Chapter 3 - THE MAN IN THE PHOTOGRAPH
Clara did not sleep that night.
Not properly.
Every sound in the corridor became louder once Liam’s words had settled into her mind.
Somebody inside my family did.
The estate had seemed oppressive when she arrived.
Now it felt occupied.
There was a difference.
At 1:00 a.m., she checked Liam’s temperature.
101.1.
At three, 100.7.
At five, it finally dipped below 100.
He slept for nearly four uninterrupted hours.
Clara considered that a victory.
At 9:15, Leo entered carrying coffee and a covered plate.
He stopped when he saw the blinds halfway open.
His expression sharpened.
“Who did that?”
“I did.”
Leo looked at Liam.
Still sleeping.
Then back at her.
“You were specifically told—”
“He was delirious.”
“That isn’t your decision.”
“His orientation and recovery are exactly my decision.”
Leo set down the tray.
“You don’t understand.”
“I understand he nearly ripped open his abdomen trying to stop me.”
That landed.
Leo’s gaze moved to the fresh dressing.
“What happened?”
“He saw Mara’s grave.”
Leo became very still.
“You asked about her?”
“He told me.”
That surprised him even more.
Clara folded her arms.
“What happened at Dock Nine?”
Leo’s face shut instantly.
“Not your concern.”
“You hired me to treat a man who believes someone inside this house tried to kill him.”
“I hired you to treat his wounds.”
“Those wounds didn’t happen by magic.”
Leo stepped closer.
“You want advice?”
“Not particularly.”
“Take your ten thousand dollars Friday and forget every conversation that doesn’t involve medication.”
Clara stared at him.
“Is that what the other nurses did?”
Something passed through his eyes.
Too quick to read.
“They left.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
Before Leo could answer, Liam’s rough voice came from the bed.
“Stop interrogating my staff.”
Clara turned.
“You were asleep.”
“I was enjoying hearing Leo lose an argument.”
Leo exhaled slowly.
“Glad you’re feeling better.”
“I’m not.”
“You sound better.”
“I’m still trapped in a bed.”
Clara checked his pulse.
“Your fever broke.”
“Celebration at noon?”
“Maybe balloons.”
Liam gave her a tired glare.
Leo almost smiled.
The moment felt strangely normal.
Then the bedroom doors opened without anyone knocking.
Every trace of humor disappeared from Leo’s face.
A man entered.
Mid-forties.
Tall.
Dark wool coat.
Expensive suit beneath it.
He had Liam’s pale eyes, though his expression was warmer.
Where Liam seemed carved from stone, this man looked like he had learned early that charm opened doors faster than force.
He carried a white bakery box.
“Cousin.”
Liam did not smile.
“Vincent.”
Clara looked from one man to the other.
Vincent Mercer.
She had heard the name.
Not often.
Usually beside the words real estate, unions, shipping contracts, and occasionally grand jury.
Vincent placed the box on Liam’s dresser.
“Cannoli from Palermo’s.”
“I have an infected abdominal wound.”
“Then I’ll eat yours.”
His eyes moved toward Clara.
“You must be the miracle worker.”
“No miracles.”
Clara checked Liam’s IV line.
“Just antibiotics.”
Vincent smiled.
“Six nurses in five weeks.”
“Seven.”
His smile widened.
“You counted yourself.”
“I count everything.”
“I heard that about you.”
Clara looked at him.
“From whom?”
Vincent’s expression remained pleasant.
“People talk.”
Liam’s voice cooled.
“Why are you here?”
“To see if you’re alive.”
“You have eyes.”
“And to discuss Thursday.”
“No.”
Vincent sighed.
“Liam.”
“I said no.”
“You haven’t heard the question.”
“I know the question.”
Clara began gathering her supplies.
Liam noticed.
“Stay.”
Vincent raised an eyebrow.
Clara did too.
Liam did not explain.
Vincent removed his gloves.
On his right wrist was a heavy gold watch.
At his cuffs were square black stones set in silver.
One cufflink.
Clara glanced at the other sleeve.
Empty.
A tiny detail.
She filed it away automatically.
Vincent pulled the leather chair closer.
“The council needs direction.”
“They have it.”
“They have silence.”
“I was nearly killed.”
“And while you recover, sixty-three families are asking whether their paychecks still exist.”
“From legitimate businesses, yes.”
“And the others?”
“They were given severance.”
Vincent laughed once.
“You think three months’ money replaces a livelihood?”
