Chapter 2 - The Hidden Safe
The white walls of the hospital room seemed to shrink around me.
I stared at the bruised, battered woman in the bed, searching her face for any sign of a lie.
I found nothing but sheer, desperate exhaustion.
"My brother burned to ash," I said, my voice dangerously low.
"I buried the only remains they could recover from the pier."
Delia shook her head, wincing as the movement pulled at her stitches.
"You buried the remains of a dockworker who happened to be wearing his watch."
"The Vandermarks set the fire as a distraction to pull Ewan out."
I stepped closer to the bed, my mind racing through a thousand memories of that terrible night.
If Ewan was alive, the entire hierarchy of the Chicago syndicate was built on a lie.
And if Celeste's family was holding him, my upcoming wedding was not an alliance.
It was an unconditional surrender.
"Why didn't you come to me two years ago when you took this job?" I demanded.
"Because I didn't know if you were the one who ordered the fire," Delia said simply.
That hit me harder than a physical blow.
She had infiltrated my home and lived in the shadows because she suspected I had murdered my own blood.
"I found proof tonight," Delia continued, her voice trembling.
"Celeste keeps a hidden wall safe in her private dressing room."
"I memorized the combination by watching the reflection in the vanity mirror for a month."
"Tonight, I opened it while she was supposed to be at the charity gala."
I thought of Celeste dragging her toward the cellar.
"She came home early and caught you."
Delia nodded slowly, her hands twisting the white hospital sheets.
"I didn't get to take the evidence, Julian."
"But I saw it."
I turned away from the bed, my knuckles turning white as I gripped the edge of the window sill.
I told Delia I would send my personal guards to watch her door, and that she was not to speak to anyone else.
I left the hospital and ordered my driver to take me straight back to the estate.
The snow had stopped, but the cold was bitter and unforgiving.
I walked into the house just as the sun began to rise over Lake Michigan.
Celeste was sitting in the formal dining room, sipping black coffee and reading the morning paper.
She looked up at me, her eyes clear and perfectly unbothered.
"Is the girl going to be alright?" Celeste asked smoothly.
I poured myself a cup of coffee, keeping my hands perfectly steady.
"She has a minor concussion, but she will recover."
I kissed the top of Celeste's head, feeling a sickening wave of revulsion wash over me.
I walked upstairs, ignoring my own bedroom, and slipped silently into Celeste's private dressing room.
I found the false panel behind the velvet shoe rack exactly where Delia said it would be.
The electronic keypad blinked green as I entered the code.
The heavy steel door clicked open.
Inside lay stacks of financial records, a velvet jewelry box, and a plain manila envelope.
I opened the envelope and pulled out a single, high-resolution photograph.
It was a picture of my brother Ewan, looking older, thinner, and heavily bearded.
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He was holding yesterday's Chicago Tribune.
And standing just out of frame, pointing the barrel of a gun at Ewan's head, was a man wearing my own personal security uniform.
