Chương 13 - Secrets in the East WingBack at Raven Hill, the atmosphere had shifted from a state of siege to something resembling an armed, cautious peace.
I sat at the heavy oak desk in the East Wing study, the glow of the desk lamp illuminating the financial ledgers I had spent the afternoon auditing. Poppy was curled up in the corner armchair, fast asleep with her head pillowed on her frayed stuffed rabbit, exhausted by the strange excitement of the day.
The double doors clicked open, and Evelyn rolled her wheelchair across the threshold. Her physical strength was returning by the hour, fueled by pure adrenaline and the sweet taste of long-delayed vengeance.
“They brought Vance in through the basement service elevator an hour ago,” Evelyn said, maneuvering her chair to the side of the desk. “Ronan has him locked in the wine cellar with a bottle of tepid water and a tape recorder. By midnight, that judge will confess to every crime committed in Ashport since the Reagan administration.”
I looked up from the ledger, offering a tired, sympathetic smile. “Your son is very thorough, Mrs. Cain.”
“Call me Evelyn, child,” she corrected gently, her pale eyes softening. “You’ve earned that right. You carried my dead son’s final secret across state lines and protected his daughter in a world that would have torn her apart for spare parts. You’re more of a Cain than anyone with our last name currently breathing.”
I lowered my eyes, feeling a strange warmth bloom in my chest. For four years, I had been hunted, invisible, and terrified. Now, sitting in the heart of the most feared estate in the state, I felt strangely anchored.
“Julian loved this house,” I murmured, tracing the edge of a leather-bound journal. “Even when he hated what your husband and Victor were doing to the ports. He used to tell me that underneath all the iron gates and the violence, there was a core of absolute loyalty that couldn't be bought.”
Evelyn reached out, her frail, age-spotted hand covering mine. “He was right, Thea. But loyalty requires iron to protect it. That’s what Ronan is. And that’s what you are, too.”
The door opened again.
Ronan walked in, shedding his blood-spattered suit jacket over the back of a spare chair. He looked exhausted, his shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing strong, corded forearms dusted with old scars. He poured himself two fingers of dark amber bourbon from the crystal decanter on the sideboard, tossed it back in a single swallow, and looked directly at me.
“Vance sang,” Ronan said bluntly. “Gave us every name on the municipal zoning board, every corrupt cop on the downtown payroll, and every offshore routing number Victor used to bleed our accounts.”
“And Victor?” I asked.
“Victor is on a cargo freighter bound for South America,” Ronan replied coldly. “He’ll spend the rest of his life looking over his shoulder in a jungle where our reach is longer than local law enforcement. He’s dead to Ashport.”
Evelyn sighed, leaning back in her leather chair with profound relief. “Finally. The house is clean.”
“Not entirely,” Ronan said, his gray eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that made the air in the room feel heavy. “There’s still the matter of the agency that placed you here. Beacon Staffing.”
My heart skipped a beat. I had completely forgotten about June Callaway and the agency registry.
“June knows I used a forged social security number,” I said, panic flaring in my chest. “She’s going to go to the local police or leak it to the press—”
“June isn't going to do anything,” Ronan interrupted smoothly, walking over to the desk and leaning his hips against the mahogany wood. “She packed her bags three hours ago, took a severance package of twenty thousand dollars in cash, and boarded a one-way bus to Seattle. Her cousin Wesley resigned from the staff and drove her to the station. They won't be back.”
I stared at him in astonishment. “You bought them off?”
“I managed a potential liability,” Ronan corrected, his mouth twitching into a faint, dangerous smirk. “I don't leave loose ends lying around my estate. Especially not ones that know my son’s... excuse me, my brother’s girlfriend and his niece are living under my roof.”
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Evelyn chuckled softly, wheeling her chair toward the door. “I’m going to check on little Poppy. That child needs a real bedroom, not a cot in a safehouse.”
As the old matriarch rolled out of the study, the heavy oak doors clicked shut behind her, leaving Ronan and me alone in the quiet, fire-lit room.
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