Chapter 2 - The Grave Vincent Dug For Me
"He asked you to help him bury me?"
The words echoed off the vaulted stone ceiling of the chapel. I looked at the man I had slept next to for seventeen years.
Vincent didn't flinch. He didn't deny it. He just stared at my mother with a quiet, terrifying calm.
"Don't do this, Margaret," Vincent warned, his voice a low rumble that made the armed men near the doors shift uncomfortably.
"Don't do what?" I screamed, stepping toward him. "Tell me the truth? For nine years I thought my marriage was real, and you were planning my funeral?"
My father, Richard, let out a dry, rattling laugh. He leaned heavily on his silver-tipped cane.
"Oh, Evelyn," my father sneered. "Always so dramatic. Vincent wasn't going to kill you. He was going to erase you. It's much cleaner."
I spun toward my mother. "What does he mean?"
My mother’s hands shook around the grip of her pistol. "Nine years ago, your father found out you were secretly moving money into an offshore account for Anthony. He realized you were planning to take the boy and run."
My breath caught. It was true. When Anthony was eight, I’d realized the true nature of my father’s syndicate and panicked. I’d scraped together everything I could to build a safety net for my son.
"Your father ordered Vincent to take care of the problem," my mother cried. "He told Vincent to make you disappear, or he would have his own men do it. Permanently."
I looked at Vincent. "So you agreed to kill me?"
"I agreed to fake your death," Vincent said, his voice finally breaking. "I bought a remote cabin in Montana. I paid a coroner to forge a death certificate. I begged your mother to help me get you out of Chicago."
"Then why didn't you?" I demanded, tears blurring my vision.
Vincent looked at Anthony, who was standing frozen, gripping my hand.
"Because of him," Vincent whispered. "If you died, Richard would take full custody of Anthony. He would raise him in the syndicate. I couldn't let my son become a monster. And I couldn't let you live the rest of your life without your child."
I felt the room tilt.
He didn't bury me, because he couldn't bear to separate a mother from her son.
"So you compromised," I realized, the horror washing over me. "You divorced me in secret. You legally severed my ties to your assets, so my father would think I was powerless. And you let me live a lie."
"It kept you alive!" Vincent shouted, stepping forward. "It kept you with Anthony!"
"How noble," Claire mocked, stepping out of her ruined wedding dress to reveal a sleek black maternity dress underneath. "But you're forgetting the best part, Vincent. You didn't just divorce her to protect her."
Claire reached into her purse again.
"Claire, stop," Vincent warned, his hand moving toward his jacket pocket.
But Claire was faster. She pulled out a small, tarnished silver key and tossed it onto the marble floor at my feet.
It landed with a heavy, metallic clink.
"Do you recognize that, Evelyn?" Claire asked, her eyes gleaming with malice.
I stared at the rusted key. It was identical to the one Vincent kept on his personal keyring. The one he said opened a safety deposit box containing his mother’s jewelry.
"That’s Vincent’s key," I said.
"No," Claire smiled, resting her hand on her pregnant belly. "That’s the key to the Montana cabin. The one he supposedly bought for you to hide in."
She took a step closer, lowering her voice so the federal agents at the door couldn't hear.
"I found it in his desk three years ago," Claire whispered. "When we started sleeping together. I went to the cabin, Evelyn. I wanted to see the grave he almost put you in."
My heart hammered against my ribs.
"But you know what I found instead?" Claire asked, her smile vanishing into a look of pure venom.
She pulled out a sonogram photograph and shoved it into my hands.
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It wasn't a picture of her current pregnancy. The date in the corner was from eight years ago.
"I found a nursery," Claire said. "Fully furnished. Because Vincent wasn't building a safe house for you, Evelyn. He built it for the child he actually wanted."
