
“What’s that?”
“Nothing.”
“That is clearly something.”
He slid it toward her.
Inside was a ring.
Clara stopped breathing for half a second.
It wasn’t enormous.
That surprised her.
A single diamond surrounded by tiny sapphires sat on a simple white-gold band.
“It belonged to my grandmother.”
Clara looked up quickly.
“I can’t wear this.”
“You said I owed you a ring.”
“I meant a fake one.”
“I don’t own fake jewelry.”
“That may be the most arrogant sentence you’ve ever said.”
“Probably not.”
She touched the edge of the box.
“This means something to your family.”
“It meant something to my grandmother.”
“Exactly.”
“She would have liked you.”
“You’ve known me four days.”
“She disliked obedient people.”
Clara laughed.
Then became serious.
“I’ll take care of it.”
“I know.”
He slid the ring onto her finger.
The atmosphere changed.
Neither moved.
His hand remained beneath hers for one second too long.
Clara felt it.
So did he.
Nico released her.
“Fits.”
“Yes.”
They both looked suddenly interested in dinner.
Later that evening Daniel arrived with news.
The emergency petition had been dismissed pending a formal hearing.
Margaret’s kidnapping accusation was falling apart.
But Victor Dane had filed suit regarding the waterfront contract.
“Can they take the property?” Clara asked.
“If the contract is ruled valid, possibly,” Daniel said.
“It isn’t valid.”
“We need evidence.”
“The lighthouse.”
Nico shook his head.
“Too obvious now.”
“My father practically pointed at it.”
“Which means whoever searched the warehouse may know that too.”
Clara folded her arms.
“What do you suggest?”
“We investigate without going there.”
“How?”
“Records. Maps. Maintenance files.”
Clara groaned.
“You mean paperwork.”
“Yes.”
“I was hoping being engaged to a feared mafia boss would involve fewer spreadsheets.”
Nico looked offended.
“I have excellent spreadsheets.”
For the next two days Clara lived in the library.
She found old harbor maps.
Property transfers.
Maintenance logs.
Nothing.
Then she noticed an old photograph.
Her mother stood beside the lighthouse with young Clara on her shoulders.
On the back, in her father’s handwriting, were four words.
Where the light cannot reach.
She ran downstairs.
“Nico!”
He emerged from his office immediately.
She held up the photo.
“I know where Dad hid it.”
They drove to the lighthouse before dawn.
Daniel protested.
Nico ignored him.
Clara secretly enjoyed that.
The old lighthouse stood on a rocky peninsula half a mile from the warehouse.
Its upper windows were broken.
The beacon had not worked since Clara was a child.
Inside, dust covered everything.
They climbed the spiral staircase.
At the top, Clara looked around.
“Where the light cannot reach.”
Nico examined the walls.
“The basement?”
“No. Dad loved stupid riddles.”
“He and I apparently had different definitions of love.”
Clara walked beneath the old beacon.
Then she noticed the iron platform.
When operational, light rotated around the room.
Everywhere except directly beneath the central mechanism.
“Here.”
They searched the base.
One panel had newer screws.
Daniel removed them.
Inside was a metal box.
Clara’s heart hammered.
She opened it.
Hard drives.
Photographs.
Account ledgers.
And a sealed envelope.
For Clara.
She opened it.
Her father’s letter was short.
Sweetheart,
If you found this, then I’m sorry.
The files prove Victor Dane bribed officials to falsify contamination reports, pressured property owners and moved money through shell companies.
But Victor is not the person I fear most.
Someone inside our family helped him.
Clara’s hands began trembling.
Nico read over her shoulder.
The final sentence changed everything.
Do not assume Margaret acted alone.
Beneath it was a photograph.
Margaret.
Victor Dane.
And another woman.
Clara recognized her from the mansion steps in the reference moment that had become front-page news.
The elegant brunette who had stood beside Margaret in the gold dress.
Clara whispered her name.
“Evelyn Cross.”
Nico’s eyes sharpened.
“You know her?”
“She was my mother’s best friend.”
Nico looked again at the photograph.
On the back was a date.
It had been taken three months before Clara’s father died.
Clara felt the floor shift beneath her.
“She told me Margaret was taking care of me.”
Nico said nothing.
“She told me Dad’s finances were a disaster.”
Still nothing.
“She helped me believe every lie.”
A sound echoed from downstairs.
A door closing.
Nico immediately moved Clara behind him.
Daniel checked the stairway.
Someone was inside the lighthouse.
Then came footsteps.
Slow.
Climbing.
And a familiar female voice called from below.
“Clara?”
Her blood went cold.
May you like
Evelyn Cross had found them.
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