Chapter 7 - The Price of Loyalty
Celeste sent a photograph.
My mother sat in a wheelchair inside an unfamiliar room.
Alive.
Marcus was on the floor behind her.
Blood ran from his nose.
His hands were tied.
A clock on the wall read 9:17.
Celeste called again.
“You have until noon.”
“To do what?”
“Bring the agreement.”
“You already know what it says.”
“I need the original.”
“For what?”
“You know for what.”
“My signature.”
“Yes.”
“We’re not married.”
“You will be.”
I laughed.
She didn’t.
“Three weeks early?”
“The wedding was for appearances.”
“You could have saved me the tux.”
Her voice sharpened.
“You think this is funny?”
“No.”
I looked toward Ewan.
“I think you misjudged me.”
“No, Damian. I judged you perfectly.”
“How?”
“You love control more than people.”
That hit closer than I liked.
“So when I take someone from you, you don’t think about losing them.”
Celeste continued.
“You think about taking them back.”
Silence.
“That’s why you’ll come.”
The call ended.
Ewan said, “She wants you angry.”
“She has my mother.”
“I know.”
“You don’t seem concerned.”
“I spent six years learning not to run where they point.”
Delia stepped between us.
“Both of you stop.”
We looked at her.
“Your mother has waited four years for the two of you to be in the same room.”
Her voice broke.
“And you’re wasting time proving which one of you is more stubborn.”
Ewan looked away.
I asked, “Can you track Celeste?”
He nodded.
“Maybe.”
For the next hour we went through Vandermark properties.
Warehouses.
Condos.
Vacant buildings.
Private clubs.
Then Delia noticed the clock in the photograph.
“Look.”
“What?”
“The reflection.”
In the glass over the clock, a green sign appeared backward.
Ewan enlarged it.
ST. ANNE’S.
I knew the building.
St. Anne’s Surgical Pavilion.
Closed eleven years earlier.
Owned by Vandermark Medical Holdings.
We moved.
No sirens.
No police.
Not yet.
The city still contained too many men whose retirement accounts had been funded by August Vandermark.
At St. Anne’s, the doors were chained.
Ewan found a rear entrance.
Inside, the building smelled like mold and old disinfectant.
We found Marcus on the third floor.
Alone.
Tied to a radiator.
My mother was gone.
I cut him loose.
He tried to stand.
I pushed him back.
“Where is she?”
“They moved her.”
“Where?”
“I don’t know.”
My voice went flat.
“Marcus.”
He looked at Ewan.
Recognition flashed.
Then guilt.
That told me enough.
I placed the old photograph in front of him.
Celeste.
Marcus.
Parking garage.
Four years earlier.
“Talk.”
Marcus closed his eyes.
“I met her.”
“I can see that.”
“I didn’t know who she was.”
“Try again.”
“She said she worked for a private investigator.”
“Again.”
“She had my daughter.”
Silence.
Marcus had one child.
Anna.
She was twenty-four now.
At the time, twenty.
“What did they do?”
“They had photographs.”
His breathing became uneven.
“Anna at college. Her apartment. Her car. Her boyfriend.”
“So you helped Celeste enter my house?”
“I gave her a temporary access code.”
My fist tightened.
“I thought she wanted your father’s old files.”
“My mother nearly died.”
“I didn’t know.”
“You didn’t ask.”
“I was scared.”
The room went quiet.
I thought about Ray Calder.
His son’s tuition.
Thirty days.
A new name.
I had spent years claiming children changed the rules.
Now the rule had arrived inside my own house.
Marcus looked at me.
“I have hated myself every day since.”
“Good.”
“I tried to fix it.”
“How?”
“I found out what she did to your mother.”
His eyes lifted.
“So I started feeding Celeste bad information.”
Ewan said, “That’s why they never found me.”
Marcus nodded.
“She thought you were in Canada.”
I stared at him.
“Where did they take my mother?”
“I heard one of them say Foundry.”
Ewan stiffened.
“What?”
“The Vandermarks own the old North River Foundry.”
Marcus grabbed my sleeve.
“Damian, there’s something else.”
“What?”
“When Celeste thought I was unconscious, she called her father.”
“And?”
“She said they didn’t need your wedding anymore.”
I frowned.
“Why?”
Marcus swallowed.
“Because they found another living Vale heir.”
I turned toward Ewan.
He looked just as confused.
May you like
Marcus whispered:
“Your mother had three sons.”
