Chapter 9 - A Lie Dressed as Loyalty
Dr. Keller stopped breathing.
For several seconds he simply stared at the photograph.
Then his knees nearly gave out.
“My daughter.”
Vincent caught his arm.
“Where is she?”
“Brooklyn. She teaches at St. Agnes.”
“Name?”
“Emily.”
“When did you last speak?”
“This morning. Six fifteen.”
Vincent was already calling police.
Alexander looked at the photograph.
“What does Julian want?”
Keller’s voice shook.
“The transfer to continue.”
“No.”
Everyone looked at Alexander.
Keller turned.
“You can’t—”
“We don’t choose between your daughter and my money.”
“It’s not money anymore.”
Alexander nodded.
“You’re right.”
He faced Vincent.
“Stop the transfers.”
Keller stared.
“But he said—”
“I heard him.”
“He’ll kill her.”
“Julian expects us to panic. If we obey, we give him leverage and resources.”
“What if you’re wrong?”
Alexander looked Keller directly in the eyes.
“Then I will spend everything I have making it right.”
Keller’s face twisted.
“That won’t bring her back.”
“No.”
The word hung there.
Alexander’s voice softened.
“But giving Julian hundreds of millions won’t guarantee her survival either.”
Keller looked broken.
Then I noticed something in the photograph.
“Wait.”
Everyone turned.
“The clock.”
“What about it?”
“The time.”
It showed 3:12.
Vincent checked the message timestamp.
4:47.
“So?”
“The photo wasn’t taken recently.”
“It could be ninety minutes old.”
“No.”
I enlarged the image.
Behind Emily was a window.
Bright sunlight.
But outside our windows, storm clouds had covered the region all day.
“When did the storm reach Brooklyn?”
Vincent checked.
“Before one.”
“So the photo was taken before the storm.”
Keller leaned closer.
“She wore that blouse yesterday.”
My pulse quickened.
“Julian prepared the photograph in advance.”
Alexander understood.
“Meaning he may not have her now.”
Vincent contacted St. Agnes.
Emily Keller was there.
Safe.
She had been in a faculty meeting since three.
Keller sat down and covered his face.
Julian had lied.
But the lie told us something important.
He had photographed Emily the previous day.
Which meant someone close enough to Keller’s family had been watching her before Alexander became ill.
This was not a desperate plan.
It had been staged for weeks.
The transfers were stopped with fourteen minutes remaining.
Julian lost the money.
But he gained something else.
He proved he could reach anyone.
That evening police surrounded the estate.
The storm finally cleared.
Alexander slept for several hours while Keller monitored him.
I sat by the window.
Eleanor approached.
“You should sleep.”
“I can’t.”
“You’ve been awake thirty-six hours.”
“So have you.”
“I’m old. We survive entirely out of spite.”
I smiled.
Then her face softened.
“Clara.”
“Yes?”
“Whatever happens between you and Alexander…”
My stomach dropped.
“Please don’t.”
“I’m not asking questions.”
“Thank you.”
“I’m telling you something.”
I looked at her.
“That family has spent generations confusing love with weakness.”
She glanced toward Alexander.
“Don’t let him do that.”
I said nothing.
Later that night, Alexander woke.
The bedroom was quiet.
Only one lamp remained on.
“You’re still here,” he said.
“I work here.”
“That isn’t why.”
I handed him water.
“You need rest.”
“So do you.”
“I’m not the one who was poisoned.”
“Drugged.”
“Fine. Drugged.”
“That sounds less dramatic.”
“You were almost murdered.”
“Better.”
I glared at him.
He smiled.
Then his expression changed.
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“Seeing what everyone else missed.”
“You mean the pill.”
“I mean me.”
I froze.
“Alexander—”
“You said people think I’m dangerous.”
I remembered my confession.
My face heated.
“How much did you hear?”
“Enough.”
“Define enough.”
“You said dangerous and cruel aren’t the same.”
I looked away.
“And?”
“You cried on my hand.”
“I did not.”
“You absolutely did.”
“You had a fever.”
“So?”
“You were hallucinating.”
“I remember.”
I stood.
“I suddenly need to clean literally any room except this one.”
He caught my wrist.
Not forcefully.
Just enough to stop me.
“Clara.”
I looked down at him.
For once Alexander Romano seemed uncertain.
“I don’t know how to do this.”
“Do what?”
“Need someone.”
My anger disappeared.
He released my wrist.
“My father taught me that if people knew what mattered to me, they could use it against me.”
“Julian just tried.”
“Yes.”
“And?”
Alexander looked at me.
“And apparently the lesson worked too well.”
I sat again.
Neither of us spoke.
For a long time, that silence felt more intimate than any confession.
Then Alexander’s phone vibrated.
Unknown number.
A message.
No photograph.
Only an address.
And a sentence.
ASK ELEANOR WHAT HAPPENED THE NIGHT YOUR FATHER DIED.
Alexander slowly raised his eyes toward the door.
Eleanor stood there.
She had seen the message.
May you like
And for the first time since I had known her, Mrs. Calder looked afraid of Alexander Romano.
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