Chapter 2 - THE LAST FRIDAY“What are you hiding?”
Adrian’s question traveled through the cathedral more quietly than a threat.
Claire Bennett looked at the three hundred mourners watching them.
Judges.
Businessmen.
Politicians.
Police commanders.
Men who had known Evelyn Vale for twenty years and apparently had not known where she spent her Fridays.
Claire lowered her voice.
“Your mother didn’t want this discussed at her funeral.”
“My mother is dead.”
Pain flashed across Claire’s face.
“I know.”
“Then whatever she was protecting died with her.”
“No,” Claire said. “It didn’t.”
Marcus stepped closer.
“Adrian, we should remove her before this becomes a spectacle.”
Claire laughed once.
There was nothing amused about it.
“A spectacle?”
Her eyes moved across the cathedral.
“Your aunt spent the last year terrified someone inside her own family was trying to kill her, and you’re worried about appearances?”
The room erupted.
Whispers rolled through the pews.
Marcus stared at her.
Adrian did not move.
“What did you say?”
Claire immediately realized she had crossed the line Evelyn had asked her not to cross.
But it was too late.
Margaret Shaw closed her eyes.
Marcus recovered first.
“This woman is unstable.”
Adrian turned to him.
“Stop talking.”
Marcus’s jaw tightened.
Adrian looked at Claire.
“Say it again.”
Claire stood straighter.
“Your mother believed someone was trying to kill her.”
Adrian’s expression changed.
Not dramatically.
That would have been easier.
The warmth simply left his eyes.
“When?”
“Almost a year ago.”
“And you waited until now to tell me?”
“She made me promise.”
“My mother was dying.”
“She was frightened.”
“Of me?”
“No.”
“Then why didn’t she call me?”
Claire looked past him toward Evelyn’s coffin.
“Because she thought calling you would get you killed too.”
That silenced even the whispers.
Adrian stared at her.
Marcus gave a contemptuous shake of his head.
“This is absurd.”
Claire turned toward him.
“Was it absurd when you called her on March seventeenth?”
Marcus froze.
It lasted less than a second.
But Adrian saw it.
Claire continued.
“You told her she was confused. You told her the medications were affecting her memory. You told her Adrian had approved everything.”
Marcus forced a smile.
“I spoke with my aunt frequently.”
“You told her if she kept asking questions, Adrian would put her somewhere she would never see him again.”
Adrian’s head slowly turned.
Marcus’s face hardened.
“That is a lie.”
Margaret stepped forward.
“I heard part of that call.”
Marcus looked at her.
“You heard an elderly woman misunderstand a family conversation.”
Margaret reached into her handbag.
She withdrew a small envelope.
Claire looked startled.
“Margaret.”
“I brought it because Evelyn asked me to.”
Adrian took the envelope.
His name was written across the front.
Not typed.
Written.
The handwriting was unmistakable.
Adrian.
His mother’s handwriting had become shakier near the end, but he knew the slant of the A.
He knew the way she crossed the second stroke.
His fingers tightened around the paper.
“When did she give you this?”
“Eight days before she died.”
“Why wasn’t it delivered?”
“She told me to wait until her funeral.”
Marcus laughed nervously.
“Convenient.”
Adrian looked at him.
Marcus stopped laughing.
Adrian opened the envelope.
Inside was a key.
Nothing else.
Small.
Brass.
Old.
A number had been engraved into it.
Adrian looked at Claire.
“What does it open?”
“I don’t know.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“Yes.”
His eyes narrowed.
“You spent a year with my mother.”
“Not a year. Nine months.”
“You knew she feared someone was trying to kill her.”
“Yes.”
“You knew about phone calls.”
“Yes.”
“You knew about this.”
“No.”
“And you know nothing about the key?”
“I’ve never seen it.”
Adrian studied her.
He had spent his adult life watching people lie.
Most people believed deception lived in the eyes.
It didn’t.
It lived in timing.
Too fast.
Too slow.
Too detailed.
Too vague.
Claire looked angry, grieving, exhausted.
But not deceptive.
Marcus interrupted.
“We can discuss this privately.”
Adrian closed his fist around the key.
