Chapter 2 - One Night, Three Rules
Clare recognized the woman beside her father.
Everyone in Manhattan who followed society news would have.
Isabella Romano.
Thirty-two.
Daughter of Carlo Romano, head of a powerful New York family whose businesses stretched from real estate to international shipping.
More importantly, tabloids had spent two years insisting Isabella Romano would eventually marry Vincent Moretti.
Clare looked at Vincent.
He had gone completely still.
“You know her.”
“Yes.”
“That's Isabella Romano.”
“Yes.”
“The woman newspapers say you're supposed to marry.”
“Newspapers say many things.”
Clare showed him the anonymous message.
ASK VINCENT WHAT HAPPENED TO YOUR BROTHER.
His jaw tightened.
Clare had one brother.
Ethan Bennett.
He had died five years earlier in what police called a late-night car accident.
Twenty-seven years old.
No alcohol.
No drugs.
No witnesses.
His car had gone through a barrier near the Hudson.
Clare's family had eventually stopped asking questions because every question hurt.
Vincent stared at the message.
“Who sent this?”
“I was hoping you'd tell me.”
“I don't know.”
“Then tell me about Ethan.”
“Not here.”
Clare stepped away.
“Wrong answer.”
Across the ballroom, her father approached with Isabella.
“Clare,” Robert Bennett said. “I didn't know you were coming with Mr. Moretti.”
“You didn't know?”
“No.”
Vincent watched Robert carefully.
Isabella stopped beside him.
She was elegant, composed, and far less hostile than Clare expected.
“Vincent.”
“Isabella.”
No hug.
No kiss.
Nothing suggesting romance.
Isabella glanced at Clare.
“So you're Clare Bennett.”
Clare's skin prickled.
“You know me?”
“I've heard your name.”
“From Vincent?”
“No.”
That answer was worse.
Robert interrupted.
“We should speak privately.”
Vincent's gaze hardened.
“About what?”
Robert looked at Clare.
“Family business.”
“Then Clare stays.”
Her father frowned.
“This doesn't involve you.”
Vincent's voice remained calm.
“If it involves Clare, it involves me tonight.”
The performance sounded dangerously convincing.
Robert looked around.
“Not here.”
They moved into a private library adjoining the ballroom.
Isabella closed the door.
Robert poured himself a drink.
His hand shook.
Clare noticed.
“Dad?”
He faced Vincent.
“You shouldn't have brought her.”
“She brought me.”
“Stop playing games.”
Clare stepped between them.
“Somebody needs to explain what's happening.”
Isabella opened her handbag.
She removed a photograph.
The same photograph Vincent had received.
Daniel.
Robert.
And a third man Clare didn't recognize.
“His name is Marcus Vale,” Isabella said.
Vincent's expression darkened.
Clare looked between them.
“Who is Marcus Vale?”
“A financier,” Robert answered.
Isabella corrected him.
“A thief.”
Robert glared at her.
She continued.
“Vale has spent six years stealing from companies through shell corporations. Small amounts at first. Then larger ones.”
“What does that have to do with Ethan?”
Nobody answered.
Clare's voice sharpened.
“What does this have to do with my brother?”
Vincent finally spoke.
“Ethan discovered one of the shell companies.”
The room tilted.
Clare stared at him.
“How do you know?”
“Because it was stealing from me.”
Five years earlier, Vincent explained, Ethan had been working as a junior forensic accountant.
He had discovered irregular payments connecting a Moretti construction subsidiary to companies that did not actually exist.
Ethan contacted Vincent.
They met twice.
Ethan believed someone inside Moretti Holdings was moving money.
Before they could meet a third time, Ethan died.
Clare turned toward her father.
“You knew?”
Robert looked broken.
“After the funeral.”
“You knew Ethan was investigating something?”
“I found his notes.”
“And you said nothing?”
“I was afraid.”
Clare recoiled.
Robert continued desperately.
“I had already lost my son. I wasn't losing you too.”
“So you buried it?”
“I protected you.”
“No. You protected yourself from being afraid.”
Silence.
Vincent watched her, but did not intervene.
Clare appreciated that.
She turned toward Isabella.
“And Daniel?”
“Vale recruited him three years ago,” Isabella said.
Clare laughed once.
It contained no humor.
“My ex-fiancé is involved in financial crime.”
“Potentially,” Vincent said.
“Don't soften it for me.”
“I'm not. We don't yet know exactly what Mercer has done.”
“Why is Isabella involved?”
Isabella answered herself.
“Because Vale stole from my father's companies too.”
Clare looked at Vincent.
“So this entire evening…”
“I knew Vale might appear.”
“You used me to get inside?”
“No.”
“But you knew.”
“Yes.”
“And didn't tell me.”
“Yes.”
Clare felt humiliated all over again.
She walked toward the door.
Vincent followed.
“Clare.”
“Rule three, remember?”
She faced him.
“You told me if you said leave, I should leave. I'm saving you the trouble.”
