Chapter 4 - The Name Clare Was Never Supposed to Hear
Victor Sloane noticed the investigation before Tristan expected him to.
Men like Victor survived by noticing small things.
A file requested twice.
An accountant questioned unexpectedly.
An old company record removed from storage.
By Friday morning, Victor was sitting across from Tristan in the Carmine office.
“Something bothering you?”
Tristan looked up.
“No.”
“You've been reviewing old books.”
“I review whatever I want.”
Victor smiled.
“Of course.”
He was fifty-eight, silver-haired, immaculately dressed, and outwardly harmless.
That was precisely why Tristan had trusted him.
Victor stood.
“If you need anything, you know where to find me.”
After he left, Marco entered.
“He knows.”
“Yes.”
“What do we do?”
“Nothing yet.”
Marco frowned.
“That’s not like you.”
“I want proof.”
“You have enough.”
“I have suspicion.”
Tristan looked toward the closed door.
“And suspicion gets innocent people buried.”
That evening, Clare received an envelope at Penny’s.
No return address.
Inside was a photograph.
Daniel.
Her husband.
He was standing outside a warehouse beside Tristan Carmine.
Clare stared at it.
Her hands began trembling.
On the back were five words.
ASK TRISTAN HOW DANIEL DIED.
When Tristan entered the diner an hour later, he immediately knew.
Clare stood behind the counter.
No coffee waiting.
No sarcastic greeting.
Evan was not there.
“Where’s Evan?”
“With my neighbor.”
Her voice was cold.
Tristan saw the photograph on the counter.
Everything inside him sank.
“Clare.”
“Don't.”
He stopped.
She pushed the photograph toward him.
“You knew him.”
Tristan looked at Daniel’s face.
“Yes.”
“How?”
“He worked for one of my companies.”
“What kind of work?”
“Accounting.”
“For your criminal organization?”
“For a legitimate company I owned.”
“That doesn't answer my question.”
“No.”
Her eyes filled.
“You knew who I was.”
“Not the first night.”
“When did you find out?”
“The next day.”
Clare laughed once, bitterly.
“And you kept coming back.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Tristan struggled for an answer that would not sound like manipulation.
“Because I wanted to.”
“That's not good enough.”
“No.”
“You sat here. You talked to my son. You let me tell you about Daniel.”
“I know.”
“You knew my husband worked for you!”
“Yes.”
“Did you kill him?”
The question landed between them.
Tristan did not flinch.
“No.”
“Did you order someone to?”
“No.”
“Did his death have anything to do with you?”
Tristan hesitated.
That hesitation destroyed whatever remained of Clare’s composure.
“Oh my God.”
“Clare—”
“You knew.”
“I learned recently.”
“What?”
“Daniel's crash wasn't an accident.”
Her face emptied.
Tristan continued carefully.
“Someone tampered with his car.”
Clare gripped the counter.
“No.”
“I'm sorry.”
“No.”
She shook her head.
“The police said—”
“They were wrong.”
“You don't know that.”
“I do.”
“How?”
“Because Daniel discovered money was being stolen from my businesses.”
Clare stared.
“He copied records. We believe the person stealing that money found out.”
“We?”
“My people.”
“Your people.”
The disgust in her voice cut him.
Tristan accepted it.
“Who?”
“We're still proving it.”
“Tell me the name.”
“I can't yet.”
“Can't?”
“If I'm wrong, I put you and Evan in danger for nothing.”
She stepped toward him.
“We're already in danger, aren't we?”
Tristan said nothing.
That was answer enough.
Clare covered her mouth.
For three years she had grieved an accident.
Now the past had been ripped open.
“You need to stay somewhere else tonight.”
She stared at him.
“You don't get to tell me what to do.”
“Someone sent you that photograph.”
“So?”
“So whoever sent it knows I'm investigating.”
“Maybe they want me to know the truth.”
“Maybe.”
“And maybe?”
“They want to use you to control me.”
Clare's face hardened.
“You think everything is about you.”
“In my world, unfortunately, enough things are.”
She picked up the photograph.
“Get out.”
“Clare.”
“Get out.”
Tristan didn't move.
She pointed toward the door.
“You lied to me every night you sat at that counter.”
“I withheld something I didn't know how to tell you.”
“That is a very expensive way of saying lied.”
He had no defense.
So he left.
Outside, Marco waited.
“How bad?”
“She hates me.”
“Understandable.”
Tristan looked at him.
Marco shrugged.
“You pay me to tell you the truth.”
Tristan almost smiled.
Then his phone rang.
Unknown number.
He answered.
“Carmine.”
A distorted voice spoke.
“You should have left the dead buried.”
Tristan’s expression changed.
“Victor?”
The caller laughed.
Then disconnected.
Tristan immediately turned toward the diner.
Through the window, Clare stood alone.
Then the lights went out.
Every light.
The diner vanished into darkness.
“Marco.”
“I see it.”
Tristan ran toward the door.
Inside, Clare shouted.
A crash came from the kitchen.
Tristan entered.
“Clare!”
“I'm here!”
His phone flashlight illuminated the room.
She stood behind the counter.
Terrified.
“Where's Evan?”
“With Mrs. Alvarez.”
Tristan exhaled.
Then Marco called from the rear.
“Boss.”
Tristan followed.
The back door was open.
On the floor lay another envelope.
Inside was a single photograph.
Evan leaving school.
Taken that afternoon.
Clare saw it.
Her face turned white.
Tristan closed his eyes.
The game had changed.
Daniel Bennett had died protecting a secret.
Now the same secret had reached his son.
And Tristan knew there was only one way to end it.
May you like
He had to destroy the man responsible before Victor Sloane destroyed the only two people who had made Tristan Carmine feel human in years.
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