Chapter 29

I bent down and picked up the photograph with shaking hands.

The image was sharper than I'd first thought. Not a casual snapshot but a professional shot, the kind taken at corporate events. Victoria wore a navy dress that probably cost more than my car, her blonde hair swept up in a way that made her look older than the twenty-three she must have been. My father stood beside her in a suit I'd never seen him wear, his expression serious. Focused.

They weren't touching. Weren't even looking at each other.

They were both staring at something off-camera, their faces set with identical determination.

"That's not—" I stopped. Started again. "Patricia, this doesn't look like they were together. This looks like—"

"A conspiracy," Dominic said quietly.

I looked up. He'd moved closer without me noticing, his eyes fixed on the photograph in my hands. His face had gone completely blank, that careful mask he wore when he was processing something he didn't want to feel.

Patricia wrapped her bathrobe tighter around herself. "The photo was taken at a Meridian Tech charity gala. March fifteenth, two thousand and six. I found it in Victoria's things after the accident, tucked inside a folder with notes about the patent case."

My father had died in June of that year. Victoria had married Dominic in July.

The timeline clicked into place with sickening clarity.

"She knew," I said. My voice sounded distant, like it was coming from someone else's mouth. "Victoria knew about the stolen patent."

"Yes." Patricia's hands twisted together. "I think your father reached out to her. Or maybe she reached out to him. The notes were fragmentary, but it was clear they were planning something. Some way to expose what Marcus had done without destroying the entire company."

Dominic took the photograph from my hands. His fingers brushed mine, cold and steady. "Why didn't you tell anyone?"

"Because two days after this photo was taken, your wife was dead." Patricia's voice cracked. "And I had a daughter to protect. A daughter who'd just lost her mother and didn't need to know that Victoria had been planning to burn down everything Marcus built."

The kitchen felt too small suddenly. Too warm. I could hear my own heartbeat in my ears, a dull thud that matched the rhythm of my breathing.

"So you just—what? Hid the evidence?" The words came out sharper than I intended. "Let everyone think Victoria died in a random accident while my father's death got written off as suicide?"

"I didn't know what else to do." Patricia looked at me, and for the first time since I'd met her, she looked old. Fragile. "Marcus was already suspicious. He kept asking questions about Victoria's schedule that week, who she'd been meeting with. If I'd come forward with this—"

"He would have known you were a threat," Dominic finished. His voice was flat. Empty. "Just like Victoria was a threat. Just like James Chen was a threat."

The implication hung in the air between us.

"You think Marcus killed them both," I said.

"I think my father has always been very good at removing obstacles." Dominic set the photograph down on the kitchen counter with careful precision. "And I think Victoria's accident happened on a route she never normally took. A route Marcus suggested because there was construction on her usual road home."

My stomach turned over.

"That's—" I couldn't finish the sentence. Couldn't make myself say the word murder out loud, even though it was sitting right there in the space between us.

Patricia moved to the kitchen table and sank into a chair. "I've spent two years telling myself I was being paranoid. That Marcus was ruthless in business but wouldn't actually—" She pressed her hands to her face. "But then you showed up, and I saw the way he looked at you. The same way he used to look at Victoria near the end. Like you were a problem that needed solving."

"Jesus Christ." I grabbed the edge of the counter to steady myself. The marble was cold under my palms, solid and real in a way nothing else felt right now. "So what, I'm just supposed to accept that I've been living in a house with a man who murdered my father? Who murdered his own daughter-in-law?"

"We don't know that for certain," Dominic said.

I laughed. The sound came out harsh and brittle. "Yeah, no. We know enough."

"Sloane—"

"Don't." I held up a hand. "Don't try to defend him. Don't tell me we need proof or evidence or whatever legal bullshit you're about to say. Your father stole my dad's work, and when my dad tried to fight back, he ended up dead. Victoria tried to help him, and she ended up dead too. That tracks, Dominic. That tracks perfectly."

He went very still. "I'm not defending him."

"Then what are you doing?"

"I'm trying to figure out how to keep you alive."

The words hit me like cold water. I stared at him, at the careful blankness of his expression, and saw something underneath it I hadn't expected. Fear. Real, genuine fear.

"You think he'd actually—" I couldn't finish the question.

"I think my father doesn't leave loose ends." Dominic's teeth pressed together. "And I think you became a loose end the moment you started asking questions about the patent case."

