Chapter 5 - THE CHALLENGE WAS A TRAP
Raymond admitted it.
Not immediately.
First he lied.
Then Dominic showed him the ledger.
We met in Hawthorne's library.
Raymond looked at me for a long time.
“You have Daniel's eyes.”
I hated hearing that from him.
“You knew who I was?”
“I suspected.”
“For how long?”
“Three years.”
My stomach dropped.
Three years.
I'd cleaned his glasses.
Carried his coffee.
Opened doors for him.
He'd known.
“Why didn't you say anything?”
“Because I needed to know what Daniel told you.”
“So you watched me?”
“Yes.”
Dominic's face darkened.
“You brought her into my house?”
“No. Her employment was coincidence.”
I didn't believe in that much coincidence anymore.
Raymond continued.
“When I discovered her surname, I checked.”
“Then why the concerto?”
“I needed certainty.”
Dominic stared.
“You told me that stupid story about Dad once promising to marry Mom if she could play it.”
Raymond smiled faintly.
“A little manipulation.”
“You used me.”
“I gave you a joke.”
“You gave her a target.”
Raymond looked at me.
“I didn't expect you to accept.”
That angered me more than anything.
“Because I'm a maid?”
“Because Daniel stopped playing after Vincent died.”
“You didn't know him very well.”
Raymond's expression changed.
“No. Perhaps not.”
“Were you involved in the stolen money?”
“Yes.”
Dominic's hand tightened.
Raymond raised one hand.
“Not the way you think.”
He and Graham had created shell companies originally to hide payments to politicians and unions during an aggressive expansion period.
Illegal.
Corrupt.
Raymond admitted it.
But Vincent wanted out.
Graham didn't.
When Vincent threatened to expose everything, Graham arranged the fire.
Raymond learned afterward.
“Why didn't you tell Vincent?”
“I was implicated.”
“So you protected yourself.”
“Yes.”
“And Dad?”
“Daniel saw Graham leave Hawthorne before the fire.”
My heart pounded.
That was the proof.
“Did Graham kill Vincent?”
Raymond's eyes dropped.
“I believe so.”
“Believe?”
“The brake line on Vincent's car was cut.”
Dominic went still.
The official report had blamed mechanical failure.
Raymond had paid someone to bury the forensic result.
“To protect Graham?” Dominic asked.
“To protect myself.”
At least he stopped pretending.
Dominic looked disgusted.
“You let me spend twelve years calling you family.”
“I am family.”
“No.”
Dominic's voice was quiet.
“You're blood.”
Raymond flinched.
I understood the difference.
Then Raymond gave us the final piece.
Graham Whitmore had kept a recording of Vincent's last meeting as insurance.
“Where?”
“I don't know.”
“Who does?”
Raymond looked toward me.
“Daniel did.”
I thought of Dad's apartment.
We had searched everything.
Or thought we had.
Then I remembered his final piano.
Not the bench.
The instrument itself.
Dad had told me never to sell it.
Not because it was valuable.
Because, he'd said, “Some instruments are carrying more than music.”
I had thought he was being sentimental.
May you like
He wasn't.
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