Chapter 4 - THE WOMAN IN RED
The crystal chandeliers above seemed to dim as the weight of Vincent’s question crushed the air out of the room.
Rosalind’s face lost every drop of color. She stared at the faded train ticket resting on the immaculate white tablecloth, her perfectly painted red lips parting in silent terror.
Thirty guests held their collective breath. The silence was so profound I could hear the rain lashing against the tall windows of the mansion.
“Vincent,” Rosalind stammered, her voice high and breathless. “I… I don’t know what you’re talking about. That ticket must be a forgery. She planted it there!”
She pointed a trembling finger at me, desperation leaking from every pore.
“I have never opened that watch in my life,” I said, my voice remarkably steady despite the chaotic hammering of my heart. “I didn't even know it opened until Mr. Hale just did it.”
“She’s lying!” Rosalind shrieked, standing up and backing away from the table. “She’s trying to ruin our engagement, Vincent! She’s jealous! She’s a manipulative, scheming—”
“The ticket was purchased with a Black Card ending in 4402,” Vincent interrupted, his voice cutting through her hysterics like a scalpel. He didn't yell. The quiet certainty in his tone was far more terrifying.
He looked up at her, his dark eyes entirely devoid of warmth.
“That is the credit card I issued to you three years ago, Rosalind,” Vincent said softly. “The card you claimed you lost at a charity gala the week Thomas disappeared.”
Rosalind swallowed hard, her throat visibly bobbing. She was backed into a corner, and the panic was shifting rapidly into a desperate, feral cornered-animal look.
“He stole it!” Rosalind cried out, her eyes darting around the room, searching for an ally among the silent guests. “Thomas must have stolen my card! He emptied your vault, stole my credit card, and bought a ticket to run away! That proves he’s a thief!”
I gripped Toby tighter, my blood boiling.
“If my husband was running away with two million dollars of stolen cash,” I demanded, stepping into the fray, “why would he use a traceable credit card to buy a fifty-dollar train ticket? Why wouldn't he just pay cash?”
The logic hung heavy in the air.
Vincent stared at Rosalind, processing the undeniable truth.
“He didn't buy the ticket,” Vincent said grimly. “You did.”
He slowly stood up, towering over the table, his imposing frame casting a long, dark shadow across the china plates.
“Thomas found out it was you, didn't he, Rosalind?” Vincent asked, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. “He discovered that you were the one skimming from my vault. He confronted you.”
“No!” Rosalind sobbed, a violent, ugly sound. “You’re crazy! I would never steal from you, Vincent! I love you!”
“He confronted you,” Vincent continued, ignoring her pleas, piecing the puzzle together in real-time. “You panicked. You bought a train ticket to New York, intending to flee before Thomas could tell me the truth. But then you realized you didn't have to run. You just had to silence him.”
“Stop it!” Rosalind screamed, covering her ears.
“You paid off my own men,” Vincent realized, the betrayal hitting him like a physical blow. “You had Thomas murdered in that alley. You planted the evidence of the theft in his locker, and you paid the detective to bury the police report so I would never know he had a family that could contradict your lies.”
I felt physically sick. The woman sitting across from me, the woman who had spent the last two years treating me like dirt beneath her expensive shoes, was the architect of my husband’s murder.
She had destroyed my life, left my son fatherless, and then hired me as a maid just to keep me under her thumb, ensuring I never spoke a word of my past to the boss.
“You’re a monster,” I whispered, tears of pure hatred burning my eyes.
Rosalind dropped her hands from her ears.
The panic suddenly vanished from her face, replaced by a cold, calculating, and utterly venomous mask. She realized the charade was over. The tears dried instantly.
She straightened her posture, smoothing the front of her red silk gown.
“You really think you’re so smart, Vincent?” Rosalind sneered, her voice losing its high-pitched desperation, dropping into a harsh, arrogant tone. “You think Thomas was a saint? You think he was just trying to protect you?”
Vincent’s jaw clenched. “Watch your mouth.”
“Thomas wasn't confronting me to stop me,” Rosalind laughed, a dark, humorless sound. “He confronted me because he wanted a cut! He found out I was funneling money out of the vault, and he blackmailed me! He threatened to tell you everything if I didn't give him half!”
My breath hitched.
“You’re lying!” I shouted, taking a step toward her. “Thomas would never do that!”
“Oh, wouldn't he, Sarah?” Rosalind mocked, her eyes locking onto mine with malicious glee. “Look at you. Living in a dump, scraping by on pennies. You don't think your husband wanted a better life for his precious little boy? He was a greedy, opportunistic rat, and I put him down exactly like a rat deserves.”
Doubt, cold and insidious, crept into my chest for a fraction of a second. We had been so poor. Thomas had been so stressed the month before he died. Had he compromised his morals for us? Had he tried to blackmail the boss’s girlfriend?
I looked down at Toby, my heart breaking.
Toby wasn't crying anymore. His little face was set in a fierce, determined scowl.
He wriggled out of my arms and stood squarely facing Rosalind.
“My dad wasn't a rat!” Toby yelled bravely. “And he didn't want your money! I know because I saw what you tried to give him!”
The entire room went dead silent.
Vincent froze, looking down at the eight-year-old boy.
“Toby,” Vincent said gently, dropping to one knee so he was eye-level with my son. “What do you mean you saw what she tried to give him? Did you see this woman before?”
Toby nodded emphatically.
“Yeah,” Toby said, his voice ringing clear in the massive dining room. “The night my dad died, he was standing in the alley behind our apartment. I was looking out my bedroom window because it was raining. A lady in a big black car pulled up. She tried to hand my dad a heavy black briefcase. She yelled at him to take it and run away.”
My mind raced. A briefcase? A payoff?
“But my dad didn't take it,” Toby continued, his eyes welling with proud tears. “He threw the briefcase on the ground. It popped open, and green money went everywhere in the puddles. He pointed his finger at the lady and told her he was going to tell his best friend the truth tomorrow morning.”
Vincent’s chest heaved. The absolute loyalty of his murdered friend washed over him, shattering Rosalind’s lie in an instant.
“And then what happened, Toby?” Vincent asked softly, his voice thick with emotion.
Toby pointed directly at Rosalind.
“Then the lady got mad. She slapped my dad. When she slapped him, her sleeve went up. She had a shiny gold bracelet on her wrist. It had a big, ugly bird on it.”
Rosalind’s face went chalk-white. She frantically grabbed her left wrist with her right hand, trying to hide it behind her back.
But Vincent was faster.
He stood up, crossed the distance between them in two massive strides, and grabbed Rosalind’s arm, wrenching it forward.
He ripped the sleeve of her red silk gown upward.
Wrapped tightly around her pale wrist was a heavy, solid gold chain bracelet.
And dangling from the center was a thick gold charm, depicting a predatory falcon with its wings spread.
Vincent stared at the bracelet, the ultimate betrayal finally clicking into place.
“The Falcone family crest,” Vincent breathed, his voice laced with absolute, terrifying realization.
May you like
He looked up at his fiancée, the woman he had invited into his home, into his bed, and into the heart of his empire.
“You aren't just a thief, Rosalind,” Vincent whispered, drawing his sidearm in a fluid, lethal motion and aiming it directly at her chest. “You’re a spy for my father’s greatest enemy.”