Patricia stood up abruptly. "We should go somewhere more private. If Marcus has people watching the house—"

"He's in custody," I said.

"For now." Dominic was already moving toward the hallway. "But his lawyers are good, and the charges are circumstantial. He'll be out within forty-eight hours."

I grabbed my duffel bag from where I'd dropped it by the door. My hands were shaking so badly I almost couldn't grip the strap. "So what's the plan? I just hide here and hope he doesn't decide to finish what he started?"

"The plan is we go somewhere he can't reach you while I figure out how to prove what he did." Dominic looked back at me. "Patricia, do you still have Victoria's notes?"

"In my sitting room. I'll get them."

She disappeared up the stairs, her bathrobe trailing behind her like a ghost.

I stood in the kitchen with Dominic, the photograph of my father and Victoria still lying on the counter between us. The the quiet held out, heavy and uncomfortable.

"I'm sorry," he said finally.

"For what? Your father being a murderer, or for not figuring it out sooner?"

"Both." He picked up the photograph again, studying it with an intensity that made my chest ache. "Victoria and I—we weren't in love. I think you've figured that out by now. But I respected her. She was brilliant and kind, and she deserved better than what this family gave her."

"She deserved to not die in a staged car accident," I said.

"Yes."

The word hung there, simple and devastating.

I thought about Victoria in that photograph, young and determined, standing next to my father like they were about to go to war together. I thought about my dad in his workshop, surrounded by blueprints and prototypes, believing that hard work and innovation mattered more than money or power.

They'd both been wrong.

"I can't stay here," I said quietly.

Dominic's head snapped up. "Sloane—"

"I can't stay in a house where people who threaten the Ashford fortune end up dead." I picked up my duffel bag and slung it over my shoulder. The weight of it felt grounding, real. "Even if you're different from Marcus. Even if you want to do the right thing. I won't risk becoming the third."

"Where will you go?"

"I don't know. Somewhere he can't find me." I moved toward the front door, my feet carrying me forward on autopilot. "Somewhere I can think."

"Let me help you."

I stopped with my hand on the doorknob. "Why?"

"Because you're right. About all of it." His voice was rough, stripped of its usual careful control. "My father destroyed your family. He destroyed mine too, in different ways. And if I let him destroy you—" He stopped. Started again. "I can't let that happen."

I wanted to believe him. God, I wanted to believe him so badly it physically hurt.

But wanting something didn't make it safe.

"I need time," I said. "I need to figure out what the hell I'm supposed to do with all this."

"How much time?"

"I don't know."

Patricia's footsteps sounded on the stairs. She appeared in the hallway holding a manila folder, her expression grim. "These are Victoria's notes. Everything she'd compiled about the patent case, including correspondence with James Chen."

I took the folder with numb fingers. It was heavier than I expected, stuffed full of papers and printouts and what looked like legal documents.

"There's something else," Patricia said. She pulled out a single sheet of paper, covered in Victoria's handwriting. "This was dated two days before the accident. I think it was meant to be a letter to Iris, for when she was older."

Dominic took the letter. His eyes moved across the page, and I watched his expression shift from blank to something raw and broken.

"What does it say?" I asked.

He handed it to me without speaking.

The handwriting was elegant, precise. Victoria's voice came through clearly even in the written words:

My darling Iris—

If you're reading this, it means I didn't get the chance to tell you these things myself. I'm sorry for that. I'm sorry for so many things.

I married your father because I thought I could change the Ashford family from the inside. I thought I could make them better, make them see that there were more important things than money and power and winning at all costs. I was wrong.

Your grandfather is a dangerous man. Not in the obvious ways—he'll never raise his hand to you or shout or make threats. But he destroys people quietly, methodically, and he does it without remorse. I've watched him do it to competitors, to employees, to anyone who stands in his way.

I can't let him do it anymore. James Chen deserves justice for what was stolen from him. His daughter deserves to know her father wasn't a failure or a thief. And you deserve to grow up in a family that values integrity over profit.

I'm going to expose what Marcus did. I know it will hurt the company. I know it will hurt your father. But some things are more important than protecting the Ashford name.

If something happens to me before I can finish this—if there's an accident or an illness or anything that seems too convenient—please know that I loved you more than anything. And please, please don't let your grandfather make you into someone who values winning over being good.

All my love, Mom

My hands were shaking so badly the paper rattled. I read the letter twice, then a third time, trying to make sense of the implications.

