Chapter 2 - WHAT GAVIN LEFT UNDER THE FLOOR
I should have asked Damian Vescari what he meant.
Instead, I looked at Rowan.
That answered enough.
My uncle was no longer pretending not to watch us.
His wineglass rested untouched in his hand.
Marcus stood beside him.
And for the first time all evening, neither man looked amused.
“What happens if I stay?” I asked Damian.
“They'll become polite.”
“That doesn't sound dangerous.”
“With men like your uncle, politeness usually means they've started thinking.”
I almost smiled.
“You don't like him.”
“I don't know him well enough to dislike him.”
“Then how do you know what he's like?”
Damian finally looked toward Rowan.
“Your father told me.”
That erased the smile.
“When?”
“Come with me.”
“No.”
He looked back at me.
“No?”
“You walk into a family dinner, hand me my dead father's ring, tell me my uncle is dangerous, and expect me to follow you into the night because you own a black suit?”
Something shifted in his expression.
Possibly amusement.
“Fair.”
“Start talking.”
Rowan began walking toward us.
Damian noticed.
“So much for time.”
“Elena.”
Rowan arrived with Marcus.
His smile was perfect.
“Mr. Vescari.”
“Rowan.”
No handshake.
Interesting.
Rowan looked at my closed fist.
“What did he give you?”
“My father's ring.”
Marcus stopped smiling.
Rowan didn't.
But his eyes changed.
“Gavin lost that years ago.”
“No,” Damian said.
“He gave it to me.”
“When?”
“Before he died.”
My father had died eleven months earlier.
Heart attack.
Alone in his repair shop.
I looked at Damian.
“You were there?”
“No.”
“Then how—”
Rowan interrupted.
“This is neither the time nor the place.”
I stared at him.
“You spent dinner making jokes about Dad.”
“Elena—”
“So apparently it was the perfect time and place until someone mentioned something you didn't control.”
Marcus muttered:
“Here we go.”
I turned.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“No. Say it.”
Marcus looked around at the guests.
“You always do this.”
“Do what?”
“Turn everything into a defense of your father.”
My anger became strangely calm.
“He's dead, Marcus.”
“I know.”
“So he can't defend himself.”
Marcus's face changed.
I stood.
“That leaves me.”
I picked up my purse.
Rowan lowered his voice.
“Whatever Damian has told you, Gavin was not the man you think he was.”
Damian became completely still.
I looked at Rowan.
“Funny.”
“What?”
“He said almost the same thing about you.”
I left.
Damian followed.
Nobody stopped us.
That frightened me more than if they had.
Outside, rain streaked across the circular driveway.
A black sedan waited.
I stopped.
“I'm taking my car.”
“Good.”
“You're not going to argue?”
“No.”
“Where are we going?”
“Your father's shop.”
I hadn't been there since the funeral.
Gallagher Street Auto occupied an old brick building in Queens squeezed between a tire warehouse and a bakery.
Dad had leased it for twenty-seven years.
After his death, I kept paying the rent because I couldn't make myself empty it.
At 11:18 p.m., I unlocked the side door.
The smell hit me first.
Oil.
Metal.
Coffee.
Dad.
Grief is cruel like that.
It hides in smells.
Damian remained near the entrance.
“You okay?”
“No.”
He nodded.
No apology.
No meaningless comfort.
I appreciated that.
“What does the ring open?”
He pointed toward Dad's workbench.
“Not there.”
Then he walked to the old hydraulic lift.
“Your father told me if anything happened to him, I should bring you here.”
“Why didn't you come eleven months ago?”
“Because he told me to wait.”
“For what?”
“The banquet.”
I stared.
“My father knew about tonight?”
“He knew Rowan eventually intended to put Marcus in control.”
“How?”
“Because Gavin still owned part of Ashcroft.”
I laughed.
“My father owned a repair shop.”
“He owned twenty-four percent of Ashcroft Industrial Holdings.”
The room went silent.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“That company is worth billions.”
“Yes.”
“Dad lived in a two-bedroom apartment.”
“Yes.”
“He bought generic cereal.”
Damian almost smiled.
“That sounds like Gavin.”
“You're lying.”
“Then open the floor.”
“What?”
He pointed toward a steel plate beneath the hydraulic lift.
I'd seen it thousands of times.
Damian crouched and brushed away dust.
At the center was a circular indentation.
Exactly the size of Dad's ring.
My breathing changed.
I knelt.
Placed the ring inside.
Turned it.
Something clicked.
A section of the floor released.
Underneath was a narrow compartment.
Inside:
A metal case.
A notebook.
And a letter with my name.
My hands shook opening it.
Ellie,
Only Dad called me that.
If Damian has brought you the ring, Rowan has finally made his move.
I stopped.
Damian said nothing.
I continued.
Before you decide what kind of man your uncle is, understand what kind of man I was.
My eyes blurred.
I did not leave Ashcroft because I hated business.
I left because Rowan and I built something together, and I became afraid of what he wanted to do with it.
Beneath the letter was a photograph.
Dad.
Young.
Rowan beside him.
Both standing next to a machine I didn't recognize.
Dad's next line made my stomach tighten.
The most valuable thing I ever built was never a car.
May you like
It is under your feet.
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