Chapter 5
Vincent Vane was more than an estate manager.
That was the first truth Nolan uncovered.
Before I was born, Vincent ran operations beside my father.
Not publicly.
Not with a Flynn title.
But he knew routes.
Crews.
Properties.
Which men were loyal.
Which were merely paid.
During one brutal winter, when my father nearly lost half the organization, Vincent kept the estates functioning and the men fed.
Then Flynn recovered.
Vincent remained “staff.”
That word became the wound.
Dahlia and Ellis grew up inside our houses.
Ate at side tables during family dinners.
Watched my father thank theirs privately while never giving him equal standing publicly.
Nolan found old recordings in Red Hollow.
Vincent speaking to my father.
One line mattered.
“You promised my children would never serve yours.”
My father answered:
“They won’t.”
Then another tape, years later.
Vincent:
“Dahlia still manages your house.”
My father:
“She chose that.”
Vincent laughed.
“She chose from the doors we left open.”
That sentence stayed with me.
“What did Vincent want?”
Nolan shrugged.
“Recognition.”
Not control initially.
A seat.
A named place in family history.
My father kept delaying.
Then Vincent died.
Dahlia inherited resentment without resolution.
Ellis inherited anger.
Still not enough to explain kidnapping Nolan.
“What did they want from you?”
My brother looked toward the window.
“They wanted me to take your chair.”
I stared.
He smiled without humor.
“I said the same thing.”
Dahlia and Ellis believed the Flynn line had become weak because power passed only through blood.
They wanted the next boss to publicly declare Vane equal to Flynn.
Not staff.
Not associates.
Founding branch.
They knew I would never agree to sharing command based on inherited grievance.
So they came to Nolan.
My brother.
Popular.
Restless.
Loved by younger captains.
No children.
Less formal than me.
They assumed easier to steer.
“They offered you a coup.”
“Basically.”
“And?”
“I laughed.”
Of course.
Nolan told them Vincent deserved truth.
Maybe honor.
Not a stolen throne.
Then he threatened to tell me everything.
Ellis struck him from behind at Red Hollow.
Dahlia took his phone.
The fake message followed.
They planned to hold Nolan for one night.
Convince him.
Pressure him.
Instead he kept refusing.
One night became five.
Then Bishop appeared.
An old Red Hollow shepherd who roamed the property.
Nolan tied his watch to the collar and opened a service door when Ellis forgot to secure it.
Bishop escaped.
But there was more.
Nolan looked at me.
“Dahlia isn’t the one who decided to keep me here.”
My jaw tightened.
“Who did?”
May you like
He answered:
“Uncle Malcolm.”
