Chapter 4 - The Ledger in the Walls
David stared at the leather notebook, all color draining from his face.
“You set this trap,” David whispered.
“I didn't need to set a trap,” Vincent replied. “I just needed to see who would take the bait first. I knew someone in my inner circle was leaking my schedule. I didn't expect it to be the man I trusted with my life for five years.”
Vincent turned back to me, his expression shifting from cold authority to something deeply vulnerable.
“And you,” he said softly, lifting my chin again. “You were carrying poison for a week because you thought you had no other choice.”
“They had pictures of my mother,” I cried, the full weight of the terror finally breaking through my defenses. “They had men outside her apartment. What was I supposed to do, Vincent? Let them kill her?”
“No,” Vincent said firmly. “You were supposed to come to me.”
“To you? You're Vincent Calder! You run half the city!”
“And you are the daughter of the man who tried to save my family,” Vincent said fiercely, his grip tightening on my shoulders. “Do you really think I would have let anything happen to you or your mother over a debt to Silas Dyer?”
Before I could answer, a sharp, piercing sound cut through the quiet of the mansion.
The master alarm system beeped twice.
Perimeter breach. North Gate.
David Vance suddenly laughed—a manic, desperate sound. “You think I came alone, boss? Silas knew I might fail. He had a backup plan in motion the second I tripped the wire.”
Vincent didn't hesitate. He drew a heavy steel-barreled Glock from the holster hidden beneath his mattress, flicked the safety off with his thumb, and shoved David hard against the wall, binding his wrists with heavy plastic zip-ties he pulled from his pocket in one fluid motion.
“Stay here,” Vincent ordered me, his eyes locked on the hallway.
“Vincent, no—let me come with you.”
“If Silas's men breach the house, they aren't looking for me anymore,” Vincent said, his voice hard as iron. “They're looking for the ledger your father left behind. And according to David's notes... it's hidden somewhere in the old west wing.”
My heart stopped.
“The west wing?” I repeated. “My father never worked inside this house. He only met your father at downtown offices.”
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“That's what I thought too,” Vincent said grimly, handing me a small, heavy revolver from his bedside drawer. “Until I checked the blueprints of the original foundation this afternoon. Your father didn't just audit our books, Bridget. He lived in the servants' quarters during the winter of ninety-eight while hiding from the very men who are trying to break through my gates right now.”
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