Chapter 5 - WHAT MY FATHER BURIED
My father was awake when we returned to the Bellmont.
He sat alone at the conference table.
Chloe had fallen asleep on a sofa in the adjoining room. Naomi was gone. Two security men stood outside the suite.
Dad looked up when I entered.
He knew immediately.
That was the worst part.
Not confusion.
Recognition.
I held Sofia’s note in a clear evidence sleeve that Detective Harris had allowed me to photograph but not keep. The image sat on my phone.
“Tell me about the bridge.”
My father’s face went gray.
Roman closed the door behind us.
Dad looked from me to him.
“Where did you hear that?”
I placed the phone on the table.
“Someone sent me a message.”
Dad read it.
His shoulders dropped.
“Sit down.”
“No.”
“Eleanor.”
“No. I sat through eighteen months of people explaining why I had no choices. I’m standing.”
Roman stayed near the door.
My father rubbed his hands together.
“Daniel called me the night he died.”
Roman’s face tightened.
“What time?”
“Eleven twenty.”
“Why did you never say this?”
“I was told not to.”
“By whom?”
Dad looked at Roman.
“Your father.”
Silence.
Roman stepped forward.
“My father?”
“Yes.”
“My father barely spoke to you.”
“He spoke to me that night.”
Roman’s voice turned cold.
“What did Daniel want?”
“He said he had proof someone was using our shipping lanes to move weapons.”
My stomach tightened.
Not drugs.
Not stolen goods.
Weapons.
Dad continued.
“He had names. Accounts. Container numbers. He believed Walter Kincaid had been helping the Kensingtons move shipments through shell companies.”
Roman stared at him.
“And the ledger?”
“Daniel had copied Kincaid’s handwritten books.”
“Copied?”
“He said the original was too dangerous to take. He made a duplicate.”
“So Sofia was wrong.”
“No.”
Dad looked at me.
“She was protecting the truth.”
I frowned.
“What does that mean?”
“The copy was never in the storage unit.”
“Where was it?”
Dad closed his eyes.
“With me.”
Roman moved so quickly I barely saw it.
He crossed the room and planted both hands on the table.
Not touching my father.
But close enough to make the wood shake.
“You had it?”
Dad did not look away.
“Yes.”
“For twelve years?”
“Yes.”
Roman’s voice dropped.
“My brother died for that book.”
“I know.”
“And you hid it?”
“I hid my daughters.”
That stopped him.
Dad’s eyes filled.
“You were twenty-seven, Roman. You had men. Money. A name people feared. I had Eleanor in college and Chloe in middle school.”
“That is not an answer.”
“It is the only answer I have.”
Roman looked furious.
Not theatrical.
Not loud.
His stillness became almost unbearable.
My father continued.
“Daniel told me to meet him near the old harbor bridge. When I got there, his car was already against the barrier.”
I swallowed.
“Was he alive?”
Dad looked at Roman.
“For less than two minutes.”
Roman’s face changed.
The anger cracked.
Only slightly.
“He spoke?”
“Yes.”
“What did he say?”
“He said, ‘Don’t trust Kincaid.’”
Roman looked away.
Dad continued.
“He gave me a canvas bag. Told me if anything happened, I was to take it to the police.”
“You didn’t.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because three minutes after Daniel died, your father arrived.”
Roman looked back.
“How?”
“I never knew.”
“What did he do?”
“He took one look at Daniel and told me police were already compromised.”
Roman’s jaw tightened.
“That sounds like him.”
“He told me the bag would get my family killed.”
“So you gave it to him?”
“No.”
Roman frowned.
“Then what?”
“I lied.”
The room went silent.
“I told him Daniel hadn’t given me anything.”
Roman stared.
Dad’s voice shook.
“I was scared of your father too.”
“Where did you put it?”
“I drove home. Before sunrise, I sealed the ledger inside a steel lockbox and hid it.”
“Where?”
Dad looked at me.
“The old DuPont house in Marblehead.”
I blinked.
Our grandmother’s house.
Sold ten years ago.
“You hid it in a house we don’t own?”
“Behind the library fireplace.”
“Dad.”
“The wall cavity was original. Your grandfather showed it to me when I was young.”
Roman straightened.
“Who owns the house now?”
My father swallowed.
“Preston’s mother.”
I thought I had misheard him.
“What?”
“The Kensingtons bought it through a trust eight years ago.”
Roman laughed once.
There was no humor in it.
“They knew.”
Dad nodded.
“I think they suspected.”
“Why didn’t you retrieve it before the sale?”
“I tried.”
“When?”
“The week before closing.”
“And?”
“The wall had been rebuilt.”
Roman turned away.
I stared at Dad.
“So for twelve years, you knew evidence connected the Kensingtons to Daniel’s death and illegal shipments existed.”
“Yes.”
“And you never told me.”
“No.”
“Never told police.”
“No.”
“Never told Roman.”
“No.”
My anger hurt more than Preston’s grip ever had.
“Do you understand what that silence cost?”
Dad looked at Roman.
“Yes.”
Roman’s expression suggested the answer was not sufficient.
I stepped between them.
Not because I thought Roman would hurt him.
Because I did not know what either man would say next.
Dad looked at me.
“I thought it was over.”
“Men do not buy my family’s house by accident.”
“I know that now.”
“You knew enough years ago.”
His face crumpled.
“I was trying to keep you alive.”
“And I almost married into the family you were afraid of.”
The words broke him.
He covered his face.
I turned away.
Roman spoke quietly.
