Chapter 6 - THE NIGHT SOMEONE FOLLOWED CLARE
The first sign was a dark sedan parked across from Clare's apartment.
She noticed it on a Thursday evening.
At first, she assumed it belonged to a neighbor.
Then she saw the same vehicle outside the grocery store.
And again near the community music center where she volunteered.
She called Detective Ruiz.
Ruiz told her to remain in a public place while officers checked the situation.
Clare waited inside a café.
Twenty minutes later, the sedan was gone.
No confrontation.
No dramatic chase.
Just a growing certainty that someone wanted her frightened.
Vincent learned about the incident from Clare herself.
She called him because the threatening messages referenced his family.
He answered immediately.
“Clare?”
“Someone may be following me.”
His voice changed.
“Where are you?”
“In a café. Detective Ruiz is handling it.”
“I'm coming.”
“No.”
He stopped.
“Clare—”
“I don't need you to send armed men after a car.”
Silence.
Then Vincent exhaled.
“What do you need?”
The question surprised her.
She looked through the café window.
“Information.”
“About what?”
“Beatrice Harrington.”
Vincent was quiet.
Then said:
“I can tell you what I know.”
Beatrice had been connected to Vincent's family for years.
Their fathers had conducted business together.
Their mothers attended the same charity boards.
Society magazines had repeatedly suggested Vincent and Beatrice would eventually marry.
Vincent had never proposed.
But he'd never firmly denied the rumors either.
Beatrice enjoyed the attention.
And Vincent had allowed it because their families' partnership was useful.
Clare listened.
Then asked:
“Do you love her?”
Vincent went silent.
“Clare—”
“It's a simple question.”
“No.”
She nodded.
“Does she know that?”
A pause.
“Probably.”
“That's not an answer.”
Vincent sighed.
“No. I haven't made it clear enough.”
Clare looked down.
“Then perhaps you should.”
That evening, Vincent met Beatrice at a private restaurant.
She smiled when he arrived.
“Darling.”
He sat opposite her.
“We need to talk.”
Her smile faded.
“About the violin girl?”
“Her name is Clare.”
Beatrice rolled her eyes.
“Of course.”
Vincent looked at her.
“Did you send her threatening messages?”
Beatrice laughed.
“Don't be ridiculous.”
“Did you?”
Her expression hardened.
“Why do you care?”
“Because someone is trying to frighten her.”
Beatrice leaned forward.
“You embarrassed me at that gala.”
Vincent stared.
“I embarrassed Clare.”
Beatrice waved a hand.
“She was staff.”
The words settled between them.
Vincent looked at her.
“And that made her less deserving of respect?”
Beatrice's eyes narrowed.
“You're becoming sentimental.”
He stood.
“No.”
His voice was cold.
“I'm becoming less willing to tolerate cruelty.”
Beatrice stared.
Then whispered:
“You have no idea what you're interfering with.”
Vincent stopped.
“What does that mean?”
May you like
She smiled.
“Ask your grandfather's lawyers.”
