Chapter 6 - What Alexander Heard
Evidence was beginning to form a shape.
But shapes could deceive.
Vincent warned us of that repeatedly.
“Sebastian may be guilty,” he said. “Or someone wants us to believe he is.”
“Who else has his ring?” I asked.
“Anyone who stole it.”
“Did he report it missing?”
“No.”
Keller checked Alexander’s temperature.
101.8.
Improving.
The board meeting had been pushed from noon to two after Vincent announced Alexander might regain consciousness.
Sebastian objected.
That alone bought us time.
At twelve thirty, Alexander opened his eyes.
Really opened them.
I was beside him.
He looked at the ceiling first.
Then at me.
His voice was barely a rasp.
“Why are you crying?”
I laughed once through tears.
“Because you’re awake.”
He tried to move.
Pain stopped him.
“Don’t.”
“Feels like I lost a fight.”
“You almost did.”
His eyes sharpened slightly.
“With who?”
I hesitated.
“We don’t know yet.”
He saw the medicine bottle on the distant table.
Something changed.
“You found it.”
“You knew?”
“Not exactly.”
His eyes closed briefly.
“My father.”
“The blue ledger?”
He looked toward me.
“You found it?”
“Yes.”
“Eleanor?”
“She opened the safe.”
A tired smile touched his mouth.
“Of course she did.”
I gave him water.
His hand remained weak.
But when I tried to withdraw mine, his fingers caught me.
“Clara.”
“Yes?”
“There’s something…”
His breathing hitched.
“Rest.”
“No.”
“You nearly died. For once in your life, stop giving orders.”
His eyes actually warmed.
“You sound like Eleanor.”
“I’ll accept that as a compliment.”
He studied my face.
Then said the words I had been terrified to hear.
“I heard you.”
Everything inside me went still.
“What?”
“Last night.”
My face burned.
His thumb moved faintly against my fingers.
“Not all of it.”
I wanted the floor to open.
“Alexander—”
“Something about not wanting my money.”
I stared at the blanket.
“This is really not the time.”
“I agree.”
“Good.”
“So we’ll discuss it when I can stand.”
I looked at him.
“You’re impossible.”
“That’s what people say.”
Despite the danger, despite my humiliation, I smiled.
Then his expression became serious.
“Who knows I’m awake?”
“Eleanor. Keller. Vincent.”
“Sebastian?”
“Not yet.”
“Keep it that way.”
“Why?”
“Because if he thinks I’m unconscious, he’ll continue.”
“You think it’s him?”
Alexander’s gaze moved toward the storm-dark window.
“I think somebody has been preparing for this longer than one night.”
He asked for the ledger.
Vincent brought it.
Alexander turned pages slowly.
He stopped at the entry naming S.R.
“That isn’t Sebastian.”
Everyone froze.
“What?” Vincent asked.
“My father never referred to Sebastian by initials.”
“How?”
“He called him Bastien in private notes.”
“Then who is S.R.?”
Alexander closed the ledger.
“Samuel Rook.”
Eleanor whispered the name.
I looked around.
“Who was he?”
“My father’s attorney,” Alexander said.
“Where is he now?”
“Dead.”
Another dead man.
“Everyone connected to this seems to be dead.”
“Not everyone.”
Alexander looked at Vincent.
“Rook had a son.”
Vincent understood first.
“Julian.”
Alexander nodded.
Julian Rook.
Chief legal counsel for Romano Holdings.
The man currently sitting downstairs preparing the temporary authority documents that would transfer control to Sebastian.
My skin went cold.
“Why would he want Sebastian in charge?”
Alexander gave a bitter laugh.
“Maybe he doesn’t.”
That was the first moment we realized we had misunderstood the plan.
Sebastian might not be the architect.
He might only be the next victim.
Vincent left immediately.
Ten minutes later he returned.
Julian Rook was gone.
His office briefcase remained downstairs.
His car remained outside.
But Julian himself had vanished from the estate.
Inside his briefcase was a draft contract.
Not the one Sebastian expected to sign.
A different one.
A hidden amendment transferred emergency voting control not to Sebastian personally, but to a management trust.
Trustee:
Julian Samuel Rook.
“He was going to control Sebastian through the paperwork,” Keller said.
Alexander stared at the document.
“Just like his father controlled mine.”
Eleanor touched the blue ledger.
“History.”
“No,” Alexander said.
“History repeating itself requires accidents.”
His eyes hardened.
“This is inheritance.”
Vincent’s radio exploded with static.
A guard shouted from the north wing.
“We found Rook.”
“Where?”
“Security archive.”
“What is he doing?”
A pause.
Then:
“He set it on fire.”
Vincent ran.
Alexander tried to sit.
I pushed him back.
“You’re not going anywhere.”
“Those archives contain twenty years of records.”
“And you contain approximately one functioning lung right now.”
“Clara.”
“No.”
He stared at me.
I stared back.
Finally he lay down.
“You’re fired.”
“No, I’m not.”
“We’ll revisit it.”
Smoke alarms began screaming through the mansion.
Then the lights flickered.
Once.
Twice.
And died.
Somewhere in the darkness, glass shattered.
A gunshot echoed from the north wing.
I grabbed Alexander’s hand.
Then a voice whispered from just outside his bedroom door.
“Mr. Romano?”
May you like
It was Julian Rook.
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