“Yes.”
Marcus relaxed.
Adrian looked at his security chief, Victor Shaw.
“Lock the cathedral.”
Marcus blinked.
“What?”
“Everyone remains inside.”
The murmuring intensified.
Adrian raised his voice.
“My mother’s funeral will continue in ten minutes. Until then, nobody leaves.”
A city councilman stood.
“Adrian—”
“Sit down, George.”
The councilman sat.
Adrian’s gaze moved toward Marcus.
“Phone.”
Marcus stared at him.
“Excuse me?”
“Give Victor your phone.”
“You cannot be serious.”
Adrian said nothing.
Marcus slowly removed his phone.
Victor took it.
Adrian looked at Claire.
“You’re coming with me.”
Claire’s chin lifted.
“Where?”
“My mother’s house.”
“No.”
Adrian almost smiled.
It was the first time anyone had refused him twice in one morning.
“You just accused someone in my family of threatening my mother.”
“I told you what happened.”
“And now you’re going to show me where it happened.”
“I’m not going anywhere alone with you.”
Several men nearby looked shocked.
Adrian glanced at Margaret.
“She comes too.”
Margaret blinked.
“Oh.”
Claire folded her arms.
“And your cousin?”
Adrian looked at Marcus.
“He stays here.”
Marcus’s eyes flashed.
“That’s insulting.”
Adrian moved closer to him.
“My mother was apparently afraid for her life while I was paying you to oversee every detail of her medical care.”
Marcus’s face paled.
“So forgive me if I’m not currently interested in protecting your feelings.”
For the first time, Marcus stopped pretending to be offended.
Something colder entered his expression.
Adrian saw it.
So did Claire.
And that was the moment Claire understood something Evelyn had tried to explain months earlier.
Adrian Vale was dangerous.
But Marcus Vale was afraid of him.
That mattered.
The funeral resumed twelve minutes later.
Nobody listened to the priest.
Adrian sat through every prayer with the brass key pressed into his palm.
When the final hymn ended, he remained standing beside his mother’s coffin until every guest passed.
Marcus approached last.
“I loved her too.”
Adrian looked at him.
“Did you?”
Marcus flinched.
“Don’t do this.”
“Do what?”
“Let some stranger turn grief into paranoia.”
Adrian stepped closer.
“Did my mother attend Lakeview Grace Hospice?”
Marcus hesitated.
That was enough.
Adrian’s voice dropped.
“You knew.”
Marcus rubbed his jaw.
“She sometimes visited.”
“You told me she was too weak to leave home.”
“She had good days.”
“You told me there were none.”
“I was trying to protect you.”
“From what?”
Marcus glanced at Claire.
“From women like her.”
Claire’s face tightened.
Adrian’s eyes went flat.
“Careful.”
Marcus smiled bitterly.
“You meet a woman at your mother’s coffin and suddenly she’s sacred?”
Adrian took one step forward.
Marcus stepped back.
It was instinctive.
Humiliatingly instinctive.
Claire noticed.
Adrian did too.
“Go home,” Adrian said.
Marcus stared at him.
“And do not contact anyone connected to my mother’s medical care.”
Marcus’s mouth tightened.
“Of course.”
Adrian watched him walk away.
Then he turned to Victor.
“Follow him.”
Victor nodded.
“Quietly?”
“No.”
That surprised everyone.
Adrian looked toward Marcus’s retreating figure.
“I want him to know.”
An hour later, Claire sat in the back of Adrian’s armored SUV beside Margaret.
Chicago slid past the windows beneath a gray sky.
Adrian sat across from them.
He had barely spoken since leaving the cathedral.
The brass key rested between his fingers.
Claire finally broke the silence.
“Your mother loved you.”
Adrian looked out the window.
“That’s becoming difficult to believe.”
“She protected you because she loved you.”
“She lied to me.”
“She was afraid.”
“Fear is not an excuse.”
Margaret sighed.
“You sound exactly like her.”
Adrian looked at the older nurse.
Margaret smiled faintly.
“She hated being lied to too.”
Claire turned toward the window to hide a smile.
Adrian noticed.
“You find something funny?”
