Chapter 7
Victor Hale welcomed me with coffee.
I refused it.
He smiled.
“You always were suspicious.”
“Not enough.”
He looked older.
Thin.
Silver-handled cane resting against his chair.
Same shape from the footage.
I placed a still image on the table.
His smile disappeared.
“You were at my estate during the fire.”
“No.”
I said nothing.
He eventually sighed.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“To get my daughter.”
“Which one?”
That hurt him.
Good.
“Elise is dead.”
“I know.”
“Margot?”
He nodded.
“Where is she?”
Silence.
I stood.
“Victor.”
“She’s alive.”
The room changed.
My knees almost weakened.
“Where?”
“Safe.”
I laughed once.
That word.
Always dangerous.
“From who?”
He looked at me.
“Vale.”
“Which Vale?”
“All of you.”
Fair.
Maybe.
Then he explained.
Elise left a recording before she died.
Not about me.
About Thomas.
My brother.
Years earlier, Thomas manipulated a family transition after our father’s stroke.
He convinced several captains that I planned to sell parts of the organization.
False.
Elise discovered it because Thomas asked her to persuade me to step aside temporarily.
She refused.
Then he threatened to expose private details about her illness before she was ready to tell me.
Ugly.
She stayed silent.
Not forever.
Before dying, she recorded everything.
Margot inherited the recording.
But she hated me then.
She kept it.
Years passed.
Then Thomas died.
Margot reconsidered.
Daniel convinced her I deserved the truth.
Reed found out.
“How?”
Victor looked toward the window.
“Someone inside my family told him.”
“Who?”
He laughed sadly.
“Everyone always wants one villain.”
True.
Then:
“My son.”
I frowned.
Margot had a brother.
Evan Hale.
Forty-seven.
Rarely involved with us.
I had almost forgotten him.
Evan told Reed because he feared reopening old conflict.
Then Reed escalated.
He wanted the recording destroyed.
Victor wanted Margot protected.
Daniel wanted truth delivered.
Three goals.
One fire.
“Who started it?”
Victor closed his eyes.
“Evan.”
My blood went cold.
Not Reed.
Not Victor.
May you like
Evan Hale.
My dead wife’s brother.
