Chapter 5 - A Guest in the House of Vale
We never reached River House.
Halfway there, Connecticut police confirmed Evelyn had been removed from the property at least thirty minutes before the emergency call.
Cassian changed course.
Not because he stopped caring.
Because chasing an empty house wouldn't save anyone.
By four in the morning, we were back at the Vale estate.
Cassian turned the library into a command center.
Maps.
Phone records.
Bank statements.
Photographs.
Names.
I sat at the long table wearing borrowed sweatpants and Nora's oversized cardigan, wondering how my life had transformed from polishing silver to studying criminal financial networks in less than twenty-four hours.
Isabel arrived just after dawn.
I knew immediately which former wife she was.
California.
The one who supposedly fled Cassian because she feared him.
She walked into the library wearing jeans, sneakers and a camel coat, with dark hair cut to her shoulders.
She saw Cassian.
Stopped.
And hugged him.
That was my first clue the rumors were wrong.
My second clue was what she said.
“You look terrible.”
Cassian stepped back.
“You flew across the country to insult me?”
“I can do both.”
Her eyes moved to me.
“Lydia?”
“Yes.”
“I’m Isabel Moreno.”
“I know.”
She grimaced.
“You've heard I escaped him.”
“Yes.”
“Technically I did.”
Cassian sighed.
Isabel pointed at him.
“He was unbearable.”
“You told reporters I frightened you.”
“You frightened everyone.”
“That is not the same thing.”
She looked at me.
“See what I mean?”
I liked her immediately.
Then she became serious.
“I came because Margaret Aldridge was involved in my marriage.”
Cassian sat.
“Start at the beginning.”
Isabel looked at me first.
“My younger sister, Camila, had a gambling problem.”
Cassian frowned.
“You never told me that.”
“I was ashamed.”
“That wasn't yours to be ashamed of.”
“I know now.”
She continued.
“Camila borrowed money from Richard Hale.”
I leaned forward.
“The lawyer?”
“Yes.”
“When she couldn't repay him, Richard approached me.”
“What did he want?”
“At first, information about Cassian.”
Cassian's expression hardened.
“What kind?”
“Schedules. Meetings. Who visited the house.”
“And you refused.”
“Yes.”
“Then what?”
“He showed me photographs of Camila leaving work, going home, buying groceries.”
My skin prickled.
“He threatened her?”
“He said accidents happen.”
Cassian looked furious.
Isabel continued.
“I panicked. I wanted to tell Cassian, but Richard said he had people inside the Vale organization.”
Adrian.
We all thought it.
No one said it.
“So you left,” I said.
“Yes.”
“To California?”
“Yes.”
“And told everyone you were afraid of Cassian.”
“Richard gave me the wording.”
Cassian stood and walked toward the window.
Isabel's eyes filled with regret.
“I’m sorry.”
He didn't turn.
“You kept your sister alive.”
“I destroyed your reputation.”
“My reputation survived.”
“Your marriages didn't.”
Cassian was quiet.
I looked at Isabel.
“Were the other wives threatened?”
“Some.”
“You know?”
“After I left, two contacted me.”
Cassian turned.
“Who?”
“Marina and Elise.”
“The sealed divorces,” I said.
Isabel nodded.
“They had received threats too.”
Cassian looked shocked.
“Why didn't they tell me?”
“The same reason I didn't. Someone knew enough about your security to convince us talking would make things worse.”
Adrian.
Again.
Cassian returned to the table.
“For how long?”
“Years.”
Isabel opened her bag and removed an envelope.
“I kept this.”
Inside was an old photograph.
A man stood outside a restaurant.
Richard Hale.
Beside him was a younger man.
Adrian Rusk.
The date printed on the back was eleven years earlier.
The year Cassian married his first wife.
“They've been connected from the beginning,” Isabel said.
Cassian stared at the photograph.
“Why didn't you send this sooner?”
“I didn't know who Adrian was then.”
“When did you find out?”
“Yesterday. I saw him in one of the news photographs from your chapel.”
Mateo swore softly.
Isabel pointed at Adrian's image.
