Chapter 10 - WHY VINCENT VOSS CHOSE TO DIE
Vincent cried when Declan confronted him.
Not because he was caught.
Because he remembered.
“My death was supposed to end it.”
Declan stood beside the hospital bed.
“You arranged someone to shoot you?”
“Nonfatal.”
“You nearly died.”
“I knew Patrick was moving against me.”
“So your solution was to disappear?”
“I wanted him exposed.”
“By abandoning your son?”
Vincent’s eyes closed.
“I thought you would be safer if everyone believed I was gone.”
Declan laughed bitterly.
“Apparently every man in this family thinks lying is protection.”
I looked at him.
He noticed.
“Yes,” he said quietly. “Including me.”
Vincent continued.
He had staged the shooting with Michael Roarke.
The plan was to recover secretly, collect evidence, then return.
But Patrick discovered it.
Michael was killed.
Vincent was drugged, moved, and kept cognitively impaired for years.
Patrick transformed a voluntary disappearance into imprisonment.
Declan sat.
For the first time, I saw the full weight of inherited secrecy crush him.
“My mother hid evidence.”
“Yes.”
“You faked your death.”
“Yes.”
“Patrick imprisoned you.”
“Yes.”
“And everyone expected me to somehow grow into a normal man?”
Vincent almost smiled sadly.
“No.”
Then he looked at me.
“You’re Amelia.”
I nodded.
“He talked about you.”
Declan frowned.
“When?”
“Before I remembered much. Patrick used to bring newspapers.”
Vincent’s eyes moved to my belly.
“And that is my grandchild.”
Declan’s posture changed.
“Yes.”
Vincent smiled.
A fragile thing.
“Then maybe one Voss can be born without being taught fear first.”
That sentence stayed with me.
Over the next week, federal authorities dismantled Patrick’s remaining financial network.
Victor Calloway’s involvement in Eleanor’s death became public.
Savannah renounced claims tied to her father’s organization and took Eli out of Chicago.
Gavin turned over everything connected to Michael.
Declan surrendered documents that could implicate parts of his own family.
He lost allies.
Money.
Influence.
He did not complain.
Then I had my anatomy scan.
Twenty weeks.
A girl.
Perfect spine.
Perfect kidneys.
Ten tiny fingers.
When the technician said, “Congratulations, she looks beautiful,” I cried.
Declan sat beside me.
Silent.
Then the technician asked, “Dad, would you like a picture?”
Dad.
Declan stared.
“Yes.”
His voice cracked.
The image printed.
Black and white.
Our daughter.
I watched him hold it differently than he held contracts, weapons, phones, or anything connected to power.
Carefully.
Reverently.
Outside the clinic, snow fell.
Chicago snow.
I had returned under a new security plan.
Not because Declan demanded it.
Because I chose to.
He walked beside me.
“Amelia.”
“Yes?”
“Come home.”
I stopped.
His expression tightened.
“I mean—”
“I know what you mean.”
“No obligation.”
“I know.”
“You can stay anywhere.”
“I know.”
“The penthouse has been completely secured.”
“Declan.”
He stopped talking.
I smiled slightly.
“I’ll come for dinner.”
His face changed.
“Dinner?”
“Do not look disappointed.”
“I was expecting negotiation.”
“This is negotiation.”
“Dinner.”
“Yes.”
“How many?”
“What?”
“How many dinners?”
“One.”
He looked offended.
“You are difficult.”
“You like difficult.”
“Yes.”
The answer came too quickly.
I looked away to hide my smile.
That evening, I entered the penthouse for the first time since disappearing.
Nothing had changed.
Except one thing.
The lilies were gone.
Every vase held white roses and eucalyptus.
He remembered.
Then I saw a small framed photograph on the mantel.
My first ultrasound.
The one I had burned.
Or so I thought.
I walked closer.
“How?”
Declan stood behind me.
“The clinic had a digital copy.”
“You requested it?”
“Yes.”
My eyes filled.
Then I noticed something written beneath the frame.
AMELIA + BABY.
Below it was a date.
The day before I disappeared.
“What is that date?”
Declan looked away.
My heart changed.
“What?”
He exhaled.
“That was the day I bought a ring.”
I turned.
“You were going to propose?”
“Yes.”
Before Savannah.
Before the announcement.
Before everything.
May you like
Then he opened a drawer.
The ring was still there.
