Chapter 7: The Girl Behind the Locked Door
“Bring Isabella, or your sister dies tonight.””
Adrian read the message aloud, and something inside me went cold.
The photograph showed Charlotte standing outside a narrow London townhouse. Vincent Kane stood beside her, one hand resting on her shoulder as though he were a loving grandfather rather than the man who had helped destroy our family.
Charlotte's face was turned slightly toward the camera.
She looked like me.
Not merely similar. Identical in the way a reflection is identical, except for the small scar near her eyebrow and the guarded expression that made her seem older than her twenty-six years.
I touched the screen.
“She's alive.””
Adrian's eyes remained fixed on the message.
“And Vincent knows exactly where she is.””
Evelyn struggled to sit up in her hospital bed.
“Don't go,” she pleaded.
“You don't understand what he's capable of.””
Adrian slipped his phone into his pocket.
“Then tell me.””
The old woman's face crumpled.
“Vincent believes the Whitmore fortune still belongs to him. The trust was supposed to pass to Eleanor's daughters when they turned thirty. Both of you.””
I frowned.
“I'm thirty.””
“Your birthday was yesterday,” Evelyn whispered.
“And Charlotte turns thirty in three months.””
Adrian stared at her.
“What does that have to do with anything?””
“Everything. The trust contains more than money. It contains the original records proving Richard Whitmore's crimes, the identities of everyone involved in the fire, and evidence linking Vincent to the cover-up.””
“Where are the records?””
Evelyn looked toward the window.
“Charlotte found them.””
Silence settled over the room.
I understood then.
Vincent hadn't threatened Charlotte because she was a missing child. He had threatened her because she possessed something he couldn't afford to lose.
Adrian reached for his coat.
“We're going to London.””
Evelyn caught his sleeve.
“If you confront Vincent without proof, he'll destroy everything. He has spent twenty years making himself untouchable.””
Adrian gently removed her hand.
“Then we'll make sure he can't touch anyone again.””
I followed him into the corridor.
“Adrian, wait.””
He turned.
“I know you want to save her. So do I. But if Vincent expects me to walk into that house, he may have planned something.””
“I won't let him near you.””
“You can't promise that.””
His expression tightened.
“Then what do you suggest?””
I looked at Charlotte's photograph.
“We give him exactly what he wants to see.””
Adrian studied me.
“You're going to pretend you don't know anything?””
“No. I'm going to let him think I'm still the frightened girl he remembers from the fire.””
For the first time that morning, Adrian smiled without humor.
“You're much more like your mother than you realize.””
“Is that good?””
“It terrifies me.””
By seven that evening, we were standing outside the townhouse in Belgravia.
Marcus had arranged for two plainclothes officers to remain nearby, but Adrian insisted we enter without them. Vincent had threatened Charlotte's life, and any visible police presence might provoke him into doing something irreversible.
I wore a dark coat over a simple black dress. The silver locket rested against my chest, hidden beneath the fabric.
Adrian held my hand as the front door opened.
A man in a gray suit stood inside.
“Mr. Kane. Miss Whitmore. Your grandfather is expecting you.””
The house smelled of polished wood and expensive flowers. Every surface gleamed. A grandfather clock ticked beside a staircase lined with family portraits.
I stopped at the first photograph.
It showed Adrian as a child, standing beside a woman I recognized from my memories.
Eleanor.
Two little girls sat at her feet.
One was me.
The other was Charlotte.
Someone had scratched the second girl's face from the glass.
“Why would anyone do that?”” I whispered.
Adrian's jaw tightened.
“Because someone wanted her erased.””
The man in the gray suit opened a pair of double doors.
Vincent stood beside a fireplace, holding a glass of whiskey.
Charlotte sat in an armchair near the window.
Her hands were tied.
The sight sent a surge of fury through me, but I forced myself to remain still.
Charlotte looked up.
Our eyes met.
For a moment, neither of us moved.
Then she whispered, “Isabella?””
