“I JUST NEED ONE MAN TO WALK THROUGH THOSE DOORS WITH ME,” THE MAID WHISPERED—AND HER MAFIA BOSS CLOSED THE BOOK IN HIS HAND. Claire Morgan had spent eleven years avoiding her high school reunion. Tomorrow night, she had finally run out of excuses.

The word Lakehouse hung in the air like a drop of poison in a glass of water.

Claire froze. The warmth of Vincent’s hand on hers vanished as she pulled away, her entire body going rigid.

Tom suddenly looked up, his eyes wide with a different kind of panic. “Callahan, stop. Don’t do this here.”

“Shut up, Tom,” Callahan snapped without looking at him. He kept his eyes locked on Claire. “I’m asking the lady a question.”

Vincent’s posture changed. He didn’t move fast, but the subtle shift in his shoulders radiated a sudden, lethal threat.

“Whatever you’re doing, Henry,” Vincent said, his voice dangerously low. “Stop.”

Callahan smiled, a cold, humorless expression. “Why? You spent a fortune to keep this woman clean. You bought her husband’s debt. You gave her a safe little job in your mansion so she wouldn't have to face the real world. But I bet you don’t know what she and golden-boy Tom did to my nephew.”

Claire felt the blood roaring in her ears.

Twenty years ago. The summer after college. Tom had rented a cabin on Lake Michigan for a weekend with friends. There had been a massive party.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Claire said, her voice shaking. “There was a party. A boy fell off the dock. It was an accident.”

“He didn’t fall,” Callahan snarled, his polite veneer shattering. “He was pushed. And my nephew spent three months in a coma because of it. The police couldn’t prove who did it because everyone at that party kept their mouths shut. Including you, Claire.”

“I was asleep!” Claire fired back, leaning forward, the fear replaced by sudden anger. “I was in the house. When I came out, they were already pulling him from the water. Tom told the police he tripped on a loose board.”

“And you believed him,” Callahan mocked. “You married him.”

Callahan reached into his inner jacket pocket.

Vincent instantly shifted, his hand moving toward his own waistband. But Callahan only pulled out a small, faded blue envelope.

He slid it across the white tablecloth until it stopped directly in front of Claire.

“Open it,” Callahan demanded.

Claire stared at the blue envelope. Her hands were trembling, but she refused to look weak in front of Rebecca, in front of Tom, and especially in front of Vincent.

She picked it up. She tore the seal.

Inside was a single, glossy photograph, slightly yellowed with age.

Claire pulled it out.

It was a Polaroid, taken with a flash in the dark. It showed the wooden dock at the lakehouse. And standing at the edge of the dock, looking panicked, with his hands shoved out in front of him, was Tom.

The boy falling backward into the dark water was a blur, but Tom’s guilt was perfectly captured in sharp relief.

“Where did you get this?” Claire whispered.

“It doesn’t matter,” Callahan said. “What matters is that Tom pushed him. And when I finally found the proof five years ago, I went to Tom to collect. I demanded two million dollars in blood money, or I was going to the police with the photo.”

Callahan looked at Vincent, his eyes glittering with triumph.

“That’s why Tom embezzled the funds, Marino. That’s why he was in debt. He wasn’t stealing for fun. He was paying me to stay out of prison.”

Claire turned her head slowly, looking at the man she had promised to spend her life with.

Tom was shrinking into his chair, tears pooling in his eyes. “Claire, it was an accident. We were fighting. I didn’t mean to push him that hard.”

“You lied to me,” Claire breathed, the magnitude of his deception crushing her. “For twenty years, you lied to me. You let me believe it was a tragedy. You stole money, ruined our lives, and threw away our marriage to cover up a murder attempt.”

“He survived!” Tom pleaded.

“Barely,” Callahan spat.

Vincent reached out and took the photograph from Claire’s trembling hand. He stared at it for a long moment, his face completely unreadable.

“You’ve been holding this over his head for five years,” Vincent said to Callahan. “Why bring it out tonight?”

“Because of you, Marino,” Callahan said, leaning back. “You want my commercial properties by the river? Fine. You can have them. But the price just went up. I want five million cash, and I want you to walk away from this table right now and leave Tom and Claire to me.”

Vincent didn’t even blink.

“No,” Vincent said.

Callahan frowned. “No?”

“I’m not walking away,” Vincent said, sliding the photograph into his own jacket pocket.

“Then I take the photo to the police,” Callahan threatened. “Tom goes to prison. And I’ll make sure the prosecutor indicts Claire for covering it up.”

Vincent let out a soft, dark chuckle. It was a terrifying sound.

“You don’t have the original negative, Henry,” Vincent said calmly.

Callahan’s confidence wavered. “What?”