"Everyone out."

Vincent's command cut through the silence.

Nobody moved immediately.

His guests stared at him, uncertain whether the order included them.

Vincent looked toward Michael Hayes.

"Clear the room."

Michael touched the communication device at his ear.

"All guests to the main entrance. Now."

Chairs scraped backward.

Women collected their handbags.

Men whispered to one another.

Within minutes, the elegant dining room was nearly empty.

Only Vincent, Elena, Richard, and Michael remained.

Richard was the first to speak.

"This woman has humiliated you in front of half of Chicago."

Vincent turned toward him.

"Not another word."

"She's making accusations against our family."

"Then we'll investigate them."

Richard laughed.

"Based on what? A scar?"

Vincent's eyes narrowed.

"Based on a memory I've carried for fifteen years."

Richard approached him.

"Vincent, think carefully. You have enemies everywhere. Someone could have coached her."

Elena crossed her arms.

"Nobody coached me."

Richard pointed at her.

"You're a maid who lied to get into this house."

Vincent looked at him sharply.

"How do you know she lied?"

Richard paused.

"I assumed—"

"Don't assume."

The older man's expression darkened.

Vincent turned to Elena.

"Come with me."

She did not move.

"Where?"

"My office. We need to talk."

"I have nothing to say to you."

"You have every reason not to trust me. But I want to understand what happened."

Elena studied him.

The red mark from her slap remained visible on his cheek.

He had not retaliated.

He had not threatened her.

He had knelt.

But fifteen years of suffering could not disappear because of one unexpected gesture.

"Five minutes," she said.

Vincent nodded.

"Five minutes."

He led her through a long hallway lined with oil paintings and antique furniture.

The estate was enormous.

Elena had spent three days cleaning its rooms, yet she still did not know every corridor.

They entered a private office overlooking the dark gardens.

Vincent closed the door but did not lock it.

"Would you like to sit?"

"No."

He remained standing as well.

For several seconds, neither spoke.

Then Vincent opened a drawer.

He removed a small metal box.

Its edges were blackened.

He placed it on the desk.

Elena stared.

"What is that?"

"Something I kept from the fire."

He opened the box.

Inside lay a damaged silver button, a fragment of scorched fabric, and a small plastic hospital identification bracelet.

Elena leaned closer.

The bracelet belonged to a child.

The name had faded, but part of it remained legible.

E. BROOKS.

Her breath caught.

"Where did you get that?"

"The hospital."

Vincent touched the bracelet carefully.

"They told me a little girl had been brought in with burns. When I woke up, I asked to see her."

"What did they say?"

"That she had died."

Elena looked at him.

"Who told you?"

"My uncle."

The answer hung between them.

Vincent continued.

"He said your injuries were too severe. He said your family had already been notified."

Elena shook her head.

"I was transferred to another hospital."

"Why?"

"My mother couldn't afford the private hospital where they took me."

Vincent's face tightened.

"That hospital belonged to a Romano business partner."

"Then perhaps you should ask them why my mother was sent away."

He lowered his gaze.

Elena stared at the bracelet.

She remembered waking in a hospital room with bandages covering her right arm.

Her mother had been sitting beside the bed.

Her eyes were swollen from crying.

Elena had asked where her father was.

Her mother had not answered.

Not at first.

Then she had taken Elena's uninjured hand and whispered the words that divided her life into before and after.

Daddy isn't coming home.

Vincent watched her expression change.

"I'm sorry," he said.

Elena looked up.

"Don't apologize for something you haven't bothered to understand."

He accepted the rebuke.

"Then help me understand."

She hesitated.

"My father was a maintenance supervisor at Ashford Warehouse. He worked there for eleven years."

Vincent nodded.

"I remember his name from the report."

"That report was a lie."

"What makes you certain?"

"Because he came home three nights before the fire and told my mother he had found something dangerous."

"What?"

"He wouldn't tell us."

Elena walked toward the window.

"He said people were using the warehouse for something they shouldn't. He said he was going to report it."

Vincent frowned.

"To the police?"

"Maybe. I was twelve. My parents didn't explain everything to me."

She turned back.

"But I remember him saying one thing."

"What?"

"If anything happens to me, don't believe the company."

Vincent felt a cold sensation settle in his stomach.

His father had been ill during that period.

Richard had managed much of the family's business.

Vincent had only recently begun working inside Romano Holdings.

Ashford Warehouse had been one of the properties Richard supervised.

"Did your father keep records?" Vincent asked.

"Yes."

"Where are they?"

"I don't know."

Vincent studied her.

"You came here looking for them."

Elena's silence confirmed it.

"How long have you been planning this?"

"Long enough."

"Who helped you get hired?"

"Nobody you need to know about."

Vincent took a slow breath.

"Elena, if someone inside my family caused that fire, you're in danger."

She gave him a bitter smile.

"I've been in danger since I walked through your front door."

He could not deny it.

A knock sounded.

Michael entered.

"Sir, we found the ring."

Vincent turned.

"Where?"

"In Mr. Richard Romano's private coat pocket."

Elena stared.

Michael continued.

"The surveillance footage shows him placing it there before dinner."

Vincent's expression went cold.

"He accused her of stealing something he never lost?"

"Yes, sir."

"Preserve the footage. Keep copies outside the estate."

Michael nodded.

"There's something else."

Vincent waited.

"Miss Brooks's employment reference doesn't check out."

Elena stiffened.

Michael glanced at her.

"The name listed belongs to a woman who died ten years ago."

Vincent turned slowly.

"Elena?"

She lifted her chin.

"I told you I came here for answers."

"Using a dead woman's name?"

"The agency never would have hired me if they knew who my father was."

"Who gave you that reference?"

Elena looked away.

Vincent understood that she would not answer.

Not yet.

Michael placed a tablet on the desk.

"Sir, I also found the original hospital transfer record."

Vincent picked it up.

Elena watched his face change as he read.

"What is it?" she asked.

He scrolled down.

"The record says you were transferred to St. Catherine's Medical Center the morning after the fire."

"That's right."

"But the transfer wasn't requested by your mother."

Elena frowned.

"Then who requested it?"

Vincent stared at the name on the authorization.

Richard Romano.

The same man who had told him the girl was dead.

Vincent slowly lowered the tablet.

For fifteen years, his uncle had known Elena survived.

And had deliberately kept them apart.

Elena saw the realization in his eyes.

"What did you find?"

Vincent turned the screen toward her.

She read the name.

Her face drained of color.

"Richard?"

Vincent nodded.

Elena took a step backward.

"He knew I was alive?"

"Yes."

"Then why did he tell you I died?"

Vincent had no answer.

But for the first time, he was afraid he already knew.

His phone vibrated.

A message appeared from an unknown number.

THE GIRL SHOULD HAVE STAYED DEAD.

Below it was a photograph.

Elena standing outside the estate.

Taken less than an hour earlier.

Vincent looked toward the office door.

Someone was watching her.

And someone wanted her gone.