“He was the man who delivered Richard’s threats.”
The room went quiet.
Cassian's head of security had spent eleven years controlling information around him.
Perhaps longer.
“How long has Adrian worked for you?” I asked.
“Fourteen years.”
“Since before your first marriage.”
“Yes.”
“Since shortly after your father died?”
Cassian looked at me.
“Yes.”
My stomach twisted.
Martin Rusk investigated the deaths of Thomas Carter and Dominic Vale.
Then Martin’s son entered Cassian’s organization four years later.
Coincidence had stopped being believable.
Mateo's laptop chimed.
He turned.
“I found Daniel Cross.”
My pulse accelerated.
“Where?”
“Not physically.”
He opened a file.
“He uploaded an encrypted folder to a private cloud server yesterday.”
“Can we access it?”
“Part of it.”
A document appeared.
Daniel Cross Investigation.
CLIENT: E.A.
SUBJECTS: ALDRIDGE / HALE / CARTER / VALE / RUSK.
My father’s name sat beside Cassian’s.
Mateo opened the first accessible page.
Daniel had written:
Evidence suggests the Carter and Vale deaths were not independent accidents.
I stopped breathing.
Cassian read silently.
Next line:
Original investigative reports contain identical language despite incidents occurring in different jurisdictions.
Then:
Detective Martin Rusk had undisclosed financial relationship with Richard Hale.
Cassian’s knuckles whitened.
Mateo scrolled.
Payments totaling $310,000 had moved from a Hale-controlled company to accounts linked to Martin Rusk within six months of our fathers’ deaths.
The evidence wasn't complete.
But it was enough to transform suspicion into something darker.
“What happened to Martin?” I asked.
Mateo searched.
“Died nine years ago.”
“How?”
“Cancer.”
“So he can't answer.”
“No.”
“What about Daniel Cross?”
“Last phone ping was yesterday afternoon.”
“Where?”
Mateo zoomed in.
Yonkers.
Near the abandoned Mercedes Evelyn had left behind.
Cassian's phone rang.
He looked at the number.
Unknown.
He answered on speaker.
A man's distorted voice filled the room.
“Mr. Vale.”
Cassian said nothing.
“You received our message?”
“Yes.”
“Then you understand the exchange.”
“I don't have the files.”
“You will.”
“Where is Evelyn?”
A pause.
Then Evelyn screamed in the background.
My blood went cold.
Cassian remained perfectly still.
“Proof enough?” the voice asked.
“Yes.”
“You have twelve hours.”
“To find records missing for eighteen years?”
“You're resourceful.”
“What exactly do you want?”
“Thomas Carter's red archive.”
My mother had recognized that box.
Cassian looked at me.
The voice continued.
“Bring it to the old ferry terminal in Newburgh at eight tonight.”
“And Evelyn?”
“She goes home.”
“If she's harmed—”
“She'll remain unharmed if Lydia cooperates.”
My chest tightened.
“Me?”
The caller laughed.
“Of course you're listening, Miss Carter.”
Cassian reached toward the phone as if he could physically silence the man.
The voice continued.
“Ask your mother where Thomas hid the key.”
The call ended.
Everyone looked at me.
I stared at the phone.
Then toward the staircase.
My mother had told me she didn't know everything.
Apparently someone believed she knew enough.
I went upstairs.
She was awake.
Sitting on the edge of the bed.
And when I told her about the call, she didn't look confused.
She closed her eyes.
“Mom.”
She began to cry.
“I'm sorry.”
My heart sank.
“Where is the key?”
She opened the top drawer of the bedside table and removed the necklace she had worn every day of my childhood.
A small silver heart hung from the chain.
She pressed its side.
It opened.
Inside was a tiny brass key.
I stared.
“You had it the entire time?”
“Your father gave it to me the night before he died.”
“What does it open?”
She looked at me.
“I never knew.”
Then she whispered words I would remember forever.
“He told me if an Aldridge ever asked for it, Lydia was in danger.”
For eighteen years, my mother had carried a key over her heart.
May you like
And now someone had kidnapped Evelyn Aldridge to obtain it.
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