Chapter 10 - The Deal Offered Over My Daughter's GraveDaniel locked the doors.
Samuel Cross stood in the road, still holding Sophie's pink hair clip between two fingers.
I couldn't look away from it.
I remembered the morning I had brushed Sophie's hair.
I remembered her complaining that the ponytail was crooked.
I remembered clipping that tiny pink ornament above her ear and promising that we'd fix it properly when she returned home.
Now it rested in the hand of the man who might have arranged her death.
“Keep driving,” I whispered.
Daniel checked the rearview mirror.
A second SUV had appeared behind us.
We were trapped between the two vehicles.
Samuel tapped the windshield with one finger.
“Please, Claire. I'd prefer not to make this unpleasant.”
I looked at Daniel.
“Can you get us out?”
“Possibly.”
“Then do it.”
Daniel shifted into reverse.
The SUV behind us moved forward.
Before he could accelerate, a gunshot struck the pavement beside our front tire.
Eleanor ducked.
Samuel's expression remained almost cheerful.
“I would advise against that.”
He approached the passenger window.
“Let's have a conversation.”
I opened the door before he could force it.
Daniel grabbed my wrist.
“Claire, don't.”
“If I refuse, he'll start shooting.”
I climbed out with Sophie's urn tucked beneath my arm.
Samuel's gaze moved toward it.
For the first time, his smile disappeared.
“That's touching,” he said. “You've brought the ashes everywhere you go.”
I stared at him.
“Say another word about my daughter and I'll make you regret it.”
His eyebrows rose.
Then he laughed softly.
“There she is. Thomas's daughter.”
He gestured toward the black SUV.
“Come with me. We can discuss the ledger somewhere private.”
“No.”
“Then I'll discuss it here.”
He opened his briefcase and removed a photograph.
It showed my father sitting in a chair inside a dimly lit room. His hands were tied behind his back. A bruise darkened one side of his face.
I felt the blood drain from my body.
“Where is he?”
“Alive.”
“Where?”
“That's a detail we can negotiate.”
I stepped toward Samuel.
“If you've hurt him—”
“Your father is a stubborn man. He has always been willing to sacrifice everything for a principle.”
“Unlike you.”
His smile faded.
For a moment, I saw something ugly beneath the polished exterior.
Then he recovered.
“Your husband has spent years trying to control the consequences of his mistakes. He believes money can repair every problem, influence can silence every witness, and loyalty can be purchased.”
“And you believe the same thing.”
“Not exactly.”
He moved closer.
“I believe people are most useful when they understand what they stand to lose.”
His gaze dropped to the urn.
I felt sick.
“You're disgusting.”
“Perhaps. But I'm not the one who drove my child into a ditch.”
The words cut through me.
He was right about one thing.
Adrian had been behind the wheel.
Adrian had made the decision to hurry.
Adrian had heard Vivian demanding that he drive faster.
And my daughter had paid the price.
But Samuel's smile suggested that he believed those facts made him innocent.
“Why did you demand that Sophie be in the car?” I asked.
His expression barely changed.
“I didn't demand that.”
“Vivian heard you.”
“Vivian hears many things when she's frightened.”
“Adrian confirmed it.”
Samuel sighed.
“Adrian confirms whatever he believes will make his situation more manageable.”
I watched him carefully.
“Then tell me what really happened.”
He considered me for several seconds.
Then he closed the briefcase.
“Your father discovered that his company was being used to move money belonging to several dangerous people. He gathered records. He threatened to expose everyone involved.”
“And you were involved.”
“Your father and I built a business together. We disagreed about certain clients.”
“Criminals.”
“Investors.”
“Criminals.”
He smiled again, but his eyes were cold.
“Your father believed that documents were more important than people. I believed that the world was more complicated than that.”
“And when he refused to cooperate?”
“He disappeared.”
“You made it look like he was dead.”
“I did not kill Thomas Hale.”
“That wasn't my question.”
For the first time, Samuel seemed irritated.
I continued.
“You arranged for everyone to believe my father was dead. You watched me marry Adrian. You let me raise a daughter in a house built on lies.”
“Your father made choices.”
“And Sophie?”
He didn't answer.
I stepped closer.
“Did you arrange the crash?”
Samuel's eyes narrowed.
“I arranged a meeting. I arranged a vehicle inspection. I arranged the transfer of certain documents. I arranged for Adrian to be where he needed to be.”
The air seemed to leave my lungs.
“You knew the brakes were defective.”
“I knew there was a problem.”
“You knew Sophie was in the car.”
“No.”
“Then why did you demand that Adrian bring her?”
Samuel's expression hardened.
“I did not demand that he bring Sophie. I demanded that he bring the package.”
“Vivian said she heard you say, 'Bring the girl.'”
He stared at me.
Then he laughed.
“Vivian is a frightened woman trying to save herself.”
He stepped back toward the SUV.
“Here is my offer, Claire. Give me the key to locker 714, the documents you recovered, and whatever information your father left behind. In exchange, I'll give you his location.”
“What about Adrian?”
“What about him?”
“Will you turn over the original recording?”
