Chapter 3 - THE BROTHER HE REFUSED TO SUSPECT
Grant Voss arrived at the medical suite at 1:26 in the morning.
He looked nothing like Harlan.
Where Harlan was dark, controlled, and intimidating without trying, Grant was blond, polished, and immediately charming.
He wore a camel coat over a navy sweater and looked like the kind of man who belonged in expensive watch advertisements.
He entered the hallway carrying Belle’s other shoe.
That detail stopped me cold.
Harlan noticed too.
“Where did you get that?”
Grant looked confused.
“Her shoe?”
“Yes.”
“It was in the school parking lot.”
“How did you know to look there?”
“Nora called me.”
The hallway went silent.
Harlan took one step forward.
“When?”
“Before she disappeared.”
“What did she say?”
“That Belle was having trouble breathing and she couldn’t reach you.”
“You didn’t call me.”
“I did.”
“No missed call.”
Grant pulled out his phone.
“I called your private number.”
Harlan checked.
Nothing.
Grant’s charm cracked.
“That’s impossible.”
“Try again.”
Grant called.
Harlan’s phone remained silent.
Mercer looked between them.
“Could someone have blocked him?”
Harlan’s jaw tightened.
“Only someone with access to my communications system.”
Grant stared.
“You think I kidnapped Belle?”
Harlan said nothing.
That silence was worse than accusation.
Grant looked past him and saw me.
“And who is she?”
“Rue Callaway.”
“Rue Callaway is…?”
“The woman who found Belle.”
Grant crossed the hallway.
His expression softened.
“You saved my niece?”
“I found her.”
“You kept her alive.”
“I kept her warm.”
He took my hand before I could stop him.
“Thank you.”
Harlan’s eyes dropped to Grant’s fingers around mine.
Something about that look made me pull away.
Grant continued.
“If there is anything you ever need—”
“She needs nothing from you.”
Harlan’s voice cut through the hallway.
Grant smiled.
“You always were territorial.”
“I’m protective.”
“Same thing, with you.”
Harlan moved closer.
“Belle said you took her.”
Grant’s face changed.
Not guilt.
Pain.
“She said what?”
“She remembers you pulling her from a blue car.”
“I never saw her.”
“She knows your face.”
“She’s six and she almost died.”
The words landed badly.
Harlan’s hand closed into a fist.
“Careful.”
Grant raised both palms.
“I’m not insulting her.”
“You’re questioning her.”
“I’m saying she could be confused.”
I spoke before thinking.
“She wasn’t confused about me.”
Both brothers looked at me.
I continued.
“She remembered my name after meeting me for less than five minutes.”
Grant’s smile vanished.
Harlan studied me.
“Exactly.”
Grant rubbed his jaw.
“Fine. Then somebody wants her to believe it was me.”
“Why?”
“Because everyone knows you already distrust me.”
That surprised me.
Harlan didn’t deny it.
Grant looked toward Belle’s room.
“Can I see her?”
“No.”
“Harlan.”
“No.”
“She’s my niece.”
“And until I know what happened, nobody gets near her.”
Grant’s eyes hardened.
“For once in your life, not everything is a coup.”
“No. Sometimes it’s attempted murder.”
They stared at each other.
There was history there.
Ugly history.
I stepped away.
Whatever family war I had stumbled into, it was not mine.
At least, I told myself that.
Then Belle started crying.
I heard her through the door.
“Rue!”
I went in.
She lay beneath a white blanket, oxygen tubing under her nose, tiny body surrounded by monitors.
Her face looked even smaller against the pillow.
I sat beside her.
“You’re okay.”
She shook her head.
“Daddy mad.”
“Your dad looks mad when he’s breathing.”
That earned me the faintest smile.
“Uncle Grant bad?”
I chose my words carefully.
“Did you see him tonight?”
Her eyes moved toward the door.
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“Blue car.”
“Was he driving?”
She frowned.
“No.”
“Was he sitting with you?”
“No.”
“What was he doing?”
Belle looked frustrated.
Then she lifted one hand and covered part of her face.
“Mask.”
My heartbeat changed.
“He was wearing a mask?”
She shook her head.
“No. Man had mask.”
“Then how did you know it was Grant?”
Belle pointed toward her wrist.
“Watch.”
I stared.
“His watch?”
She nodded.
“Lion.”
Grant had worn a gold watch.
I had noticed because it flashed beneath the hallway lights.
There had been a tiny engraved lion on the side.
“Anything else?”
Belle thought.
“Smelled like Daddy’s room.”
I frowned.
“Harlan’s room?”
She nodded.
“Smoke.”
Harlan didn’t smell like smoke.
But Grant had.
Faintly.
Cigar smoke.
I stepped into the hallway.
Harlan was speaking quietly with Mercer.
I told him everything.
His expression hardened at the watch detail.
“Grant owns a limited-edition Marcellus. Lion crest.”
“Could someone copy it?”
“Possibly.”
“And the cigar?”
“He smokes Dominican cigars.”
“So Belle wasn’t imagining him.”
“No.”
“What happened between you two?”
His gaze shifted toward the waiting room where Grant stood with two security men.
“Our father died five years ago.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.”
That answer told me plenty.
“He left Voss Holdings jointly controlled.”
“To both of you?”
“Temporarily.”
