Chapter 4 - THE SAPPHIRE NECKLACE
The air in the cottage evaporated.
Vincent stared at the photograph, his chest rising and falling in violent, jagged breaths.
His mother hadn't just died in a robbery gone wrong thirty-three years ago, like the police had claimed. She had been executed. By the federal judge who pretended to be a family friend, and the woman who had just tried to marry her daughter into the Salvatore empire.
“Vivian,” Vincent whispered. The name sounded like a curse.
The betrayal was so deep, so completely woven into his life, it defied logic. Margaret’s entire engagement to him had been a long, calculated con. Vivian and Vance had orchestrated it to finally seize the Salvatore estate from the inside.
Arthur covered his mouth, sobbing silently as he looked at the picture of Maria.
“I’ll kill them,” Vincent said. His voice was completely devoid of emotion, which made it terrifying. “I’ll kill every single one of them tonight.”
“Vincent, stop,” I said, stepping in front of him.
He looked at me, his eyes dark and empty.
“If you kill them without the ledger, you’ll spend the rest of your life in prison,” I pleaded. “You have a sister. You have people who need you. We need to go to Grand Central. We need the proof.”
Vincent stared at me for a long moment. The rage in his eyes slowly cooled into a sharp, lethal focus.
He turned to his head of security. “Take Arthur, Catherine, and Leo to the safehouse in Brooklyn. Do not stop for red lights. Anyone who follows you, shoot the tires out.”
“What about you, Boss?” the guard asked.
“I’m going to the train station.”
“I’m coming with you,” I said, grabbing my coat.
Vincent opened his mouth to argue, but I cut him off.
“I’m not a maid anymore, Mr. Salvatore. I’m in this now.”
He didn't argue. He just nodded.
Thirty minutes later, we were walking through the cavernous main concourse of Grand Central Station. At 2:00 AM, the massive terminal was eerily quiet, echoing only with the sound of our footsteps and the occasional automated announcement.
“Locker 412,” Vincent muttered, scanning the rows of vintage brass storage lockers near the lower concourse.
We found the bank of lockers hidden in a dim corridor near the old transit museum.
Vincent slid the brass key into locker 412. It turned with a heavy, satisfying click.
He pulled the metal door open.
There was no black ledger inside.
Instead, there was a heavy, dark brown leather coat.
I frowned. “A coat?”
Vincent reached out and touched the cracked leather. His hands trembled.
“It’s my father’s,” Vincent whispered. “He wore it every day when he was driving trucks.”
He pulled the coat out of the locker. It was incredibly heavy. He patted down the pockets. Empty.
“Where’s the ledger?” I asked, feeling a surge of panic. Had Vance already found it?
“Well, well. Look who decided to go late-night shopping.”
Vincent and I spun around.
Standing at the end of the corridor, flanked by four armed men in dark suits, was Margaret Whitmore.
She wasn't wearing her elegant evening gown anymore. She wore a sleek black trench coat, her blonde hair pulled back tightly. Her face was twisted into an arrogant, vicious smirk.
Vincent immediately pushed me behind him, dropping his hand toward the gun in his waistband.
“Don’t do it, Vincent,” Margaret warned smoothly. The four men raised their silenced pistols, aiming them directly at Vincent’s chest. “You might be fast, but you aren't that fast. And I’d hate to ruin that pretty suit of yours.”
“Margaret,” Vincent said, his voice laced with venom. “Where is your mother?”
“She’s busy cleaning up the mess at the estate,” Margaret laughed. “Judge Vance called us. He said your little maid found the lockbox. We knew exactly where the ticket led. We’ve been watching this locker for two hours.”
She held out her manicured hand.
“Give me the coat, Vincent.”
“There’s nothing in it,” I yelled from behind Vincent.
“Oh, shut up, Emily,” Margaret snapped. “You’re out of your depth. The ledger is sewn into the lining. Joseph was paranoid, but he wasn't very creative.”
Vincent’s grip tightened on the leather coat. He realized she was right. The coat was unnaturally heavy.
“You knew,” Vincent said to Margaret. “You knew your mother murdered mine. And you still slept in my bed.”
Margaret shrugged, entirely unapologetic. “You were a means to an end, darling. The Salvatore empire is worth two billion dollars. Did you really think I loved you?”
She gestured to her men. “Kill them both. Take the coat.”
The men raised their weapons.
My heart hammered against my ribs. We were going to die in a train station.
But as Margaret stepped forward into the dim overhead light, my eyes locked onto her neck.
She was wearing a stunning, intricate sapphire necklace surrounded by diamonds.
“Wait!” I screamed, my voice echoing loudly in the corridor.
Margaret paused, rolling her eyes. “Any last words, servant?”
“Where did you get that necklace?” I shouted, pointing at her chest.
Vincent frowned and looked at Margaret. When he saw the sapphires, his entire body froze.
“My mother gave it to me,” Margaret smirked. “It’s a family heirloom.”
“No, it isn't,” Vincent whispered, his voice shaking with absolute realization. “That’s my mother’s necklace. She was wearing it the night she died.”
Margaret’s smirk faltered. She instinctively touched the jewels at her throat.
“Your mother didn't just murder my wife,” Vincent said, taking a slow step forward, completely ignoring the guns pointed at him. “She stripped the jewelry off her corpse. And she gave it to you.”
“Shoot him!” Margaret shrieked, backing away.
But before the men could pull their triggers, I grabbed the heavy leather coat from Vincent’s hand and hurled it as hard as I could directly at the face of the closest gunman.
The heavy leather blinded him. His gun fired wildly into the ceiling.
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Vincent didn't miss a beat. In a flash of motion, he drew his weapon and fired twice. Two of Margaret’s men dropped to the floor.
Chaos erupted.
