Chapter 5
Sabine’s payments were easy to find once I knew they existed.
Not hidden under shell companies.
Not clever.
Monthly transfers through a private family account.
Small amounts.
Enough for rent.
Food.
No luxury.
I almost respected the simplicity.
Then I saw the recipient.
L. CROSS.
Lucien had used several surnames.
Cross.
Mercer.
Vale.
Names without roots.
I asked Sabine why she paid him.
“Guilt.”
Not enough.
“And?”
“Insurance.”
Better.
“If he stayed away, the family stayed stable.”
There.
My brother reduced to a stability expense.
“What did you tell him about me?”
She looked down.
“That you knew.”
“Knew what?”
“That Victor was going to frighten him.”
“No.”
Her eyes filled.
“I told him you approved it.”
There.
I had expected it.
Still hurt.
“Why?”
“Because if he thought you were innocent, he would come back.”
“And?”
“Father would restore the split.”
Our father died eight months later.
After that?
Sabine’s justification changed.
If Lucien returned, he could challenge me.
Old capos might choose him.
The family could fracture.
Again.
Always future disaster used to excuse present betrayal.
“So you kept lying.”
“Yes.”
“Did Lucien ever ask about me?”
Her voice broke.
“Every time.”
That almost made me stand.
I didn’t.
“What did you tell him?”
“That you never asked about him.”
I closed my eyes.
Ten years.
I had spoken his name constantly.
Visited his grave.
Kept his watch box.
Paid for Owen’s missing-person support to his sister for years.
Lucien spent the same decade believing I erased him without regret.
My sister constructed two grieving brothers and positioned silence between them.
“Why did he stop taking the money?”
Sabine looked surprised.
“What?”
Rafe showed me the account.
Payments had been returned for the last five months.
All of them.
Lucien had learned something before contacting Faye.
Not three weeks ago.
Earlier.
Five months.
“What changed?”
Sabine whispered:
“Victor’s papers.”
Victor Merrick died four years ago.
Apparently his widow sold the old house recently.
Personal boxes surfaced.
One contained copies of letters.
Including Sabine’s.
Including the original forged invitation.
Lucien got them.
Somehow.
He finally saw that my handwriting had been copied.
That Sabine planned the meeting.
That Victor escalated it.
So why not come home immediately?
Faye answered.
“He wanted to know whether you had become the kind of man Sabine said you were.”
Fair.
He had spent ten years living with one version of me.
Evidence can correct facts faster than it corrects fear.
So Lucien sent Faye first.
Not as messenger.
As test.
Sing the melody.
Watch Sabine.
May you like
Watch me.
And tell him what happened.
