Chapter 5 - The Shadow on the Wall
The fire in the hearth popped, sending a shower of orange sparks up the brick chimney.
I stood frozen beside the coffee table, the weight of Adrian’s words settling over my chest like a mountain.
My entire life—my childhood in the drafty Dorchester apartment, my mother’s constant paranoia, the way she checked the locks three times every night, the way she forbade me from ever entering dance competitions or posting photos online—was not the result of a mother’s irrational grief.
It was the result of a calculated, monstrous hunt.
My mother hadn't been running from ghosts. She had been running from her own brother.
“Richard had a partner,” I whispered, the memory suddenly surfacing from the dark depths of my childhood.
Adrian’s eyes narrowed instantly. “What partner?”
I closed my eyes, trying to visualize the small, dingy kitchen of our Dorchester home when I was eight years old.
“It was a rainy night in November,” I said softly, my voice barely more than a murmur. “A man came to our house. He wore a dark wool coat and smelled like heavy cigars. My mother hid me inside the hallway closet and told me to keep my hands over my ears no matter what I heard.”
Eleanor gasped quietly, leaning forward.
“I didn't keep my hands over my ears,” I continued, opening my eyes to look at Adrian. “I looked through the crack in the closet door. The man was tall, with thin grey hair and a long scar running across his left eyebrow. He told my mother that if she ever stepped foot in Boston’s financial district, or if she ever tried to claim her share of the Vale trust, he would make sure her daughter suffered the same fate as her father.”
Adrian’s breath rattled in his chest. His hands clenched into tight, white-knuckled fists at his sides.
“Victor Winthrop,” Adrian said, the name tearing from his throat like jagged metal.
The room seemed to drop ten degrees.
“Winthrop?” I repeated, the horror dawning on me. “Celeste’s father?”
“Victor Winthrop was my father’s primary business partner for forty years,” Adrian said, his voice terrifyingly calm. “He owns Winthrop Banking Corporation. He was the co-trustee of the Vale Global shares. When my father died, Victor attempted to force me into merging Vale Global with his bank.”
He looked toward the floor-to-ceiling windows, his reflection mirrored against the dark glass of the Boston night.
“And when I resisted,” Adrian added, turning back to face me, “Victor proposed a merger through marriage. He offered his daughter, Celeste, to consolidate our holdings.”
I looked at the silver box on the table, then at Lucia, who had finished her hot chocolate and was now softly humming The Winter Sparrow while curling up on the sofa with Barnaby.
“Celeste didn't mock Lucia by accident tonight,” I whispered, the final piece of the puzzle locking into place. “She saw her dancing... she recognized the movement.”
“No,” Adrian corrected smoothly, stepping toward me. “Celeste didn't recognize it. But Victor Winthrop was sitting in the VIP lounge on the second floor during the first half of the gala. He must have seen Lucia through the glass railing.”
Before I could process his words, the quiet of the penthouse suite was shattered by a loud, authoritative knocking on the heavy outer doors.
Adrian didn't flinch. He turned his head slowly toward the hallway.
The head of security stepped into the room, his expression grave. “Mr. Vale. Victor Winthrop is downstairs in the private lobby. He has four of his own security detail with him, and he’s demanding to come up.”
Eleanor stood up from her chair, her frame suddenly remarkably straight, her silver hair gleaming under the chandelier lights.
“Let him up,” Eleanor commanded, her voice ringing out with the fierce, absolute authority of the Vale matriarch. “Let that snake come up to this floor. It’s time we finished thirty-two years of lies.”
Adrian looked at me, his grey eyes asking a silent question.
May you like
I took off my black server’s apron, folded it neatly, and laid it on the arm of the velvet sofa. I reached down, squeezed Lucia’s small, warm hand, and stood beside my cousin.
“Let him up,” I said.
