Chapter 4 - The Night Arturo Chose Her Over His Empire
By sunrise, the mansion had become a fortress.
Nobody entered without verification.
Nobody left without permission from Vincent.
Phones belonging to senior staff were examined.
Security logs were pulled.
Delivery schedules reviewed.
For most people, the change was frightening.
For me, it was familiar.
War always began with doors.
Which ones were open.
Which ones were locked.
And which one somebody had forgotten to watch.
Lauren sat alone at the breakfast table when I entered.
She had coffee in both hands but wasn't drinking it.
“You sleep?” I asked.
“No.”
“Neither did I.”
“Should we congratulate each other?”
I pulled out the chair across from her.
“You're becoming sarcastic.”
“You're becoming conversational.”
“More dangerous.”
That earned a small smile.
Then she looked toward the kitchen.
“Everyone knows something happened.”
“They know enough.”
“Do they know it's because of me?”
“No.”
“Arturo.”
“Do you want them to?”
She looked down.
“No.”
“Then don't create guilt where there doesn't need to be any.”
She stared at me.
“You make everything sound simple.”
“Most things are.”
“No, they're not.”
“Most decisions are.”
That silenced her for a moment.
Then she asked, “What decision are you making about me?”
The question was more vulnerable than she probably intended.
“I'm not.”
“That's impossible.”
“Why?”
“Because people like you make decisions about everyone.”
People like you.
Ordinarily, the phrase would have irritated me.
From Lauren, it felt like a challenge.
“What do you think I'm deciding?”
“Whether I'm worth the trouble.”
I leaned back.
“And what conclusion do you expect?”
“That I'm not.”
She said it too quickly.
As though life had taught her to answer before anyone could prove it.
I disliked that.
“You're wrong.”
Her eyes lifted.
Before either of us could say more, Vincent entered.
“We found something.”
I stood.
“What?”
“One staff access badge was used to open the west service gate at 11:48 two nights ago.”
“Whose?”
He looked toward the kitchen.
“Daniel Mercer.”
I knew the name.
One of the night groundskeepers.
Employed five years.
Married.
Two children.
“Where is he?”
“Gone.”
Of course.
“When?”
“His wife says he left yesterday afternoon. Told her he had an emergency shift.”
Lauren whispered, “He knew which room was mine.”
Vincent nodded.
“Grounds crew works all wings.”
I looked at him.
“Find him.”
“We're trying.”
“Try harder.”
Vincent's expression told me he already was.
Then Lauren asked, “Why would he help Vescari?”
Vincent answered.
“Money. Threats. Family pressure.”
“Or all three,” I said.
Something darkened in Lauren's expression.
“That's how Dominic works.”
I turned to her.
“You know more about him than you've told me.”
She stiffened.
“We've established that.”
“Then perhaps it's time.”
She looked at Vincent.
He took the hint.
“I'll continue downstairs.”
When he left, Lauren stood.
“I told you my father worked for Vescari.”
“You told me enough to explain why he wants records.”
“What else do you need?”
“Why he's personally focused on you.”
Her face changed.
There.
I'd been waiting for it.
“Lauren.”
She walked toward the window.
“For years, I believed Vescari killed my father.”
“Do you still?”
“No.”
That surprised me.
“Why not?”
“Because my father is alive.”
Silence.
I studied her back.
“You're certain?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“Vescari showed me.”
The room seemed to narrow.
“When?”
“Four months before I came here.”
I crossed toward her.
“You met him?”
“I didn't choose to.”
“What happened?”
She hugged herself.
“I was leaving work. Two men put me in a car.”
My jaw tightened.
“They took me to a house in Queens.”
“And Vescari was there.”
“Yes.”
“What did he want?”
“The records.”
“And your father?”
“He brought me downstairs.”
Her voice became barely audible.
“My father was sitting in a room behind glass.”
I stared.
“After all those years?”
“Older. Thin. But alive.”
“Did you speak to him?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Dominic wouldn't let me.”
Anger built slowly.
Controlled.
Precise.
More dangerous than rage.
“What did Vescari say?”
“That my father had been useful. That he had made the mistake of keeping evidence, so Dominic kept him alive to discover who else had copies.”
“Why not kill him?”
“Because Dad knew where some money disappeared.”
That piece made sense.
Vescari had likely assumed Patrick Bell had hidden money or records.
“And he used him to threaten you.”
Lauren nodded.
“He said if I delivered everything my father copied, he would release him.”
“You believed that?”
“No.”
Good.
“What did you do?”
“I told him I needed time to find everything.”
