Chapter 3 - Three Weeks of Pretending
Roman’s uncle was named Vincent Dawson.
I had never met him.
That changed the following afternoon.
He walked into Honey & Rye at 2:17 wearing a navy overcoat and a smile that was far too pleasant for the circumstances.
Roman had warned me he might come.
He had also warned me not to be alone.
I ignored the second warning because the bakery was full of customers.
Besides, I had learned something about powerful men.
They expected dramatic resistance.
They rarely expected a woman holding a rolling pin and asking whether they wanted sourdough.
Vincent stopped at the counter.
“You must be Clare.”
I wiped flour from my hands.
“You must be someone who knows my name without introducing himself.”
He smiled.
“I’m Vincent Dawson.”
“Coffee?”
“You’re not curious why I’m here?”
“I’m curious whether you want cream.”
His smile faded slightly.
“Black.”
I poured it.
He didn’t touch the cup.
“My nephew seems interested in you.”
“That sounds like his problem.”
“He doesn’t become interested easily.”
“Again. His problem.”
Vincent studied me.
He was in his early sixties, silver-haired, elegant, and composed.
If Roman’s power felt like a closed door, Vincent’s felt like a room full of mirrors.
“Lily likes you too.”
That changed everything.
I set down the pot.
“What do you want?”
“To make sure she’s safe.”
“Then why was her mother photographed outside my bakery with you behind her?”
His eyes barely moved.
Impressive.
Almost.
“I wondered when Roman would mention that.”
“So you were here.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Vincent lowered his voice.
“Elena asked to meet me.”
“About Daniel?”
He nodded.
“What did she want?”
“That is something I’ll discuss with my family.”
“Convenient.”
“You’re not family, Clare.”
I leaned closer.
“No. Which might be why I’m the only person Lily trusts right now.”
A muscle moved in his jaw.
Then the bakery door opened.
Roman entered.
The room seemed to notice.
Vincent turned.
“Nephew.”
Roman stopped beside me.
“Uncle.”
No greeting.
No handshake.
Nothing warm.
Vincent smiled.
“I was introducing myself.”
“You’re done.”
“Roman—”
“You’re done.”
Vincent took one slow sip of coffee.
Then looked at me.
“Be careful whose version of the story you believe.”
He left.
I waited until the door closed.
“Charming family.”
Roman’s gaze remained on the street.
“He won’t come here again.”
“You don’t control my customers.”
“I’ll make an exception.”
I folded my arms.
“What did Elena want from Vincent?”
“I don’t know.”
“Do you believe that?”
“No.”
That answer mattered.
Roman turned toward me.
“There’s a family dinner Sunday.”
I stared.
“Wonderful.”
“I need you there.”
I laughed.
He didn’t.
“You’re serious.”
“Completely.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Clare.”
“No.”
“If whoever is sending those messages thinks Lily trusts you, they may react if you appear closer to the family.”
“So your plan is to use me as bait?”
His expression changed.
“No.”
“That sounded exactly like bait.”
“I want you somewhere I can control the environment.”
“You are spectacularly bad at making things sound comforting.”
He rubbed his temple.
“Lily asked if you could come.”
I stopped.
“That’s emotional blackmail.”
“Yes.”
“At least you admit it.”
Sunday arrived too quickly.
I wore a navy dress.
Nothing dramatic.
Nothing that said fake girlfriend of a terrifying Chicago power broker.
Roman arrived at my apartment at six.
He stared at me for half a second longer than necessary.
I noticed.
Pretended not to.
“You look nice,” he said.
“You sound surprised.”
“I’m trying to compliment you.”
“Needs work.”
He offered his arm.
I stared at it.
“Are we doing this?”
“For the family.”
“Three weeks?”
His mouth shifted.
“Three weeks.”
I took his arm.
The Dawson home looked like somebody had combined an old Chicago mansion with a private museum.
Sophia met us at the door.
She nearly screamed with delight.
“I knew it.”
“You created it,” I reminded her.
“Details.”
Lily appeared on the staircase.
She smiled when she saw me.
That made the entire ridiculous evening worth it.
Dinner included Roman, Lily, Sophia, Vincent, two cousins, and an elderly family friend who asked me whether Roman was romantic.
I almost inhaled a green bean.
Roman calmly said, “Very.”
I kicked him under the table.
He didn’t react.
Vincent watched everything.
That was what bothered me.
He laughed at the right moments.
Asked polite questions.
But he watched Lily.
Watched Roman.
Watched me.
After dinner, Lily pulled me upstairs.
“I want to show you something.”
Her room was enormous but strangely bare.
No posters.
No photographs except one small framed image of her mother.
She locked the door.
“What’s wrong?”
“I found something in Mom’s things.”
She pulled a key from beneath a stack of books.
Small.
Brass.
Old-fashioned.
“There’s a number on it.”
247.