“No.”
“You did.”
“I was remembering the day she called you insufferable.”
Margaret snorted.
Adrian stared at Claire.
“My mother called me insufferable?”
“Frequently.”
“What else did she say?”
Claire hesitated.
“That you pretend not to care when you care too much.”
His expression became unreadable.
“She said you haven’t taken a real vacation since you were twenty-six. She said you drink coffee after midnight even though it makes your hands shake. She said you still keep the ceramic dog you made in third grade somewhere in your house.”
Adrian’s eyes sharpened.
Claire smiled.
“She also said if I ever told you that, you would deny it.”
“I threw it away.”
“You didn’t.”
“How would you know?”
“Because your mother knew you.”
Something shifted.
Very small.
But Claire saw pain move behind the anger.
The SUV turned onto Astor Street.
Evelyn Vale’s townhouse stood behind iron gates, elegant and quiet.
Adrian had purchased it for her fifteen years earlier.
He had believed she spent nearly every day there during the last year of her life.
Now every window felt like an accusation.
Inside, the house smelled faintly of lavender.
Her coat still hung beside the door.
Her reading glasses rested on a table.
A half-finished crossword remained beside a chair.
Adrian stopped.
Claire watched his shoulders tighten.
He had buried his mother less than two hours ago.
And he had not yet been allowed to grieve.
He moved toward the study.
“What are we looking for?”
Claire answered.
“I don’t know.”
He held up the key.
“417.”
Margaret frowned.
“Evelyn mentioned that number once.”
Adrian turned.
“When?”
“About six months ago.”
“What did she say?”
Margaret concentrated.
“She asked Claire whether people could still rent boxes at train stations.”
Claire’s eyes widened.
“I forgot about that.”
Adrian stared between them.
“Train stations?”
“She said something about how people used to leave suitcases in lockers before airports became impossible.”
Adrian pulled out his phone.
“Union Station.”
Claire nodded slowly.
“Locker 417?”
“Maybe.”
Margaret suddenly went pale.
“What?”
She looked at Claire.
“The last Friday.”
Claire’s face changed.
Adrian noticed.
“What happened the last Friday?”
Claire took a breath.
“Your mother didn’t come to hospice.”
“That isn’t surprising. She was dying.”
“No.”
Claire looked at him.
“She always called if she couldn’t come.”
Adrian’s grip tightened around the key.
“She didn’t call.”
Margaret added quietly, “But someone else did.”
“Who?”
“We thought it was one of her drivers.”
Adrian stared at her.
“What did he say?”
Margaret’s voice shook.
“He said Mrs. Vale would no longer be attending because her family had decided hospice was becoming a security risk.”
Adrian’s eyes went cold.
“I never made that decision.”
Claire whispered, “I know.”
His phone rang.
Victor.
Adrian answered.
“Talk.”
Victor’s voice came through tense and clipped.
“Marcus isn’t going home.”
“Where is he?”
“Union Station.”
Everyone in the room froze.
Adrian looked at the brass key.
Claire’s breath caught.
“Adrian?”
He was already moving.
“Get in the car.”
Marcus Vale crossed the lower concourse of Union Station without looking behind him.
He knew Victor was following.
That part did not concern him.
The problem was how quickly Adrian had understood.
Marcus reached the luggage storage corridor.
He pulled a second key from his pocket.
Inserted it.
Turned.
Nothing happened.
He tried again.
Then he looked down.
Wrong key.
His aunt had changed the lock.
Marcus cursed.
Footsteps echoed behind him.
He turned.
No one.
His phone was gone, but he had another one hidden beneath the lining of his coat.
He removed it and dialed.
A man answered.
“Yeah?”
“She gave him the key.”
Silence.
Marcus looked over his shoulder.
“We have a problem.”
The voice became calm.
“Then solve it.”
Marcus swallowed.
“You don’t understand. Adrian is involved now.”
“I understand perfectly.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“Make sure Locker 417 is empty before your cousin arrives.”
Marcus stared at the metal door.
“And if I can’t?”
May you like
The man on the phone paused.
“Then make sure Adrian Vale never leaves Union Station.”
Related Stories