“And escaped?”
“He let me leave.”
“Because he expected you to lead him to it.”
“Yes.”
“So you changed jobs and came here.”
“Yes.”
I was quiet.
“You didn't tell me because you knew if I discovered Vescari had kidnapped your father, I'd act.”
“I didn't know what you would do.”
“You had an educated guess.”
“Yes.”
“What were you planning?”
Her face twisted.
“I don't know.”
That was the first answer she gave that sounded like surrender.
“I wake up every day and think maybe there's a way to save him without giving Vescari what he wants. Then every night I realize I'm no closer.”
She turned toward me.
“I don't know if my father hates me for not coming. I don't know if he's sick. I don't know whether Dominic is hurting him. I don't even know if he's still in the same place.”
Tears slipped down her cheeks.
“I just know he's alive because Dominic wanted me to know.”
Without thinking, I stepped toward her.
She didn't move away.
I raised a hand.
Stopped.
Touching people was rarely complicated for me.
A handshake.
A warning grip.
A weapon.
With Lauren, everything suddenly had consequences.
She noticed my hesitation.
Then, very gently, she leaned forward and rested her forehead against my chest.
My entire body went still.
I could have faced twenty armed men with less uncertainty.
Her shoulders shook once.
Then again.
I placed one hand against her back.
Carefully.
Nothing about the gesture felt like control.
That was what frightened me.
She whispered, “I don't know what to do.”
I looked down at her.
For the first time in years, someone had come to me not because they feared me.
Because they needed somewhere to stand.
“We find him.”
Lauren pulled back.
“What?”
“Your father.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“You don't know where he is.”
“We'll find out.”
“Arturo, this isn't your problem.”
I looked at her.
“How many times are you going to say that before you realize I stopped believing you?”
“This could get you killed.”
“So could breakfast if the wrong chef is angry enough.”
She gave a stunned half-laugh through her tears.
I wiped one tear from her cheek.
She froze.
So did I.
That tiny movement changed the air between us.
Her eyes dropped briefly to my mouth.
Then back up.
I stepped away.
Not because I wanted to.
Because I wanted to too much.
“We'll find Patrick Bell,” I said.
Lauren's voice was soft.
“Why?”
I should have given a strategic answer.
Because Vescari had challenged me.
Because Patrick's evidence could damage an enemy.
Because the situation affected my security.
All of those things were true.
Instead, I said, “Because you asked what decision I made about whether you're worth the trouble.”
She stared at me.
“I decided.”
Her breath caught.
Before she could answer, Vincent walked back in.
The timing annoyed me more than it should have.
“We found Mercer.”
“Where?”
“Yonkers.”
“Alive?”
“Yes.”
“Bring him.”
Vincent hesitated.
“There's more.”
“What?”
“He says Vescari paid him to photograph Lauren's room and schedule.”
Lauren went pale.
“What else?”
Vincent looked at her.
“Apparently Vescari believes she has something hidden inside the mansion.”
I turned.
“What?”
Lauren immediately looked away.
My patience vanished.
“Lauren.”
She said nothing.
“You told me the records were moved.”
“They were.”
“To my house?”
“Not exactly.”
“What does that mean?”
She crossed to the bookshelf in the breakfast room, though clearly she wasn't interested in books.
“Before I came here, I had one page.”
“One page of what?”
“My father's ledger.”
“And?”
“I needed insurance.”
My voice lowered.
“What did you do?”
She finally looked at me.
“I hid it here.”
“Where?”
“In the mansion.”
I stared.
“You brought Vescari's evidence into my home?”
“One page.”
“That distinction is not helping.”
“I didn't know he'd find me!”
“You came here because you thought he was looking for you.”
“Yes, but—”
“Where is it?”
She hesitated.
“Lauren.”
“In my old room.”
I felt anger flare.
“Where?”
“Inside the back panel of the little radio.”
The radio.
The same radio playing while she danced.
I was already moving.
We reached the west wing in less than two minutes.
Lauren's old room looked untouched.
She grabbed the radio.
Turned it around.
Removed two screws from the panel.
Then froze.
“What?”
She reached inside.
Nothing.
Her breathing changed.
“It's gone.”
I looked at the open compartment.
“Who knew?”
“Nobody.”
“Someone knew.”
A sound came from the hallway.
Vincent.
His expression was grim.
“Mercer just confessed something else.”
“What?”
“He wasn't the only person Vescari paid.”
I felt the room go still.
“Who else?”
Vincent looked directly at me.
May you like
“Someone much closer to you.”
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