“Did Preston know about the ledger?”
“I don’t know.”
“His father?”
“Almost certainly.”
“His mother?”
Dad hesitated.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“She came to my office after Daniel’s death.”
Roman went still.
“What did she say?”
“She told me some families survive because they understand silence.”
I felt sick.
“What did you say?”
“Nothing.”
“Of course.”
My voice was sharper than I intended.
Dad accepted it.
Roman’s phone buzzed.
He read a message.
“We have access to the Marblehead property.”
“How?”
“I asked.”
I stared at him.
“You asked Preston’s mother to let you into her house?”
“No.”
“Then who?”
“The trust’s property manager.”
“And he just agreed?”
Roman put his phone away.
“He owes me.”
I did not ask why.
“Are we going now?”
“Yes.”
Dad stood.
“I’m coming.”
Roman shook his head.
“No.”
Dad’s face hardened.
“I know where the cavity was.”
“You can draw it.”
“Roman.”
“No.”
My father turned to me.
I surprised both men.
“He comes.”
Roman looked at me.
“Eleanor.”
“He hid it. He finds it.”
Roman considered.
Then nodded once.
“Fine.”
Chloe woke as we were leaving.
She came into the hallway barefoot.
“Where are you going?”
“Marblehead.”
“At two in the morning?”
“Yes.”
“Obviously I’m coming.”
“No,” three voices said at once.
She glared.
“Cute.”
Dad walked over.
“Stay here.”
“Why?”
“Because I need one daughter to listen to me tonight.”
“That is sexist and manipulative.”
“Probably.”
She crossed her arms.
I hugged her.
“Stay with Naomi when she comes back.”
Chloe whispered in my ear, “If Roman murders Dad, I’m blaming you.”
I pulled back.
“He is not murdering Dad.”
Roman, from the doorway, said, “Thank you for the confidence.”
Chloe stared at him.
“You scare me less every hour.”
“That seems dangerous.”
“It probably is.”
Despite everything, I smiled.
The Marblehead house looked exactly as I remembered from childhood except for the security cameras.
Gray cedar shingles.
White trim.
Ocean beyond the cliffs.
My grandmother used to make lemon cake in the kitchen.
Now a Kensington trust owned it.
The property manager met us with keys.
He avoided Roman’s eyes.
Inside, furniture sheets covered the rooms.
The house was being renovated.
We entered the library.
My father stopped.
The fireplace was marble now.
Not brick.
“They rebuilt everything.”
Roman examined the wall.
“Where?”
Dad pointed to the left side.
“Three feet up. Two feet over.”
Roman’s men brought equipment.
I watched them scan the wall.
One looked over.
“There’s a void.”
My pulse quickened.
They removed molding carefully.
Cut through plaster.
Behind it was an old stone cavity.
Empty.
Dad stared.
“No.”
Roman stepped closer.
A small object lay on the bottom.
Not a ledger.
A photograph.
He reached in with gloves.
It showed Daniel DeLuca standing beside my father near Pier Seven.
Someone had drawn a black X over Daniel’s face.
On the back were four words.
TOO LATE AGAIN, ROMAN.
Roman’s hand tightened.
I touched his wrist.
He looked at me.
For one second, the man everyone feared looked like the younger brother in that engagement photograph.
Helpless.
Then something cracked downstairs.
Roman moved instantly.
“Stay here.”
A security man shouted.
Another crash.
The lights went out.
My father grabbed my arm.
“Eleanor.”
Footsteps moved through the house.
Roman disappeared into the hallway.
I heard a struggle below.
No gunfire.
Then silence.
Too much silence.
“Roman?”
Nothing.
Dad pulled me toward the back staircase.
“Move.”
I resisted.
“Roman is down there.”
“And whoever came in knows we’re here.”
We reached the kitchen.
A man stepped from the pantry.
Black clothes.
Gloves.
Mask.
Dad shoved me behind him.
The intruder raised something metallic.
Before he could move, Roman hit him from the side.
The two men crashed into the island.
Roman struck once.
Controlled.
The intruder dropped the weapon.
A security guard rushed in and pinned him to the floor.
Roman stood over him, breathing hard.
“Who sent you?”
The man laughed.
Roman crouched.
“Who?”
The intruder looked past him.
At me.
Then smiled.
“You really don’t know, do you?”
I stepped closer.
“Know what?”
Roman blocked me with one arm.
The man’s smile widened.
“The bride was never for Preston.”
My skin went cold.
He looked directly at Roman.
“She was always for you.”
Then he bit down hard.
Roman grabbed his jaw.
Too late.
The man convulsed.
Security called for medical help.
I stood frozen.
“What did he mean?”
Roman turned toward me.
“I don’t know.”
“You’re lying.”
“I’m not.”
My father leaned against the counter.
His face had gone white.
I looked at him.
“Dad?”
He stared at me.
“Eleanor.”
“What did he mean?”
My father whispered, “There was another agreement.”
Roman turned.
“What agreement?”
Dad closed his eyes.
“Between your father and mine.”
My heart stopped.
“What agreement?”
He looked at Roman.
Then at me.
“If Daniel had lived, the DeLucas and DuPonts were going to merge their port interests.”
I frowned.
“What does that have to do with me?”
Dad’s answer came barely above a whisper.
“Your grandfather wanted the families joined by marriage.”
Roman went still.
I stared at my father.
“Marriage between whom?”
He did not answer.
He did not need to.
May you like
I looked at Roman.
And suddenly the stranger who had walked into my wedding did not feel like a stranger at all.
