Chapter 6 - The Name on the Guest List
Elliot did not defend himself.
That frightened Natalie more than denial would have.
She held the phone between them.
“Were you?”
Elliot’s eyes remained on hers.
“Yes.”
Thomas spoke through the phone.
“Natalie, leave.”
“Dad, stop.”
“You don’t know what happened.”
“Then tell me.”
“I can’t over the phone.”
“You disappeared for twenty years. You don’t get to call me and give instructions.”
Silence.
Natalie had imagined conversations with her father since she was eleven.
She had imagined screaming.
Crying.
Demanding explanations.
She had never imagined having the conversation while a billionaire with his father’s tie stood six feet away.
“Where are you?” she asked.
Thomas hesitated.
“I’ll contact you.”
“No.”
“Natalie—”
“If you hang up, I won’t answer again.”
That was probably a lie.
But Thomas believed it.
“Union Station. Four thirty.”
“Where?”
“Great Hall. South stairs.”
“Stay there.”
She ended the call.
Mason immediately said, “It could be a trap.”
Natalie glared.
“That is my father.”
“That does not eliminate the possibility.”
Elliot spoke.
“We go.”
Mason looked at him.
“We need a controlled location.”
“If Thomas sees security, he leaves.”
“Elliot—”
“We go.”
Natalie watched the argument.
Elliot’s voice never rose.
It did not need to.
Thirty minutes later, they entered Union Station separately.
Natalie first.
Elliot five minutes behind her.
Mason somewhere she could not see, which Natalie suspected was exactly how Mason preferred it.
The Great Hall rose around her in pale stone and winter light.
Commuters rolled luggage beneath the enormous ceiling.
For several minutes, Natalie saw nobody resembling Thomas.
Then a man stood from a bench near the stairs.
Older.
Thinner.
Gray hair.
Scar through the left eyebrow.
Natalie stopped walking.
His face had changed.
But his posture had not.
One shoulder slightly higher than the other.
She remembered holding that hand crossing streets.
She remembered sitting on those shoulders at a summer parade.
She remembered him leaving with one suitcase while Grace cried silently in the kitchen.
“Natalie.”
She hated that his voice still felt familiar.
“You’re alive.”
Thomas lowered his head.
“Yes.”
Twenty years of anger arrived at once.
She slapped him.
The sound echoed.
Several strangers looked over.
Thomas did not move.
“I deserved that.”
“Don’t make this easier for yourself.”
“I’m not.”
“Why didn’t you come back?”
“I watched.”
“That is not the same thing.”
“I know.”
“You watched?”
“From far away.”
Her stomach turned.
“Birthdays?”
“Yes.”
“Graduation?”
“Yes.”
“Mom’s funeral?”
Thomas’s face broke.
“Yes.”
Natalie stepped backward.
“You were there?”
“Across the street.”
She wanted to hit him again.
Instead she cried.
Quietly.
Furiously.
Thomas reached toward her.
Natalie raised one hand.
“Don’t.”
He stopped.
Elliot approached from the side.
Thomas saw him and instantly tensed.
“You brought him.”
“He knows everything.”
“No, he doesn’t.”
Elliot stopped several feet away.
“Then tell me.”
Thomas looked at him with an expression Natalie could not read.
Not hatred.
Not exactly.
Fear mixed with pity.
“You look like Arthur.”
“So I’ve been told.”
“Too much.”
“What happened the night he died?”
Thomas glanced around.
“Not here.”
Mason appeared.
Thomas cursed.
“I knew it.”
“He’s security,” Natalie said.
“He’s Vale.”
Mason remained calm.
“Mr. Reeves, nobody intends to detain you.”
“You couldn’t if you tried.”
Mason’s eyebrow moved.
“Let’s avoid testing that.”
Natalie closed her eyes.
“Please. All of you. For thirty seconds, stop behaving like men.”
Surprisingly, they did.
Thomas reached inside his coat slowly.
Mason’s hand moved.
Thomas produced a folded hotel guest list.
Vale Grand Hotel.
Arthur’s final reception.
Names were arranged alphabetically.
Natalie scanned them.
Arthur Vale.
Margaret Vale.
Richard Vale.
Elliot Vale.
Emily Vale.
Board members.
Investors.
Then—
Thomas Reeves.
“You were there.”
“Yes.”
Elliot took the paper.
“This list was never in the official file.”
“That’s because Richard replaced it.”
“How do you know?”
“I watched him do it.”
Mason asked, “Why were you at the reception?”
“Arthur invited me.”
“To give him the original evidence?”
“Yes.”
Thomas looked at Natalie.
“Your mother had been gone five years. I was tired of hiding.”
“Why wait that long?”
“Because you were finally safe.”
“I was an adult before Mom died.”
“Richard had people watching.”
Natalie thought of the photograph taken outside Vale Tower.
Perhaps some habits survived decades.
Thomas continued.
“Arthur called me two months before he died. Said he wanted everything. The maintenance records. Grace’s photographs. My statement.”
“He was going public?” Elliot asked.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Thomas looked at him.
“Because of you.”
Elliot frowned.
“What?”
“He said he’d destroyed one son through negligence and another through blame.”
Elliot’s face went blank.
Natalie felt the words land.
Thomas continued.
“He wanted to fix what he could.”
“Too late,” Elliot said.
“Yes.”
Thomas did not soften it.
“It was.”
That honesty seemed to earn something from Elliot.
Not forgiveness.
Attention.
“What happened at the hotel?”
“I arrived through the service entrance. Arthur didn’t want Richard seeing me.”
“You met?”
“For eleven minutes.”
“How do you know?”