Victoria had known. She'd known she was in danger, and she'd done it anyway.

"She was going to blow the whistle," I said. My voice sounded hollow. "She was going to destroy Marcus, and he killed her for it."

"We don't have proof," Dominic said. But his voice was empty, mechanical. Like he was saying the words because he had to, not because he believed them.

"The letter is proof," Patricia said. "She knew she was at risk. She documented it."

"It's not enough for a criminal case." Dominic set the letter down on the hall table with careful precision. "But it's enough to start asking questions. Enough to request an investigation into the accident."

I thought about my father's workshop, the way the fire had consumed everything so completely there was nothing left to investigate. I thought about Victoria's car, wrapped around a tree on a road she never normally took.

Marcus was good at making problems disappear.

"I need to go," I said. The walls were closing in, the air too thick to breathe. "I need to—I can't be here right now."

Dominic moved toward me. "Sloane, please. Just wait until morning. Let me make some calls, get you somewhere safe—"

"I'll be safe when I'm far away from anything connected to your family." I pulled open the front door. The night air hit my face, cold and sharp. "I'm sorry. I know you're trying to help. But I can't—"

My phone rang.

The sound cut through the tension like a knife. I pulled it from my pocket, expecting to see Jade's name or maybe my mom's.

Unknown number.

I almost didn't answer. Almost let it go to voicemail and walked out the door and never looked back.

But something made me swipe to accept the call.

"Hello?"

"Sloane." Marcus's voice was smooth, pleasant. Like we were old friends catching up. "I hope I'm not calling too late."

My blood turned to ice. I looked at Dominic, saw his expression shift from concern to alarm.

"How are you—" I stopped. Started again. "You're supposed to be in custody."

"I am in custody. But they let me keep my phone for now. Innocent until proven guilty, you know how it works." He paused. "I wanted to reach out before you did something rash. Like leaving town, for instance."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Of course you don't." His voice was warm, almost paternal. "But just in case you were considering it—you should check your bank account. I've been making deposits in your name for the past six months. Small amounts, nothing that would raise immediate flags. But enough to establish a pattern."

The folder slipped from my hands. Papers scattered across the floor.

"You're lying," I said.

"Am I? Check your account. I'll wait."

My hands were shaking so badly I could barely open my banking app. But I did it, scrolling through the transaction history with growing horror.

There. And there. And there.

Deposits of five hundred dollars. A thousand. Two thousand. All from accounts I didn't recognize, all marked as consulting fees or freelance work.

"What did you do?" My voice came out as a whisper.

"I made you my accomplice," Marcus said pleasantly. "Those deposits? They're from shell companies I control. Companies that have been involved in some very questionable business practices. If you go to the police with your theories about Victoria or your father, I'll simply show them the money trail. You've been on my payroll for months, Sloane. Why would I kill someone who was working for me?"

"That's insane. No one will believe—"

"Won't they? You're the daughter of a man who tried to extort my company. You showed up at my son's house under false pretenses. You've been living here rent-free, eating our food, sleeping in our beds. And all the while, you've been receiving regular payments from accounts connected to me." He paused. "It's a compelling narrative. The vengeful daughter, trying to destroy the family that ruined hers. Getting paid to do it."

I couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. The phone felt like it was burning my hand.

"You think you're safe because I'm in custody?" Marcus continued. "You think Dominic can protect you? He couldn't protect Victoria. He couldn't protect his own marriage. What makes you think he can protect you?"

"I'm going to—"

"You're going to what? Run? Where will you go that I can't find you? I have resources you can't imagine, Sloane. I have people everywhere. And now I have evidence that you've been working with me all along." His voice dropped, losing its pleasant veneer. "So here's what's going to happen. You're going to stay exactly where you are. You're going to keep your mouth shut about Victoria and James Chen and anything else you think you've figured out. And if you're very, very good, I might let you walk away from this with your freedom intact."

The line went dead.

I stood in the doorway, the phone still pressed to my ear, my entire body shaking. Dominic was saying something, his hand on my arm, but I couldn't hear him over the roaring in my ears.

Marcus had planned this. All of it. From the moment I'd arrived at the estate, maybe from before that. He'd been building a cage around me, and I'd walked right into it.

"Sloane." Dominic's voice cut through the fog. "What did he say?"

I looked down at my phone, at the banking app still open on the screen, showing months of deposits I'd never noticed.

"He made me his accomplice," I whispered.

And then my legs gave out.