“Meaning?”
Harlan looked at me.
“Grant receives thirty percent.”
“And you?”
“Twenty percent directly.”
“That’s only fifty.”
“The remaining fifty-one percent belongs to Belle.”
I stared.
“Your six-year-old daughter owns half the company?”
“In trust.”
“And you vote the shares?”
“Until she turns twenty-five.”
Understanding came slowly.
“If Belle dies…”
Harlan’s face became stone.
“Her shares pass to Grant.”
My stomach dropped.
“That seems like a terrible estate plan.”
“My father wrote it before Belle’s heart condition was diagnosed.”
“And you never changed it?”
“They aren’t my shares to change.”
“Does Grant know?”
“Of course.”
A horrible possibility formed.
“You think he’s trying to kill her for control of the company.”
“I think money has made better men do worse.”
“Is Grant a better man?”
Harlan looked through the glass at his brother.
“I don’t know anymore.”
Grant left under guard.
Not arrested.
Harlan had no proof.
Only Belle’s frightened memory, a shoe, a watch, and too many unanswered questions.
At three in the morning, I finally stood.
“I should go.”
Belle’s eyes opened.
“No.”
I looked at her.
“Honey, I have to—”
“Stay.”
“I can’t.”
“Why?”
Because I was homeless in five hours.
Because I had a double shift tomorrow.
Because I had fifteen dollars.
Because people like Harlan Voss did not belong anywhere near my real life.
“I have work.”
Harlan appeared in the doorway.
“Not anymore.”
I turned.
“Excuse me?”
“I called Dorsey’s.”
“You what?”
“Your manager fired you.”
My mouth fell open.
“He fired me?”
“He said if you missed another shift, yes.”
“You told him I was missing a shift?”
“You’re staying with Belle.”
Anger shot through me.
“You do not get to decide that.”
“I’ll compensate you.”
“That is not the point.”
“Then what is?”
“The point is you called my job without asking me.”
Harlan stared.
Clearly, not many people shouted at him.
Especially not broke waitresses wearing his coat.
“I can get another job.”
“With an eviction notice and no address?”
“That is also none of your business.”
Belle made a small sound.
We both looked at her.
Her eyes were filling with tears.
“Don’t fight.”
Guilt hit me instantly.
I sat back down.
“I’m sorry.”
Harlan lowered his voice.
“So am I.”
That surprised me.
He glanced toward the door.
“Come outside.”
I followed him.
He waited until we were out of Belle’s hearing.
“You saved her life.”
“I found her.”
“Mercer says another twenty minutes in that garage could have killed her.”
I looked away.
Harlan continued.
“She trusts you.”
“I don’t know why.”
“Neither do I.”
“Charming.”
His mouth twitched.
“I need someone near her who isn’t part of my household.”
I stiffened.
“You want me to spy.”
“No.”
“You want me to babysit.”
“No.”
“What do you want?”
He met my eyes.
“For the next week, stay with Belle.”
I laughed.
“I’m not qualified.”
“She isn’t asking for qualified.”
“She needs medical professionals.”
“She has them.”
He paused.
“She also needs someone she chose.”
I looked through the glass.
Belle was watching us.
Six years old.
Sick.
Terrified.
Alone inside a family powerful enough to own half Detroit and apparently not powerful enough to keep her safe.
“What would I even do?”
“Be Rue.”
“That’s a terrible job description.”
“It’s apparently enough.”
I sighed.
“One week.”
Harlan nodded.
“One week.”
“And I get paid what I made at Dorsey’s.”
“Fine.”
“Not some ridiculous rich-person number.”
His eyebrow lifted.
“What qualifies as ridiculous?”
“I made six-fifty an hour plus tips.”
He stared at me.
I crossed my arms.
“Don’t.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“Your face did.”
We agreed on a temporary rate anyway.
Not six-fifty.
I lost that argument.
At sunrise, Harlan drove Belle and me to Ashcroft House.
I expected a mansion.
I did not expect an entire stone estate overlooking the Detroit River with iron gates, guard towers disguised as landscaping, and enough security cameras to qualify as a federal facility.
Belle fell asleep against my shoulder.
Harlan carried her inside.
A housekeeper led me to a guest room.
On the bed sat three shopping bags.
Clothes.
Shoes.
A winter coat.
I turned.
“No.”
Harlan stood in the doorway.
“You need clothes.”
“I have clothes.”
“Where?”
“In my apartment.”
“The apartment you no longer legally occupy.”
I hated that he was right.
“These are temporary.”
“Fine.”
“And I’m paying you back.”
“That seems inefficient.”
“Get used to disappointment.”
For the first time, he smiled.
Actually smiled.
It disappeared quickly.
Then his phone rang.
His expression changed.
“What?”
He listened.
“Where?”
Silence.
“Don’t touch anything.”
He ended the call.
“What happened?”
His eyes met mine.
“They found Nora.”
My stomach tightened.
“Is she alive?”
“No.”
The word came flat.
“How?”
“Car in the river.”
Belle’s nanny.
Dead.
And in her apartment, security had found six bottles of Belle’s medication.
Every one of them empty.
Someone had framed Nora perfectly.
Maybe too perfectly.
May you like
Then Harlan said something that made me colder than the garage ever had.
“Nora died twelve hours before Belle disappeared.”
