Chapter 42 - The Echo of a Dead Man
The ride to my father’s bluff estate was twenty miles of suffocating dread. Liam drove like a man navigating a war zone, his eyes constantly darting between the rear-view mirror and the tree lines flanking the highway. Beside me, Eleanor had folded herself into a tight knot, clutching a silver rosary our mother had left behind years ago.
"How could he survive?" Eleanor murmured, tears cutting clean lines through the dirt and soot on her cheeks. "I was in the warehouse with him hours before the blast. He was terrified. He was sweating, begging me to transfer our mother’s offshore trusts into his private shell account."
"He was acting, Eleanor," I said, looking out at the gray, towering pine trees rushing past. "He knew you were already broken. He knew I was listening through the wiretaps. Every pathetic gesture, every cowardly plea was scripted so that when the boat exploded, nobody would look for a survivor."
When we finally crested the high ridge leading to my father’s house, my breath caught in my throat.
The iron gates were open. Not forced—unlocked.
Sitting on the low stone wall beneath the grand oak tree where my father used to read his morning paper was a courier in a pristine navy suit. Next to him on the gravel lay an antique rosewood box adorned with a silver ribbon.
Liam drew his weapon from beneath his jacket before the vehicle even came to a complete halt. "Stay in the car. Both of you."
"Liam, wait—" I tried to grab his sleeve, but he was already out the door, moving with silent, predatory precision toward the courier.
The courier didn't flinch. He slowly raised both hands, smiling with the detached politeness of a Swiss private banker. "Mr. Vance. Or should I say, Agent Vance? I am unarmed. I am merely a messenger for Madame von Berg."
"Where is Robert Vance?" Liam demanded, the muzzle never deviating from the man’s forehead. "Where is Maya's father?"
"Mr. Vance is resting inside his library, completely unharmed," the courier replied calmly, his eyes sliding past Liam directly to me as I stepped out of the vehicle despite Liam’s warning. "Madame Margarethe has no desire to slaughter an old man. That would be vulgar. She merely sent a token of reconciliation for Mrs. Richard Vance."
"My name is Maya Sterling," I spat, walking until I stood just behind Liam's shoulder. "I took my maiden name back the night I signed the divorce decree."
"The decree that was never countersigned by the Swiss probate court," the courier countered, pulling a thin leather portfolio from his breast pocket and laying it atop the rosewood box. "According to the statutes of the Zurich Confederation and the Sovereign Charter of 1984, your marriage to Richard Vance remains binding until all common assets—specifically the deep-water mineral deeds registered under your father's estate—are settled."
The courier gave a curt bow, turned, and walked down the cliffside path toward a waiting helicopter hovering low over the water half a mile out.
Liam didn't chase him. Instead, he carefully inspected the rosewood box with a handheld scanner before lifting the lid.
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Inside lay my mother’s original wedding ring—the one stolen from our family safe the night Richard kissed Eleanor in that fateful kitchen—resting atop an ivory envelope sealed with black wax.
***
