Chapter 3
The feed was transmitting to an old gatehouse on the eastern edge of the estate.
We did not rush it.
Dad sent three men around the rear while Thomas kept the camera alive.
I went with them.
My father objected once.
I looked at him.
He stopped.
Good.
I had just spent six weeks having people decide what a new mother should be able to handle. I was finished being moved out of rooms for my own protection.
Inside the gatehouse, two men sat in front of three monitors.
One showed the driveway.
One showed the nursery.
The third showed a prepared video timeline.
My blood went cold.
They had already edited previous footage.
Me crying after sleepless nights.
Me handing Ruby to the nanny because my arms shook with exhaustion.
Me snapping at Logan during an argument.
Ordinary moments.
Cut into something else.
Weakness.
Instability.
Unfitness.
One of the men reached for the computer.
Thomas caught his wrist.
No spectacle.
No need.
I looked at the timeline.
Tonight’s clip had a placeholder.
BIANCA INCIDENT — FINAL.
They had planned my reaction before it happened.
Dad entered behind me.
For the first time, I saw real fury beneath his control.
“Who ordered this?”
The younger man looked at Logan.
“No.”
Dad’s voice dropped.
“Logan is bait.”
The man swallowed.
Smart father.
Wrong target.
Dad stepped closer.
“Name.”
Finally:
“Victor Ashford.”
My uncle.
My father’s younger brother.
Sixty-four.
Former family strategist.
The man who kissed Ruby’s forehead in the hospital and told me motherhood made me look stronger.
I laughed softly.
It sounded ugly.
Dad closed his eyes.
He was not surprised enough.
I looked at him.
“You suspected him.”
“Not this.”
“But something.”
He nodded.
Victor had opposed my promotion inside Ashford command three years earlier. Publicly, he accepted it.
Privately, apparently he had been waiting for a more useful argument.
Not Bianca is a woman.
Too obvious.
Not Bianca is young.
Already defeated.
Now he had something emotionally stronger.
Bianca is unstable after childbirth.
A concern people could pretend was compassion.
May you like
Victor had found a cleaner weapon.
My daughter.
