Chapter 5 - What Alex Remembered
The silence that followed Elizabeth’s revelation was so absolute that the sound of the rain outside seemed to vanish entirely.
Andrew’s hands slipped off Elizabeth’s shoulders. He backed away slowly until his spine struck the cold edge of the fireplace mantel. His face was devoid of color, his dark eyes wide and fixed on the floor as fifteen years of trust, partnership, and shared history with Vance Hastings collapsed into a pile of ashes.
“No,” Andrew whispered, desperately trying to find a flaw in her logic, a crack in her story. “No. Vance was at the hospital when I arrived. He was crying. He held my hand at the funeral. He... he bought Alex the wooden train set...”
“He bought Alex that train set to see if the boy was recovering his memory, Andrew!” Elizabeth said, stepping toward him, her voice filled with desperate urgency. “Vance knows Alex was in the front passenger seat when the brakes failed! He knows Alex heard the argument between Emma and Vance on the phone five minutes before the car hit the guardrail!”
Andrew stopped breathing.
“Alex was in the front seat...”
The memory rushed back into Andrew’s mind with blinding, horrific clarity. On the night of the crash, when Andrew had finally reached the hospital in upstate New York, the police officer had mentioned that the child had been found curled in the footwell of the passenger side, uninjured by the airbag because he had slipped down beneath the dashboard before the impact.
Alex hadn't just survived the crash.
Alex had witnessed the panic. He had heard his mother screaming Vance’s name as the pedal went uselessly to the floor.
Suddenly, the quiet chime of a cell phone shattered the room’s heavy silence.
It was Andrew’s private phone sitting on the mahogany desk. The screen lit up with an incoming call from Vance Hastings.
Andrew stared at the vibrating phone as if it were a venomous snake.
“Don't answer it,” Elizabeth whispered, standing beside him. “He knows I’m here. He saw my background file at your security office twenty minutes ago. Marcus Cole called my old supervisor at Bellevue to verify my identity.”
Andrew’s head snapped up. “Marcus called your supervisor?”
“Yes,” Elizabeth said, her eyes wide with sudden terror. “And Marcus works for James Holdings... which means Vance already knows that Elizabeth Brown is Dr. Elizabeth Vance-Brown.”
Before Andrew could reach for the phone, the screen stopped vibrating.
A second later, the soft, mechanical BEEP of the penthouse’s private elevator chime echoed from the far end of the long marble entryway.
The security doors were opening.
Andrew didn't hesitate. He grabbed Elizabeth’s arm, pulled her out of the study, and pushed her toward the dark corridor leading to Alex’s nursery.
“Get in there with Alex,” Andrew ordered, his voice dropping into a low, terrifying tone of pure steel. “Lock the door from the inside. Do not open it for anyone unless you hear my voice.”
“Andrew, no!” Elizabeth whispered, holding his sleeve. “He isn't alone! Vance never travels without his private security team!”
“This is my house,” Andrew said, his eyes burning with an ancient, lethal rage as he detached her fingers from his cuff. “And nobody touches my family again.”
He turned and walked down the dark hallway toward the entryway, his dress shoes making no sound against the runner rug.
The elevator doors slid open with a smooth, metallic hiss.
Out stepped Vance Hastings. He was dressed in a dark cashmere overcoat, his silver hair slightly damp from the rain. Behind him stood two tall men in dark suits—former state troopers who served as Vance’s personal bodyguards.
Vance stepped onto the marble floor, shaking the rain from his umbrella. He looked around the dimly lit living room until his eyes settled on Andrew standing in the shadows near the kitchen archway.
“Andrew,” Vance said smoothly, a warm, practiced smile spreading across his face as if he were arriving for a Sunday dinner. “You aren't answering your cell. I brought the Hastings Logistics contracts. I figured we could sign them here, over a quiet drink, away from the lawyers.”
Andrew didn't move from the shadows. He kept his hands tucked casually into his trousers pockets, his body completely still.
“You’re late, Vance,” Andrew said, his voice flat, emotionless, and cold as tungsten.
Vance took two steps forward, his smile fading slightly as he noticed the dark, unyielding posture of his partner.
“It’s raining out there, Andrew,” Vance said softly, signaling his two bodyguards to wait near the elevator. He walked closer, stopping ten feet from Andrew near the glass dining table. “I heard a rumor from Marcus. He said you hired a new housekeeper. A girl from upstate.”
May you like
Vance leaned in slightly, his eyes narrowing into two sharp slits of ice.
“Where is she, Andrew?” Vance asked quietly. “Where is my little half-sister?”