“What does it open?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did you show Roman?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because the note said to ask him who knew Mom was leaving.”
“That doesn’t mean he’s involved.”
“I know.”
“Then why hide it?”
Her eyes filled with frustration.
“Because every time I ask something, he gets this look.”
“What look?”
“Like the answer is going to destroy something.”
I knew exactly what she meant.
Roman had that look whenever Elena’s death came up.
I sat beside Lily.
“Your uncle loves you.”
“That doesn’t mean he tells the truth.”
Fair point.
“What do you want me to do?”
“Keep it.”
I looked at the key.
“No.”
“Clare—”
“If something happens, nobody knows I have it.”
“Exactly.”
“No. That’s why I won’t.”
She crossed her arms.
“You sound like him.”
“That is deeply offensive.”
She smiled reluctantly.
Then somebody knocked.
Roman.
“Clare?”
Lily shoved the key into my hand.
“Please.”
The door opened.
Roman looked between us.
“What are you doing?”
“Discussing your personality flaws.”
Lily nodded.
“There were many.”
He sighed.
Later, downstairs, I found Roman alone in the library.
“You have a lock somewhere numbered 247?”
His face changed.
“How do you know that?”
I held up the key.
He stared.
“Where did you get it?”
“Lily.”
Roman took the key carefully.
“This belonged to Daniel.”
“You recognize it?”
“Yes.”
“What does it open?”
He looked toward the hallway.
“A private deposit room at our family bank.”
My pulse quickened.
“Did Elena know?”
“She must have.”
“Then what’s inside?”
Roman closed his hand around the key.
“I don’t know.”
From the doorway came a voice.
“I do.”
We turned.
Vincent stood there.
Roman’s posture changed instantly.
“Leave.”
Vincent ignored him.
“That key opens a box Daniel used before he died.”
“What’s inside?” I asked.
Vincent looked at Roman.
“Something your brother believed could destroy the Dawson family.”
Lily appeared behind him.
Her face had gone pale.
Roman moved immediately.
“Lily, go upstairs.”
“No.”
“Lily.”
“I’m tired of everyone telling me to leave when they talk about my parents.”
Nobody responded.
Vincent’s expression softened.
“Your father found records showing money was being moved through companies he didn’t recognize.”
Lily stared.
“Was he stealing?”
“No,” Vincent said.
Roman cut in.
“We don’t know that.”
Vincent’s gaze sharpened.
“Daniel thought someone else was.”
“Who?”
“That was the problem. The records pointed in several directions.”
Lily’s voice trembled.
“Was Mom investigating after Dad died?”
Vincent nodded.
Roman looked furious.
“You told me she stopped.”
“She told me she did.”
“And you believed her?”
“I wanted to protect her.”
Roman laughed without humor.
“Interesting phrase.”
Vincent’s face hardened.
“You think I killed her?”
Nobody moved.
Roman didn’t answer.
That silence was answer enough.
Vincent looked at Lily.
“I loved your mother.”
Then he left the room.
At the bank the next morning, Roman, Lily, and I stood inside a private viewing room.
Box 247 sat on the table.
Roman inserted the key.
Inside were three folders.
A flash drive.
Several photographs.
And an envelope with Roman’s name on it.
His hands stilled.
Lily whispered, “Open it.”
He did.
The note was written in Daniel’s handwriting.
Roman read silently.
Then handed it to Lily.
She read aloud.
Roman,
If you’re reading this, something went wrong.
The money isn’t the real problem.
Someone is using our family companies to hide payments connected to politicians, judges, and police officials.
I don’t know who.
I trusted the wrong person.
Do not assume blood means loyalty.
Protect Lily.
And if Elena comes looking for this box, believe her.
She knows more than I do.
Lily stopped reading.
Tears gathered in her eyes.
Roman placed a hand on her shoulder.
Then I noticed another envelope beneath the folders.
It had a name written on it.
CLARE BENNETT.
My breath caught.
“That’s impossible.”
Roman stared at me.
Lily looked between us.
I picked up the envelope.
The handwriting was Daniel’s.
But Daniel Dawson had died four years ago.
I had never met him.
Never met Elena.
Never met anybody in the Dawson family before Roman walked into my bakery.
Yet somehow, four years earlier, Daniel Dawson had placed my name inside a locked bank box.
My fingers trembled as I opened the envelope.
Inside was a single photograph.
Honey & Rye Bakery.
Except the sign wasn’t Honey & Rye.
It carried the name of the bakery that had occupied the building before I bought it.
On the back, Daniel had written:
IF SOMETHING HAPPENS TO ME, FIND THE WOMAN WHO OWNS THIS PLACE NEXT.
Underneath, in different handwriting, someone had added one more line.
Elena’s handwriting.
I FOUND HER.
May you like
BUT CLARE DOESN’T KNOW WHO SHE REALLY BOUGHT THE BAKERY FROM.
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