“If the livelihood involved poison, yes.”
There it was.
Mara.
Clara felt the shift immediately.
Vincent’s expression softened.
“You still think shutting everything overnight was justice.”
“I think burying my sister taught me what delay costs.”
“And I buried people too.”
“You buried men who chose their work.”
“Did their wives choose it? Their children?”
Liam said nothing.
Vincent continued.
“You want to become a businessman with clean hands.”
“I never said my hands were clean.”
“No. You just decided everyone else should wash theirs on your schedule.”
For several seconds, the two men simply looked at each other.
Not cousins now.
Rivals.
Clara suddenly understood why Liam had survived as long as he had.
And why someone might prefer him bedridden.
Vincent stood.
“Thursday. We need a vote.”
“No.”
“You cannot run the organization from an infected mattress.”
“I can run it from a coffin better than half the men downstairs.”
Vincent smiled sadly.
“That right there is the problem.”
He turned toward Clara.
“How is he?”
“Stubborn.”
“I meant medically.”
“So did I.”
That earned a genuine laugh.
Before leaving, Vincent paused beside her.
“I hope he’s paying you enough.”
“Apparently I’m very expensive.”
“Not compared with what you need.”
Clara froze.
Liam noticed.
“What does that mean?”
Vincent’s gaze remained on Clara.
“Thomas Bennett.”
Nobody spoke.
Clara felt blood rise into her face.
“You investigated me.”
“It’s standard.”
“My brother is not standard.”
“No.”
Vincent’s expression lost its humor.
“Leukemia usually isn’t.”
Liam’s voice became dangerous.
“Enough.”
Vincent ignored him.
“Harrow Clinical Research.”
Clara’s stomach tightened.
“How do you know that?”
“I know what the trial costs.”
“That is none of your business.”
“Everything touching this house becomes my business eventually.”
He slipped on his gloves.
“If you need help, ask.”
“I don’t.”
“You do.”
Clara stepped closer.
“I would sell my blood before I took charity from a man who had me investigated.”
Something changed in Vincent’s eyes.
Respect, perhaps.
“Now I understand why Liam kept you.”
He left.
The doors closed behind him.
Clara turned on Liam.
“You knew.”
“I knew what?”
“That they investigated Tommy.”
Liam was silent.
Wrong answer.
“You knew.”
“It was a background check.”
“He is nineteen years old and sick.”
“I didn’t order anyone to bother him.”
“You ordered people to dig through his life.”
“I needed to know who was entering my house.”
Clara’s hands trembled.
She hated that he could see it.
“Do you know what his last white cell count was too?”
“No.”
“His favorite cereal?”
“Clara—”
“How much he cried when our mother died?”
Liam flinched.
Good.
She wanted him to.
“You hired my hands,” Clara said. “You did not buy my family.”
She walked into the adjoining bathroom and shut the door hard enough to make the mirror shake.
For several minutes she remained there.
Angry.
Embarrassed.
Trapped by money.
When she returned, Liam had not moved.
But the silver watch was in his hand.
The cracked face caught the light.
“I’m sorry.”
Clara stopped.
She had not expected that.
Liam stared at the watch instead of her.
“I should have told you.”
“Yes.”
“I didn’t know Vincent had the details.”
“But you had them.”
“Yes.”
She breathed through her anger.
“Why me?”
He looked up.
“Not now.”
“That means there’s an answer.”
“There is.”
“Then give it.”
“Friday.”
“Why Friday?”
“Because after you get paid, you can decide whether you hate me enough to leave.”
Clara stared at him for a long moment.
Then noticed something on the floor near the leather chair Vincent had used.
Small.
Black.
She bent down.
A square cufflink lay beside the leg of the chair.
Black stone.
Silver setting.
She picked it up.
There was a tiny crest engraved on the back.
An M surrounded by laurel.
Clara turned toward the dresser.
A framed photograph stood partly hidden behind a stack of medical supplies.
Three young men stood beside a lake.
Liam.
Leo.
Vincent.
All perhaps twenty years old.
All wearing dark suits.
All smiling like brothers.
And on Vincent’s cuffs were the same black stones.
Clara looked toward the door Vincent had just walked through.
Then at Liam’s silver watch frozen at 8:11.
She closed her fingers around the cufflink.
Behind her, Liam spoke quietly.
“Clara.”
She turned.
His eyes were fixed on the object in her hand.
May you like
“That isn’t the first one we found.”
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