Chapter 4 - THE WIDOWER WAS NEVER A DATE
Caldwell was not a widower.
He was not a father of three.
He did not own a yacht.
According to Marco, almost everything my mother had been told about him was manufactured.
Including his name.
“Who is he really?” I asked.
Vincent stood at the hotel window, phone pressed to his ear.
“Still working on it.”
I stared at the frozen image of my mother tied to a chair.
“She brought him to me.”
“She didn’t know.”
“She knew enough to warn me about you.”
Vincent looked at me.
“That wasn’t about Caldwell.”
“Then what was it about?”
He was quiet.
I hated that.
“Vincent.”
“Your mother has been afraid of my family for decades.”
“Because your father killed my grandmother?”
His jaw tightened.
“We don’t know that.”
“The paper had his signature.”
“Signatures can be forged.”
Samuel shook his head.
“That one wasn’t.”
Vincent turned.
“You’re very comfortable accusing a dead man.”
Samuel laughed.
“You’re very comfortable defending one.”
I stepped between them again.
This was becoming a full-time job.
“Focus.”
Both men stopped.
Good.
Caldwell had given us two hours.
Bring the locket to the old Hartwell bank.
No police.
No security.
Naturally, Vincent ignored all three conditions.
He called police contacts.
Private security.
A bomb specialist.
Then he looked at me.
“You are not going inside.”
I folded my arms.
“That’s adorable.”
“Evelyn.”
“He has my mother.”
“I know.”
“The locket is mine.”
“I know.”
“So I’m going.”
His eyes narrowed.
“No.”
I stepped closer.
“You met me under a table twelve hours ago.”
“Yes.”
“You do not get husband privileges.”
His mouth twitched.
“What privileges?”
“Ordering me around like I’m fragile.”
“Sweetheart, I order everyone around.”
“That’s worse.”
Marco turned away, shoulders shaking.
Vincent sighed.
“You stay beside me.”
“Fine.”
“You do exactly what I say if shooting starts.”
“We’ll negotiate later.”
“That isn’t reassuring.”
“Welcome to my experience.”
The old Hartwell bank stood on LaSalle Street.
Abandoned.
Boarded windows.
Stone lions outside.
I had passed it a thousand times.
Never knew it might contain a fortune.
The locket fit into a tiny recessed mechanism behind an antique deposit cabinet.
Click.
A steel door opened.
Cold air.
Dark stairs.
Vincent stared.
“Your family had style.”
“We hide money dramatically.”
“Apparently.”
We descended.
The vault below was enormous.
Old ledgers.
Paintings.
Boxes.
Gold bars.
I stopped.
“Those are actual gold bars.”
Vincent glanced.
“Try to contain yourself.”
“I work in corporate design, Vincent. Gold bars are not part of my normal Tuesday.”
Samuel searched the room.
“Rose’s ledger should be here.”
Then a light came on.
Caldwell stood at the far end.
My mother sat beside him.
Hands tied.
Gun against her shoulder.
“Evelyn.”
My body went cold.
“Mom.”
She looked terrified.
“I’m sorry.”
I stepped forward.
Caldwell smiled.
“Locket.”
“Let her go.”
“First.”
Vincent moved slightly.
Caldwell aimed at him.
“No.”
Vincent stopped.
“Who are you?” I asked.
Caldwell smiled.
“Daniel Bell.”
Samuel went pale.
“No.”
I looked at him.
“What?”
Samuel whispered,
“Angelo Bell had a son no one recognized.”
Daniel smiled.
“My grandfather’s bastard.”
I stared.
“So you think this is yours.”
“No.”
His smile widened.
“I know it is.”
Then he looked at Vincent.
“And I know who really killed Rose.”
My heart pounded.
“Who?”
Daniel raised his gun slightly.
“Not Raffaele Marino.”
Vincent went still.
Daniel looked directly at Samuel.
“Your uncle did.”
I turned.
Samuel’s face emptied.
“No.”
Daniel laughed.
“Tell her.”
Samuel backed away.
My mother began crying.
“Evelyn…”
I looked at her.
She whispered,
“Daniel is right.”
My blood turned cold.
May you like
Samuel Hartwell had not come to save us.
He had come to control the vault.