I took one step toward her.
Vincent raised his glass.
“Not so quickly.””
Adrian moved in front of me.
“Untie her.””
Vincent smiled.
“Always giving orders. Your father had the same irritating habit.””
“Don't speak about my father.””
“Why not? You seem determined to learn what kind of man he was.””
Adrian's fists clenched.
Vincent placed his glass on the mantel.
“Your father made a bargain. He saved Isabella and surrendered Charlotte. A difficult choice, certainly, but a necessary one.””
Charlotte struggled against the ropes.
“He didn't surrender me! You stole me!””
Vincent turned toward her.
“Your father signed the documents.””
“He signed them because you threatened to kill us!””
Vincent's expression hardened.
“Careful, Charlotte. You have spent your entire life believing you were abandoned. Would you like to learn what happens when you make the wrong person angry?””
I stepped forward.
“Leave her alone.””
His gaze settled on me.
“There she is. The little girl who refused to stay dead.””
I swallowed my fear.
“Why did you bring us here?””
“Because your mother hid something valuable, and I believe one of you knows where it is.””
“The trust records?”” Adrian asked.
Vincent laughed.
“Your sister has already found them. Unfortunately, she refuses to tell me where she hid the originals.””
Charlotte lifted her chin.
“Because you'll use them to destroy everyone who can testify against you.””
Vincent crossed the room and took a pair of scissors from a side table.
He held them up.
“Your sister is quite brave, Isabella. Let's see whether she remains brave when the consequences become personal.””
He cut one rope binding Charlotte's wrists, then seized her arm and twisted it behind her back.
She cried out.
“Stop!”” I shouted.
Adrian lunged forward, but the man in the gray suit blocked his path.
Vincent pulled Charlotte to her feet.
“Now, Isabella. The locket.””
I stared at him.
“What locket?””
He reached into his jacket and produced a photograph of me as a child.
The image showed me wearing the silver locket around my neck.
“Your mother hid the trust's access key inside it. Give it to me, and Charlotte walks out of here.””
My heart pounded.
The locket had been my only connection to the past. I had carried it through shelters, freezing nights, and years when I couldn't remember my own birthday.
I had never imagined it contained anything beyond a burned photograph.
I pulled it from beneath my dress.
Adrian turned toward me.
“Isabella, don't.””
Vincent pressed the scissors against Charlotte's neck.
“Choose.””
I looked at my sister.
She shook her head desperately.
“Don't give it to him.””
Vincent pressed harder.
A thin red line appeared on her skin.
I removed the locket's chain and held it out.
“Take it.””
He snatched it from my hand.
Then he laughed.
“Your mother always did underestimate how easy it was to manipulate her children.””
He opened the locket and pressed the hidden notch.
A tiny compartment sprang open.
Inside was a small brass key.
Vincent's smile widened.
“There it is.””
Adrian stared at the key.
“You said you wanted the records. Why do you need a key?””
Vincent slipped it into his pocket.
“Because the records are locked away somewhere your father believed I could never reach.””
“Where?””
Vincent looked at Charlotte.
“Ask your sister.””
Charlotte's face drained of color.
Adrian turned toward her.
“Charlotte?””
She closed her eyes.
When she opened them again, she was crying.
“I know where the records are.””
Vincent smiled.
“Excellent.””
Charlotte looked directly at me.
“It's beneath the Whitmore mansion.””
Then she whispered something that made Vincent's smile disappear.
“But the records aren't the only thing buried there.””
A sudden crash sounded upstairs.
The man in the gray suit turned toward the staircase.
Adrian seized the opportunity, struck him across the jaw, and sent him stumbling into a table.
Vincent grabbed Charlotte and dragged her toward a side door.
I ran after them.
“Charlotte!””
She twisted in his grip.
“Isabella, the fire wasn't meant to kill us!””
Vincent slammed the door between us.
May you like
Her final words echoed through the room.
“It was meant to hide what our mother had already done!””
