Chapter 6 - VICTOR HALE'S OFFICE
I did not go alone.
I simply allowed Victor to believe I did.
Carlo positioned two trusted men downstairs.
Anthony stayed at the mansion.
Grace remained with my daughters.
I drove myself into Manhattan.
Victor’s office occupied the thirty-seventh floor of a building overlooking Park Avenue.
The receptionist had gone home.
The halls were empty.
Victor stood beside the windows.
He was sixty-three years old.
Perfect suit.
Silver hair.
Controlled voice.
For most of my adult life, Victor had been the man who made complicated problems disappear into contracts and signatures.
That night, I saw something different.
A man measuring exits.
“Dominic.”
“Victor.”
“Drink?”
“No.”
He nodded toward a chair.
I remained standing.
“The letter.”
“First, I need to understand what happened at the mansion.”
“Why?”
“Because Anthony called me.”
“He says he didn’t.”
Victor smiled.
“Anthony says many things.”
“So do attorneys.”
His smile disappeared.
He opened a drawer.
Then removed a white envelope.
My name was written across it.
Isabelle’s handwriting.
I knew every curve.
Every letter.
My hand almost reached for it.
Then I stopped.
“Open it.”
Victor raised an eyebrow.
“It’s addressed to you.”
“Then you won’t mind.”
He considered me.
Then broke the seal.
Inside was a single page.
He unfolded it.
The paper was blank.
Victor’s expression changed.
Only slightly.
Enough.
“You expected something else.”
“No.”
“You lied before you opened it.”
“Dominic—”
“Where is Isabelle’s actual letter?”
He placed the blank page down.
“I don’t know.”
“Then why did you call me?”
“To warn you.”
“About what?”
“Anthony.”
I almost laughed.
“Everybody seems very interested in warning me about everybody else.”
Victor walked behind his desk.
“Your brother has been hiding financial transactions for years.”
“With Cecilia?”
His eyes narrowed.
“You know.”
“Enough.”
“Then you understand.”
“No.”
I stepped closer.
“I understand that my wife discovered something.”
“I understand that you were at the preschool the morning she died.”
For the first time, Victor lost control of his face.
Only for a fraction of a second.
But I saw it.
“Who told you that?”
“That matters more to you than whether it’s true.”
He looked away.
“I was there.”
“Why?”
“Isabelle called me.”
“About?”
“She said she had proof of financial misconduct.”
“Yours?”
“Anthony’s.”
“Cecilia’s?”
He hesitated.
“Both.”
I watched him.
“Did you meet her?”
“Yes.”
“Did you argue?”
“No.”
“Did you touch her?”
“No.”
“Did you threaten her?”
His eyes returned to mine.
“Absolutely not.”
“Then why were my daughters afraid of you?”
That landed.
Victor’s entire body went still.
“What daughters?”
There.
He did not ask what I meant.
He asked which daughters.
As though he already knew one or more had witnessed something.
I took one step forward.
“What happened during the missing thirty-seven seconds?”
His face hardened.
“I think this conversation is over.”
“It ends when I say it does.”
“Dominic.”
His voice changed.
Less lawyer.
More old family adviser.
“You have built a life because men before you understood when not to ask certain questions.”
“My wife asked.”
“And look what happened.”
Silence.
He realized it immediately.
The words hung between us.
I felt every instinct inside me ignite.
But I did not move.
That was what Victor expected.
The old Dominic.
The man Isabelle had been afraid would react first and think later.
Instead, I smiled.
Victor’s confidence cracked.
“What?”
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For finally saying something useful.”
His eyes shifted toward the door.
I tapped my phone.
Carlo’s voice came through the speaker.
“We got it.”
Victor stared at me.
I had recorded everything.
Not enough to prove responsibility.
Enough to prove knowledge.
Victor reached for the desk drawer.
I moved first.
Not toward him.
Toward the wall.
I pulled the fire alarm.
Sirens erupted throughout the floor.
Doors unlocked automatically.
Carlo’s men entered from the hall.
Victor stared at me.
“You think this protects you?”
“No.”
I picked up the blank letter.
“It tells me you’re afraid.”
I turned to leave.
Then Victor called after me.
“Ask Grace who her father was.”
I stopped.
“What?”
Victor smiled again.
“Your housekeeper.”
“The woman Isabelle trusted.”
“Ask her why she changed her last name.”
I looked at him.
He continued.
“Ask Grace Bennett what her name was before Bennett.”
I left without answering.
In the elevator, I called Carlo.
“Run Grace.”
“Already doing it.”
“Deep.”
“I understand.”
By the time I reached the lobby, he had preliminary information.
“Dominic.”
“What?”
“Victor wasn’t lying.”
My stomach tightened.
“What was her name?”
“Grace Hale.”
I stopped walking.
May you like
Carlo continued.
“Victor Hale is her father.”