“Don't.”
“Why?”
“Because someone sent you that message.”
“Exactly.”
“Which means whoever is watching knows you're connected to Ethan.”
Clare stopped.
Vincent lowered his voice.
“You're safer beside me.”
She hated that part of her believed him.
They returned to the ballroom.
Vanessa intercepted Clare.
“Can we talk?”
“Not now.”
“Please.”
Something in Vanessa's face stopped her.
The arrogance was gone.
She looked frightened.
They entered the ladies' lounge.
Vanessa checked the stalls.
Empty.
Then she locked the door.
“Daniel has been lying to me.”
Clare almost laughed.
“Welcome to the club.”
“I'm serious.”
“So am I.”
Vanessa's eyes filled.
“I found a second phone.”
Clare went still.
“What was on it?”
“Messages. Payments. Someone named Vale.”
Clare's anger evaporated.
“When?”
“Three weeks ago.”
“Why didn't you tell anyone?”
“Daniel said he'd destroy my life.”
Clare stared at the woman who had helped break her heart.
She expected satisfaction.
She felt none.
“What did you do?”
“I copied everything.”
Vanessa reached into her purse.
She produced a small silver flash drive.
“I was going to give it to your father tonight.”
Clare reached for it.
A knock sounded.
Both women froze.
“Vanessa?”
Daniel.
Vanessa's face drained.
“Open the door.”
Clare whispered, “Give me the drive.”
Vanessa slipped it into Clare's palm.
Clare tucked it beneath the lining of her purse.
Daniel knocked harder.
“Vanessa.”
She unlocked the door.
Daniel entered.
His eyes moved between them.
“What are you doing?”
“Talking,” Clare said.
“About?”
“Hair products.”
Daniel looked at Vanessa.
She couldn't meet his eyes.
He knew.
Clare saw it happen.
Daniel grabbed Vanessa's purse.
“What did you give her?”
“Nothing.”
He emptied the purse onto the counter.
Lipstick.
Keys.
Wallet.
Nothing else.
Daniel turned toward Clare.
Vincent appeared in the doorway.
“Problem?”
Daniel released the purse.
“No.”
Vincent looked at Clare.
“We're leaving.”
Rule three.
This time Clare obeyed.
In the car, she gave Vincent the flash drive.
He didn't touch it.
“Where did you get that?”
“Vanessa.”
“What is it?”
“Daniel's second life.”
Vincent took it.
His driver changed direction.
“Where are we going?”
“My office.”
Twenty minutes later, Clare entered the Moretti Holdings headquarters.
The building was nearly empty.
Vincent took her to a secure conference room.
Isabella joined them.
A technician inserted the drive into an isolated computer.
Files appeared.
Bank transfers.
Invoices.
Photographs.
Audio recordings.
Clare leaned toward the screen.
One folder was labeled EB.
Ethan Bennett.
Her throat tightened.
“Open it.”
Vincent hesitated.
“Open it.”
The technician clicked.
Inside were scanned documents and a video file.
The date was two days before Ethan died.
Clare pressed play.
Ethan appeared on screen.
Alive.
Nervous.
Looking directly into the camera.
“If you're watching this, I probably didn't get the chance to explain.”
Clare covered her mouth.
Ethan continued.
“Marcus Vale isn't working alone.”
Vincent leaned closer.
“There is someone inside Moretti Holdings helping him.”
The video distorted.
Then recovered.
Ethan looked over his shoulder.
“I know who it is.”
The screen went black.
Clare stood.
“That's it?”
The technician checked.
“The rest was deleted.”
“Can you recover it?”
“Maybe.”
Vincent's phone rang.
He answered.
His expression changed.
“When?”
A pause.
“Keep everyone there.”
He hung up.
“What happened?” Clare asked.
Vincent looked at Isabella.
Then Clare.
“Someone broke into your father's house.”
Clare grabbed her purse.
“My parents?”
“They're safe.”
“What did they take?”
“We don't know.”
Her phone rang.
Her mother.
Clare answered immediately.
“Mom?”
Diane was crying.
“Clare, someone went into Ethan's room.”
“What?”
“They didn't take jewelry. They didn't take money.”
Clare's blood ran cold.
“What did they take?”
“His old laptop.”
Clare looked at Vincent.
Then Diane whispered something that made her grip the table.
“They left something on his bed.”
“What?”
“A photograph of you.”
Clare couldn't speak.
Her mother continued.
“There was writing across your face.”
Clare swallowed.
“What did it say?”
Before Diane could answer, the conference-room door opened.
One of Vincent's security men stepped inside holding an envelope.
“Boss.”
“Where did that come from?”
“It was sitting outside the elevator.”
Vincent opened it.
Inside was another photograph.
This one showed Clare leaving her apartment that evening.
Taken from across the street.
On the back were six words.
SHE KNOWS WHAT HER BROTHER KNEW.
Vincent looked toward the hallway.
May you like
The private elevator light had just turned on.
Someone was coming up.