“I checked my watch about a hundred times.”
Thomas looked toward the station clock.
“He apologized.”
“For Daniel?”
“For everything.”
“He confessed?”
“To me.”
“And then?”
“I gave him the folder.”
“Where is it?”
“I don’t know.”
Elliot stepped closer.
“You gave my father the only original evidence and lost it?”
“I gave it to him.”
“What happened afterward?”
“Richard arrived.”
Natalie felt the tension shift.
“Did they argue?”
“Yes.”
“About the evidence?”
“I think so.”
“What did you hear?”
Thomas hesitated.
“Richard said, ‘If you do this, you lose Elliot too.’”
Elliot’s face changed.
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
“Was I there?”
Thomas stared at him.
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“In the hallway.”
Elliot shook his head.
“I remember coming to the hotel. I remember my father calling me. I don’t remember seeing you.”
“You saw me.”
“No.”
“You did.”
“I would remember.”
Thomas’s expression became strange.
“You weren’t sober.”
Natalie looked at Elliot.
He did not deny it.
Thomas continued.
“You were drinking heavily back then.”
Elliot’s jaw tightened.
“My brother had been dead twenty-one years. My father still found ways to remind me.”
“I know.”
“No, you don’t.”
“I heard him.”
The station noise seemed to disappear.
“He said something to you in the hallway.”
Elliot’s face went pale.
“What?”
Thomas hesitated.
“Arthur told you Daniel would still be alive if you had listened.”
Margaret had said Arthur blamed Elliot.
Evelyn had said Arthur regretted it.
But hearing the cruelty in exact words was different.
Natalie saw Elliot retreat behind the expression he used like armor.
“What happened next?” she asked quickly.
Thomas looked grateful for the change.
“Elliot left.”
“Then?”
“I went toward the elevator.”
“Did you see Richard leave?”
“No.”
“Arthur?”
“No.”
“I thought you said you were there when Arthur died.”
“I was in the hotel.”
“That isn’t what you told me on the phone.”
Thomas looked at Elliot.
“I said he was there.”
Natalie narrowed her eyes.
“Why make it sound worse?”
“Because I wanted you away from him.”
“Why?”
Thomas looked at his daughter.
“Because every person who tried to tell the truth around the Vale family lost something.”
“Mom?”
“Yes.”
“You?”
“Yes.”
“Arthur?”
“Yes.”
He looked at Elliot.
“Daniel.”
The name hung there.
“And I wasn’t willing to lose you.”
Natalie’s voice softened despite herself.
“So you left me instead.”
Thomas closed his eyes.
“Yes.”
There was no defense big enough for that.
Mason checked the guest list.
“This paper. Original?”
“Photocopy.”
“Where’s the original?”
“In a safe.”
“Where?”
Thomas shook his head.
“I’m not telling Vale security.”
Elliot stepped closer.
“Mr. Reeves, somebody is photographing your daughter.”
Thomas froze.
“What?”
Natalie showed him the message.
Thomas read it.
His face drained of color.
“That phrase.”
“What?”
“‘Should have stayed out of this.’”
“You recognize it?”
Thomas looked at Elliot.
“Richard used those exact words with Grace.”
“When?”
“1998.”
Mason asked, “Could he be sending these?”
“Maybe.”
“Maybe?”
Thomas handed the phone back.
“Richard never typed threats.”
“What did he do?”
“He had someone else deliver them.”
“Who?”
Thomas’s eyes moved toward Elliot.
“Arthur’s fixer.”
Elliot frowned.
“My father had no fixer.”
Thomas almost laughed.
“All men like Arthur have one.”
“Name.”
“Calvin Rowe.”
Natalie stopped.
“Rowe?”
Thomas nodded.
“Why?”
Her stomach dropped.
“Mercer & Rowe.”
Elliot looked at her.
“Your agency.”
Natalie pulled out her phone.
She searched the company’s leadership history.
Martin Mercer.
Founder.
Calvin Rowe.
Co-founder.
Retired six years earlier.
Photograph.
An older man.
Gray hair.
Scarless.
Not her father.
Natalie enlarged the profile.
Thomas stared at it.
“That’s him.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes.”
Elliot’s expression became icy.
Natalie understood.
Richard had not randomly chosen Mercer & Rowe for the Hawthorne account.
The company itself was connected to Arthur’s old fixer.
Her job.
Her career.
Perhaps even her hiring.
Suddenly every coincidence had edges.
“Did Calvin know my mother?” Natalie asked.
Thomas nodded.
“He was the person Richard sent to scare her.”
Natalie felt sick.
Elliot took her phone and read the company biography.
“Rowe retired six years ago.”
“Where?”
Mason was already searching.
“Lake Forest.”
“Bring him in.”
Thomas snapped, “No.”
Elliot turned.
“Excuse me?”
“You go after Calvin openly, Richard knows immediately.”
“He probably already knows.”
“No.”
Thomas pointed toward Natalie.
“If Richard knew she had Grace’s letter, she wouldn’t have received a warning.”
Mason considered this.
“He’s right.”
Elliot hated it.
That much was obvious.
Natalie looked at Thomas.
“What do you suggest?”
“Find the original photograph.”
“Which one?”
“The picture from Arthur’s reception.”
“We have it.”
“No.”
Thomas shook his head.
“You have the edited copy.”
“What’s on the original?”
Thomas looked toward Elliot.
“Everyone who was in Arthur’s room.”
“Who?”
“Me. Richard. Arthur.”
He paused.
“And a fourth person.”
“Who?”
May you like
Thomas’s answer came quietly.
“Someone Elliot believed had been dead for twenty-four years.”