Samuel's smile returned.
“If it exists.”
“And the person who arranged the vehicle modification?”
“I'll provide you with the name.”
I looked at Sophie's hair clip.
A memory surfaced.
The last morning of her life.
Sophie had run back into the house because she had forgotten her backpack. Adrian had followed her inside, carrying his phone.
I remembered hearing him say, “Not now.”
I remembered Sophie standing in the hallway, looking confused.
Then Adrian had ended the call and lifted her into his arms.
He had kissed her cheek.
He had promised to buy her a new drawing tablet.
At the time, it had seemed like an ordinary family moment.
Now I wondered who had been on the other end of the line.
“Why should I trust you?” I asked.
Samuel shrugged.
“You shouldn't. But you should understand that I'm the only person who can get your father out alive.”
I looked toward Daniel.
He gave me the smallest shake of his head.
Don't agree.
Don't trust him.
But Samuel held my father's photograph in one hand and Sophie's hair clip in the other.
He had found the two things most likely to make me surrender.
My father.
My daughter.
I wanted to attack him.
I wanted to tear the photograph apart and throw the hair clip into the gutter.
Instead, I did something he didn't expect.
I began to cry.
Not softly.
Not politely.
I let the grief rise until my shoulders shook and I had to bend forward to breathe.
Samuel watched me with apparent satisfaction.
“I'm sorry, Claire.”
“No, you're not.”
I straightened.
The tears were real.
But the decision I made in that moment was colder than anything I had ever felt.
I would give him nothing.
Not the key.
Not the documents.
Not my father's secrets.
And not the satisfaction of watching me become another person he could control.
I wiped my face.
“Your offer is rejected.”
Samuel's smile vanished.
“You're making a mistake.”
“I've made plenty of those. Trusting you won't be another.”
He looked toward the men beside the SUV.
One of them raised his weapon.
Daniel moved before the man could fire.
He slammed his foot on the accelerator. The sedan lurched forward, forcing Samuel to jump sideways. A gunshot shattered the rear window.
Eleanor screamed.
I threw myself into the back seat, still clutching the urn.
Daniel swerved around the black SUV, struck its rear quarter panel, and raced toward the intersection.
For several seconds, the road became a blur of headlights and horns.
Then we were free.
I watched Samuel disappear behind us.
My hands were shaking so violently that I could barely hold the urn.
But I had noticed something before we escaped.
When Samuel handed me the photograph of my father, the image had slipped slightly inside its plastic sleeve.
On the back, beneath a handwritten series of numbers, was a date.
The date of Sophie's funeral.
And beside it, two initials.
A.D.
Adrian DeLuca.
I stared at the photograph I had managed to snatch from Samuel's briefcase during the confusion.
Then I realized that he had not been offering to tell me the truth.
He had been testing what I knew.
And somewhere in Chicago, Adrian was preparing to make his own offer.
Because just as Daniel took the next turn, my telephone rang.
This time, the caller ID displayed a name I had spent days trying not to think about.
ADRIAN DELUCA.
I answered.
His voice was low and urgent.
“Claire, listen to me. Samuel is going to offer you your father in exchange for the ledger.”
I stared at the photograph in my hand.
“How do you know?”
“Because I helped him arrange the exchange.”
My heart stopped.
“What?”
“I thought I could trade the documents for Thomas's life. I thought I could keep Sophie out of it.”
“You thought?”
His voice cracked.
“I was wrong.”
I closed my eyes.
“Adrian, how long have you known that my father was alive?”
He didn't answer immediately.
Then he whispered, “Since before our wedding.”
For nine years, I had believed I was marrying the man who had saved me from grief.
Now I understood that the man who had walked me down the aisle had never been the only person lying to me.
My husband had known my father was alive.
He had known Samuel was dangerous.
He had known the brakes were defective.
And he had still driven my daughter toward the airport.
I couldn't breathe.
“Claire,” he said, “I need you to hear the rest.”
“No.”
“Please.”
“You've had nine years to tell me the truth.”
“I know.”
“You had a thousand opportunities.”
“I know.”
“And now my daughter is dead.”
Silence.
Then Adrian said something I would never forget.
“I didn't know Samuel intended to use Sophie as leverage until after the crash.”
I stared at the dark road ahead.
“What does that mean?”
“It means the person who ordered her to be in that vehicle wasn't Samuel.”
A chill moved through me.
“Who was it?”
Adrian took a shaky breath.
“Marco Bellini.”
My fingers went numb.
Before I could ask why, a second voice came through the phone.
A voice that wasn't Adrian's.
Marco's voice.
“Boss, I told you not to call her.”
A struggle followed.
Then a crash.
And finally, Adrian shouted one sentence before the line went dead.
“CLAIRE, MARCO ISN'T WORKING FOR SAMUEL. HE'S WORKING FOR—”
The call ended.
I stared at the phone.
The last word had been cut off.
But I knew one thing.
May you like
The man who had held me while I cried at my daughter's funeral had just become the most dangerous person in the entire city.
And if Adrian was telling the truth, the person behind my daughter's death had been standing beside her coffin all along.
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