Chapter 4 - THE WHISPERS IN THE GARDEN
The dim light of the bedside lamp cast long, haunting shadows across Vincent’s face as he stared at the black leather notebook in Emily’s hand.
“What is that?” Vincent asked, his voice hoarse.
“It’s Clara’s nursing log,” Emily explained, keeping her voice low so as not to wake Teresa. “Your mother asked me to find it. Clara hid it before Vanessa forced her out of the house. You need to read the last page.”
Vincent stood up slowly. He took the notebook from Emily, his fingers brushing against hers. His hands were ice cold.
He opened the worn pages, squinting in the low light. Emily watched as his eyes scanned Clara’s frantic, jagged handwriting. She watched the exact moment he read the name David.
The air in the room seemed to vanish.
Vincent stopped breathing. The color completely drained from his face, leaving him looking like a ghost. He read the paragraph again, and then a third time, as if hoping the ink would rearrange itself into a different story.
“David,” Vincent whispered, the name tasting like ash in his mouth.
He didn't yell. He didn't throw the notebook. The betrayal was too immense, too devastating for immediate anger. David had been his college roommate, his groomsman, the man he had built his father’s firm alongside for the past decade.
“They are trying to declare her legally incompetent by Friday,” Emily pointed out gently, bringing him back to the terrifying reality of the present. “Mr. Hale, today is Wednesday. They are planning to take control of the estate in two days.”
Vincent closed the notebook. A terrifying, absolute stillness settled over him. The grief was instantly replaced by a cold, calculating survival instinct.
“Emily,” Vincent said, his voice completely devoid of emotion. “I need you to stay with my mother tonight. Lock this door from the inside. Do not open it for anyone except me.”
“Where are you going?” Emily asked, a spike of fear shooting through her chest.
“I am going to my study,” Vincent replied, his dark eyes hardening into obsidian. “I have to make a phone call.”
Vincent walked out of the bedroom, the heavy oak door clicking shut behind him. Emily immediately turned the deadbolt, the metallic slide echoing loudly in the quiet room.
She pulled a heavy armchair to the side of Teresa’s bed and sat down, keeping a vigil in the dark.
Down the hall, Vincent stepped into his mahogany-paneled study. He poured himself a generous glass of bourbon, downing it in one burning swallow. He set the glass down and picked up his cell phone from the desk.
He didn't call the police. He couldn't. Clara’s notebook was hearsay in a court of law, and a good lawyer would claim Clara was just a disgruntled, fired employee making up lies. He needed hard, undeniable proof of David’s involvement before he blew up a billion-dollar financial firm.
He needed to hear it from David’s own mouth.
Vincent walked over to the large bay windows overlooking the sprawling, moonlit rose garden. He was about to dial David’s number when a flash of movement outside caught his eye.
He froze.
Standing in the shadows of the tall hedges, illuminated only by the faint glow of a cell phone screen, was a figure.
Vincent narrowed his eyes, stepping closer to the glass, hiding behind the heavy velvet drapes.
It was Vanessa.
She hadn't left the property. The security guard must have let her stay near the gates. She was pacing furiously, her red satin gown catching on the thorns of the rosebushes, pressing her phone tightly against her ear.
Vincent quietly unlatched the heavy brass lock on the window and cracked it open just an inch. The cool autumn air rushed in, carrying the sound of Vanessa’s desperate, panicked voice.
“I don't care, David! You have to fix this!” Vanessa hissed into the phone, her voice carrying through the quiet night. “Vincent found the pills. He kicked me out. The engagement is over.”
Vincent’s blood turned to ice. Hearing it confirmed out loud felt like a knife twisting in his gut.
There was a pause as David spoke on the other end. Vincent strained to hear, but only Vanessa’s responses were audible.
“I didn't panic!” Vanessa argued defensively. “The maid knocked over my purse. It was a freak accident. But it doesn't matter now. We have to accelerate the timeline. You need to call Judge Hastings first thing in the morning.”
Another pause.
“Because if we wait until Friday, Vincent is going to start digging!” Vanessa yelled in a harsh whisper. “He already suspects I stole the cash. If he realizes I didn't steal it to buy clothes, but to pay Hastings for the competency ruling, we are both going to federal prison!”
Vincent gripped the window sill so tightly his knuckles ached. The ten thousand dollars wasn't for clothes. It was a bribe for a corrupt judge.
“I have the medical power of attorney documents ready,” Vanessa continued, her voice trembling with manic energy. “As soon as Hastings signs the order tomorrow, Teresa goes to the facility, and I take control of the Hale accounts. You transfer the company assets to the offshore shell, and we disappear. Just like we planned.”
Vincent closed his eyes, a wave of profound nausea washing over him. The woman he had slept next to for two years had been plotting to institutionalize his mother and steal his family’s legacy with his best friend.
“And what about the maid?” Vanessa suddenly asked, her tone turning venomous. “She’s a problem, David. She knows too much. She’s loyal to Teresa.”
Vincent’s eyes snapped open.
“No, firing her isn't enough,” Vanessa argued coldly. “If she goes to the police, she could cause a delay. We need her completely neutralized.”
There was a long silence as David spoke.
Then, Vanessa smiled. A cruel, predatory expression that looked demonic in the moonlight.
“You’re right,” Vanessa purred into the phone. “The photograph. I still have it on my phone. If the maid tries to speak to anyone, we send the photograph to her brother’s probation officer. We’ll send him back to prison for ten years. That will keep her mouth shut.”
Vanessa hung up the phone, slipping it into her clutch, and walked quickly toward the front gates.
Vincent stepped back from the window, his chest heaving as if he had just run a marathon.
He didn't just have to save his mother now. He had to save Emily. This innocent woman, who had risked her job to tell the truth at the dinner table, was being blackmailed.
Vincent walked out of the study and headed straight back to his mother’s bedroom.
He knocked softly on the heavy oak door. “Emily. It’s Vincent. Open the door.”
The deadbolt clicked, and Emily pulled the door open, looking exhausted but alert.
May you like
Vincent stepped into the room, locking the door behind him. He looked at Emily, his dark eyes filled with a fierce, uncompromising protective instinct.
“Emily,” Vincent said quietly, stepping closer to her. “I need you to tell me the truth. Right now. What photograph does Vanessa have of your brother?”
