Chapter 4 - The Secret Beneath the Library
Eleanor Blackmere invited me to tea the following afternoon.
I considered refusing. The Blackmere family possessed an unsettling talent for making ordinary invitations feel like interrogations.
But Eleanor had noticed the symbol.
And I needed to know why.
Her private sitting room overlooked the rose garden, where gardeners worked beneath a pale autumn sky. A silver tea service rested between us, untouched.
"Roman believes you are running from Victor Sloane," she said.
"Is that not enough?"
"No."
I looked at her.
Eleanor's face was older than Roman's, but her eyes carried the same unnerving stillness. She had survived decades in a family where loyalty was purchased, betrayal was inherited, and love was rarely separated from power.
"Victor was once a trusted associate of my late husband," she explained. "He managed several properties and handled certain private records."
"What kind of records?"
"The kind powerful men spend fortunes ensuring never become public."
My fingers tightened around the teacup.
Eleanor watched me carefully.
"Three years ago, a warehouse owned by our family burned. Officially, the fire destroyed obsolete financial documents. Unofficially, several people disappeared afterward."
I knew about the fire.
I had seen the news while living in Victor's house.
At the time, he had thrown a glass against the television and ordered me never to mention the Blackmere name.
"Why are you telling me this?"
"Because two days before that fire, my husband received a letter from Victor. The letter warned him that someone inside the family was stealing from the estate."
"Who?"
Eleanor shook her head.
"My husband never told me. He died before I could ask."
The room seemed to grow colder.
"Does Roman know?"
"Roman believes his father died without discovering the thief."
"And you think I know who it was?"
"I think Victor Sloane would not spend years hunting a woman unless she possessed something he desperately wanted."
I rose from my chair.
"I don't have anything."
Eleanor didn't attempt to stop me.
Instead, she reached into a drawer and produced a small photograph.
A younger Eleanor stood beside her husband, Richard Blackmere. Behind them, a group of men posed outside a stone building.
Victor Sloane stood near the edge.
Beside him was a man whose face had been partially scratched away.
"Do you recognize him?" Eleanor asked.
I stared at the photograph.
The damaged face meant nothing to me.
But the man's left hand rested on Victor's shoulder.
A heavy silver ring encircled his index finger.
My heart began to pound.
"Where did you get this?"
"It was among my husband's belongings."
I looked up.
"That ring belonged to Victor."
"Perhaps."
"No." My voice cracked. "I've seen it. I've seen him wearing it while he—"
I stopped.
Eleanor leaned forward.
"While he did what, Nora?"
I couldn't tell her.
Not yet.
That evening, Roman found me in the library, standing beside the fireplace with the photograph clutched in my hand.
"Mother spoke to you."
It wasn't a question.
"She told me about the warehouse."
Roman's expression darkened.
"What else did she tell you?"
"That someone stole from your family."
He studied me.
"And?"
I held out the photograph.
"Do you know the man whose face has been scratched out?"
Roman took it.
For the first time since I had met him, his fingers trembled.
"Where did you find this?"
"Your mother gave it to me."
He turned the photograph over.
On the back, someone had written a date and six words.
The last witness must never speak.
Roman read them twice.
Then he looked at me.
"Nora, what exactly did you see in Victor Sloane's house?"
I closed my eyes.
The answer was waiting behind a locked door in my memory.
May you like
And someone had just found the key.
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