Chapter 2 - THE MAN LAUREL NEVER KNEW
Frederick never touched whatever was inside his jacket.
A bodyguard caught his wrist.
Anthony looked at him.
“Slowly.”
Frederick’s face tightened.
The bodyguard removed a phone.
Nothing more.
But the screen was already lit.
A message had been typed.
HE KNOWS.
Anthony took the phone.
No recipient name.
Only a number.
He placed it beside Marcia’s brooch.
“Who?”
Frederick said nothing.
Anthony did not threaten him.
Threats were useful only when people still believed silence might save them.
He turned to Laurel.
“Your father.”
She looked distant.
“My mother told me he died before I could remember him.”
“What name?”
“Daniel Mercer.”
Marcia laughed.
“That was never his name.”
Laurel’s eyes hardened.
“You knew him?”
Marcia stared at her.
“Everyone my age knew him.”
Anthony remained standing.
“Name.”
Marcia looked at him.
“Julian Vale.”
The name meant nothing to Laurel.
It meant something to Anthony.
He had heard it once.
Maybe twice.
Never from his father.
From men who became quiet immediately afterward.
Anthony turned toward Paul.
The older man looked away.
“You know the name too.”
Paul sighed.
“Everybody did back then.”
“Explain.”
Marcia did it instead.
“Twenty-seven years ago, Julian Vale controlled the eastern shipping route.”
Anthony frowned.
“That belonged to the Gallo family.”
“After Julian disappeared.”
Marcia folded her hands.
“He was not a boss. Not officially. He was worse.”
“What does that mean?”
“He knew how every family moved money, people, favors, debts. He could make one family believe another had stolen from them without ever appearing in the room.”
Anthony glanced at Frederick’s phone.
“He manipulated wars.”
“Yes.”
“Why would Laurel’s mother marry him?”
“She didn’t.”
Laurel’s face changed.
Marcia continued.
“Your mother was never his wife.”
Laurel stepped forward.
Anthony touched her hand.
Not to stop her.
To remind her he was there.
Marcia looked pleased by the wound she had opened.
Anthony saw that too.
“Careful,” he said.
Marcia smiled.
“Now you protect her feelings?”
“No.”
His voice dropped.
“I protect your ability to finish speaking.”
Marcia’s smile vanished.
She continued.
“Laurel’s mother worked in a hotel used by several families. Julian saw her. Kept her close for a time. Then everything collapsed.”
“What collapsed?” Laurel asked.
“The Vescari-Gallo truce.”
Anthony knew that war.
He had been twenty-one when it started.
His older brother Michael died during it.
His father never recovered.
Everyone blamed the Gallos.
Marcia looked at Anthony.
“Julian engineered the first betrayal.”
Anthony’s expression hardened.
“You’re sure?”
“I watched your father confront him.”
“Where?”
“In this house.”
Anthony stared.
His father had never told him Julian Vale had stood inside the Vescari estate.
Marcia leaned forward.
“Julian was supposed to arrange a meeting between your father and Carlo Gallo. Instead, both sides arrived believing the other planned an ambush.”
Anthony remembered the stories.
Six men killed.
Then retaliation.
Then Michael.
“And Julian disappeared.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Marcia looked at Laurel.
“Because he got what he wanted.”
Laurel shook her head.
“You don’t know that.”
Marcia smiled.
“I know your mother fled the city the next week.”
“She was pregnant.”
“Yes.”
“And Julian?”
“Gone.”
Laurel looked at Anthony.
“You believe her?”
“No.”
Marcia stiffened.
Anthony continued.
“I believe she believes some of it.”
He looked at his aunt.
“But Marcia has wanted you gone since our wedding. So every truth she tells us comes wrapped in a purpose.”
Laurel’s breathing steadied.
Anthony turned to Frederick’s phone.
“Who were you warning?”
Frederick remained silent.
Anthony nodded toward one bodyguard.
“Take him downstairs.”
Frederick’s confidence broke.
“Wait.”
Anthony waited.
“I don’t know his name.”
“Bad answer.”
“I swear.”
“How do you contact him?”
“He contacts me.”
“For what?”
Frederick looked at Marcia.
She whispered, “Don’t.”
Anthony almost smiled.
There it was.
The real hierarchy.
Marcia was not controlling Frederick.
She was protecting whoever was.
Anthony pulled out the chair opposite him.
“Sit.”
Frederick sat.
“When did the messages begin?”
“Four months ago.”
“What did he want?”
“Information.”
“About?”
“Laurel.”
Anthony’s eyes went cold.
“What information?”
“Where she goes. Who she sees. Whether she visits her mother.”
Laurel went still.
Anthony looked at her.
“Your mother.”
“She lives in Vermont.”
“When did you last see her?”
“Six months ago.”
Frederick whispered, “That’s when it started.”
Anthony turned back.
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
“What did you get in return?”
Frederick said nothing.
Anthony looked toward his bodyguard.
Frederick quickly answered.
“Help.”
“With?”
“A debt.”
Marcia closed her eyes.
Anthony understood.
Not ideology.
Not family honor.
Debt.
That was how men entered houses without opening doors.
“How much?”
“Eight hundred thousand.”
Laurel stared at him.
Frederick looked ashamed.
“I made bad investments.”
Anthony ignored the excuse.
“What were you told about Laurel?”
“That she was Julian Vale’s daughter.”
“What else?”
“That if she stayed beside you, the Vescari family would lose everything.”
Anthony leaned closer.
“And you believed a stranger?”
“He knew things.”
“What things?”
Frederick’s voice lowered.
“He knew how Michael died.”
Anthony stopped moving.
His brother.
The room changed.
Marcia whispered, “Anthony.”
He ignored her.
“What did he say?”
Frederick swallowed.
“He said Michael wasn’t killed by the Gallos.”
Anthony's face became unreadable.
“Who killed him?”
Frederick looked toward Laurel.
“He said Julian Vale did.”
Laurel shook her head.
Anthony looked at her.
She whispered, “My father was already supposed to be gone.”
Marcia answered.
“No one ever found a body.”
Anthony slowly looked back at the brooch.
The white lily.
Black enamel.
“Why does Julian’s brooch look like that?”
Marcia said nothing.
Paul finally answered.
“Because that was his mark.”
Anthony frowned.
“A lily?”
Paul shook his head.
“The black ring around it.”
“What did it mean?”
Paul’s expression darkened.
“That someone had been marked for collection.”
Laurel stared at the brooch.
“My mother kept one in a box.”
Anthony looked at her.
“You never told me.”
“I thought it was jewelry.”
“Where is it now?”
“With her.”
Anthony’s phone rang.
His security captain.
“Boss.”
“What?”
“We have a problem.”
Anthony stepped away from the table.
“What kind?”
“One of the cars assigned to watch Laurel’s mother hasn’t checked in.”
Anthony turned toward Laurel.
“When?”
“Forty minutes.”
Laurel stood.
“My mother?”
The captain continued.
“We reached her house.”
Anthony already knew.
“Empty?”
A pause.
“Yes.”
Laurel’s face drained.
Anthony looked toward Marcia.
His aunt looked frightened.
Not satisfied.
Not smug.
Frightened.
That mattered.
Anthony ended the call.
Marcia whispered, “He found her.”
“Who?”
Marcia looked toward the windows.
“The man Frederick has been talking to.”
“You know him.”
“I know what he calls himself.”
Anthony stepped closer.
“What?”
May you like
Marcia answered.
“The Collector.”
