Chapter 3 - The Price of Keeping Lily Safe
Roman waited until dawn before going through Granite Harbor Financial.
He didn't sleep.
Neither did Claire.
By six in the morning, the blizzard had weakened enough for the estate's security vehicles to reach the main road. Roman's private office became an emergency command center.
Files appeared.
Corporate registrations.
Loan documents.
Payment histories.
Property records.
Granite Harbor Financial looked legitimate from the outside.
It wasn't.
The company specialized in lending to people banks had rejected—families facing medical emergencies, struggling businesses, immigrants without established credit, widows trying to save homes.
The contracts were intentionally complicated.
Fees accumulated.
Interest changed.
Missed payments generated penalties larger than original installments.
People borrowed fifty thousand and eventually owed one hundred thousand.
Claire's father had borrowed ninety thousand.
He had already paid back more than seventy before his death.
Claire had paid another sixty-two.
Yet the balance supposedly stood at $184,000.
Roman stared at the numbers.
“That isn't a loan.”
His attorney, Daniel Ross, adjusted his glasses.
“No.”
“It's ownership.”
Daniel nodded.
“In practical terms.”
Roman looked through the glass wall toward the snowy garden.
“Who owns Granite Harbor?”
“Several holding companies.”
“Keep going.”
Daniel slid another page across the desk.
“The final beneficial owner appears to be Mercer Strategic Holdings.”
Roman felt something cold settle inside him.
Victor.
He'd known the Mercer family operated aggressively.
Everyone did.
But this was different.
This was organized exploitation dressed in legal language.
“How many borrowers?”
“Potentially thousands.”
Roman looked at Claire's payment record again.
Every month.
On time.
Even when she earned barely enough.
“How much does Claire make here?”
Daniel told him.
Roman stared.
She had been sending nearly half her income toward a debt designed never to disappear.
“And Vivian had access to these files?”
“If her father gave it to her.”
“He did.”
Roman was certain.
Because Vivian had known too much.
Lily's address.
Her medical status.
Claire's payments.
That information wasn't casual gossip.
It came from a file.
Upstairs, Claire sat at the edge of the bed holding her phone.
Eleven missed calls.
All from Harbor Ridge.
Her hands started shaking.
She called immediately.
“Harbor Ridge Rehabilitation Center.”
“This is Claire Bennett. My sister is Lily Bennett. Room 417.”
“One moment.”
Hold music.
Claire couldn't breathe.
Then—
“Claire?”
Lily.
Claire closed her eyes.
“Are you okay?”
“That's my question. You sound awful.”
Claire almost laughed.
“I had a rough night.”
“What happened?”
“Nothing important.”
“Claire.”
They were sisters.
Lying had never worked well.
“I went outside in the storm.”
“Why?”
“Work.”
“Work sent you into a blizzard?”
Claire looked toward the door.
Before she could answer, Lily said quietly, “Someone came here last night.”
Claire froze.
“Who?”
“A man.”
“What man?”
“He said Dad had left paperwork that needed my signature.”
Claire stood too quickly.
Pain shot through her legs.
“What did you do?”
“I told him no.”
“Did you call security?”
“Yes. He left before they got upstairs.”
“What did he look like?”
“Forties maybe. Dark coat. Tall.”
Claire's stomach turned.
The figure in the snow.
“Lily, listen to me. Do not leave Harbor Ridge with anyone.”
“Okay.”
“Not a doctor you don't recognize, not a driver, nobody.”
“Claire, you're scaring me.”
“I know.”
“What is happening?”
Claire looked toward the window.
Roman's estate was white and silent.
“I don't know yet.”
A knock sounded.
Roman entered.
One look at Claire's face and he knew something had changed.
“What happened?”
Claire put the phone on speaker.
“Tell him.”
Lily went quiet.
“Who is that?”
“Roman DeLuca.”
There was a pause.
“The Roman DeLuca?”
Roman raised an eyebrow.
Claire would have laughed under different circumstances.
“Yes.”
Lily told him about the visitor.
Roman asked only three questions.
What time?
What name?
Which entrance?
Then he called his security director.
“Send four people to Harbor Ridge. Now.”
Claire grabbed his sleeve.
“No.”
Roman looked down at her hand.
She released it.
“You can't send armed men into my sister's rehabilitation center.”
“They don't need to be armed visibly.”
“That isn't reassuring.”
“They'll coordinate with management.”
Claire shook her head.
“This is getting worse because you're involved.”
“No. It's becoming visible because I'm involved.”
“There is a difference?”
“A big one.”
Claire stared at him.
Roman lowered his voice.
“These people relied on you being alone.”
That silenced her.
Because he was right.
For years the debt collectors had survived by convincing her resistance was impossible.
She had never had money.
Influence.
Legal resources.
Now someone with all three had noticed.
And the Mercers were reacting.
Roman stepped closer.
“I know who owns Granite Harbor.”
Claire already knew the answer.
“Victor.”
“Yes.”
She sat down slowly.
Roman continued.
“Your father's original debt was ninety thousand.”
Claire nodded.
“You and he have already paid more than that.”
“How much?”
“Over one hundred thirty thousand.”
Her eyes widened.
“And I still owe one eighty-four?”
“According to them.”
A bitter laugh escaped her.
Roman crouched in front of her.
“You don't owe them anything.”
“You don't know that.”
“I've read the contract.”
“They'll still come after Lily.”
“Not anymore.”
Claire looked into his eyes.
She wanted to believe him.
That frightened her.
“What do you want from me?”
Roman frowned.
“Nothing.”
“People like you always want something.”
The sentence came out harsher than intended.
Roman didn't flinch.
“Maybe that's been your experience.”
“It has.”
“Then let me be the exception.”
For several seconds neither moved.
Something shifted.
Not romance yet.
Not trust.
But the possibility of trust.
Then Roman's phone rang.
His security director.
Roman answered.
“Talk.”
Silence.
His expression changed.
“When?”
Another pause.
“I'll be there.”
He ended the call.
“What?”
Roman stood.
“The carriage house was searched.”
Claire's heartbeat quickened.
“And?”
“They found something.”
“What?”
“A second set of footprints inside.”
Claire swallowed.
“From the man?”
“Probably.”
Roman walked toward the door.
Then he paused.
“They also found a phone.”
Claire stared.
“Whose?”
Roman's face had become unreadable.
“It belongs to one of my security officers.”
Downstairs, the device sat inside an evidence bag.
The owner's name was Marcus Dane.
Roman's deputy head of security.
A man who had worked at DeLuca House for six years.
A man with access to every camera.
Every gate.
Every schedule.
Every blind spot.
Roman stared at the phone.
Someone inside his own organization had helped Vivian send Claire into the snow.
And for the first time, Roman understood the real size of the problem.
This wasn't simply the Mercer family threatening a maid.
Someone had built a conspiracy inside his house.
May you like
And the wedding was only eleven weeks away.
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