Chapter 9 - The Fiancée's Secret|
Camille refused to sit down.
She stood beside the fireplace, gripping the edge of the mantel while Vincent waited for an explanation.
“You’re making a mistake,” she said.
“Then correct it.”
“I don’t know anything about the shooting.”
“Your initials appear in an email connected to the company that funded the ambush.”
“Initials are not evidence.”
“No. But your reaction is interesting.”
Camille looked at Nora.
“This woman has manipulated you.”
Nora didn't move.
“I found your name in an email. I didn't put it there.”
“You've been here six weeks. How could you possibly know anything about this family?”
“Because someone took my brother.”
Camille's expression flickered.
Only briefly.
But Vincent saw it.
“You knew about Daniel,” he said.
“I knew Marcus was dealing with a problem involving one of the rehabilitation facilities. I didn't know he had taken anyone.”
“What problem?”
Camille pressed her lips together.
Vincent wheeled closer.
“Answer me.”
She flinched at the tone, then straightened.
“You want the truth? Fine. Marcus came to me after your shooting. He said the organization needed stability and that you were unlikely to return to business. He asked me to help convince the captains that you needed to retire.”
“And you agreed.”
“I agreed to protect myself.”
“From what?”
“From being left with nothing!”
Her voice cracked through the room.
For the first time, Camille's polished composure collapsed.
“You were shot, Vincent. Everyone told me you might never walk again. You stopped speaking to me. You wouldn't let me help you. You threw things, dismissed doctors, and stared at the wall for hours. I was terrified.”
Vincent looked at her without speaking.
Camille wiped at her cheek, but no tears fell.
“I was going to marry you. I had built my entire future around you. Then Marcus told me the organization would turn against anyone who challenged him. He said if you recovered, the men would follow you again. If you didn't, they would need someone to keep your business interests stable.”
“So you helped him take control.”
“I helped arrange meetings. I signed documents. I thought it was temporary.”
“You moved your wedding dress out of my bedroom.”
“That was personal.”
“You stopped touching me.”
Her eyes flashed.
“Because I didn't know how to touch a man who looked at me like I was the enemy!”
Vincent's voice softened, but only slightly.
“You never asked me what I needed.”
“You never told me.”
“I was afraid.”
The admission seemed to surprise them both.
Vincent had spent months turning fear into anger because anger felt stronger. He had punished Camille for seeing his vulnerability, then blamed her for not understanding it.
But his failures did not excuse what she had done.
“I was afraid that if I let you see how broken I felt, you would leave,” he said. “So I made it impossible for you to come close. You chose to leave anyway. That part is yours.”
Camille stared at him.
For a moment, he saw the woman he had loved—the woman who used to laugh at his terrible jokes and steal his coffee when he worked too late.
Then she glanced at the documents.
“Marcus said the transfers would be temporary. He promised the money would be protected.”
“What money?”
“I don't know the details.”
“Camille.”
“I don't!”
Vincent studied her.
“Did you know about the payment connected to the shooting?”
“No.”
“Did you know Marcus was involved in the attempt on my life?”
“No.”
“Did you know he took Daniel?”
She hesitated.
That hesitation changed everything.
“You knew,” Nora whispered.
Camille turned toward her.
“I knew Marcus had someone under observation. He told me the man was connected to an old construction dispute. I never agreed to anyone being kidnapped.”
“You knew someone was in danger and said nothing.”
“I was trying to protect myself!”
Nora's face hardened.
“So was I. I just didn't use another person's life as the price.”
Camille looked away.
Vincent called Detective Mitchell and requested that she come to the mansion. He made no threats. He did not order his security team to lock the doors. He simply told Camille that the evidence would be turned over to investigators and that she should not contact Marcus.
She laughed bitterly.
“You think he'll let you walk away from this?”
Vincent met her eyes.
“I don't know what he'll let me do. But I know what I will do.”
When Detective Mitchell arrived, Camille agreed to provide a statement with legal counsel present. She insisted she had never authorized violence, and the detective made it clear that her cooperation did not guarantee immunity.
After Camille left with her attorney, Nora remained in the sitting room.
“You believed her?” she asked.
“I believe she was afraid.”
“That wasn't my question.”
Vincent looked at the empty doorway.
“I believe she knows more than she wants to admit.”
Nora nodded.
“Then don't let her fear become your excuse to stop asking questions.”
He looked at her.
“You think everyone has an opinion about how I should live.”
“I think everyone in your life has been deciding what you can handle. I'm trying to remind you that you still get to decide what you do next.”
Vincent was quiet for a long time.
Then he asked, “What would you do?”
“I'd keep following the evidence.”
“Even if it led to someone you loved?”
Nora thought of Daniel.
“Yes.”
The answer was simple, but Vincent understood what it cost her.
That evening, Detective Mitchell called with a preliminary update. The payment connected to the shooting had been routed through several companies. One of them was registered to an attorney who had represented Vincent's father decades earlier.
The account had been opened under a name that no longer existed.
But the address on the original paperwork belonged to a property Vincent had inherited from his father.
A property he had never visited.
A property where the company's archived records might still be stored.
The detective told him not to go there without authorization.
Vincent promised he wouldn't.
Then, after ending the call, he stared at the address.
May you like
For the first time, he wondered whether his father's old secrets had helped create the men now trying to destroy him.
And whether the final answer was waiting inside a building that had been locked for twenty years.
