Chapter 6 - THE MAN VINCENT TRUSTED
We did not sleep that night.
The police wanted the twins moved to an undisclosed location.
Vincent agreed.
That alone told me how afraid he was.
A man with guards, gates and enough influence to frighten governors was packing dinosaur pajamas into a duffel bag because someone had written two words on a piece of paper.
TRANSFER BOYS.
Lucas sat cross-legged on the bed.
“Are we moving again?”
“For a little while,” Vincent said.
“Why?”
Vincent looked at me.
Parents sometimes believe children need elaborate lies.
Most children need simple truth.
“There’s someone Dad doesn’t trust right now,” I said. “So we’re going somewhere extra safe.”
Lucas considered this.
“Is Dad scared?”
Vincent froze.
I waited.
Finally, he crouched in front of his son.
“Yes.”
Lucas seemed surprised.
“You get scared?”
“All the time.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
“What do you do?”
Vincent looked at Leo, then Lucas.
“I make sure being scared doesn’t stop me from protecting you.”
That answer stayed with me.
At dawn, we relocated to a private medical residence near Stamford.
Only six people knew the address.
Dr. Blake was not one of them.
At nine thirty, his attorney called Vincent.
Harrison wanted to meet.
“He says he can explain everything,” the attorney said.
Vincent laughed coldly.
“He can explain it to detectives.”
“He will not speak to police without counsel.”
“Then he doesn’t speak.”
The attorney hesitated.
“He claims your children could be at greater risk if you misunderstand what was found.”
That changed the room.
Vincent’s eyes met mine.
“What kind of risk?”
“He will only discuss it with you.”
“Where?”
Blake proposed a meeting at his private clinic.
Police wanted Vincent wired.
He refused to let me come.
Naturally, I argued.
“He knows I found the vent.”
“Exactly.”
“So he may say more if I’m there.”
“No.”
“Vincent.”
“No.”
“You hired me to protect the boys.”
“And you protect them by staying here.”
“He threatened me because I’m part of this.”
His jaw tightened.
“That does not make you more qualified to walk into a room with a man who may have been involved in my wife’s death.”
“No. It makes me bait.”
The second I said it, I regretted it.
His expression became furious.
“You are not bait.”
“I didn’t mean—”
“You are not a disposable piece in this.”
The room went quiet.
Even Anthony looked away.
Vincent lowered his voice.
“Stay with my sons.”
There was more beneath the words than instruction.
Trust.
So I stayed.
The meeting lasted forty-three minutes.
Vincent returned with two detectives and an expression I could not read.
“What happened?”
He shut the door behind him.
“Harrison admits the system was his.”
“Admits?”
“He claims it was part of an environmental wellness study. Says Isabella signed consent forms.”
“She withdrew consent.”
“He says she became irrational.”
I felt anger rise.
“How convenient.”
“He says after she died, he kept it running because stopping suddenly would ‘invalidate longitudinal data.’”
I stared at him.
“The boys were children.”
“He says the compounds should never have reached harmful concentrations.”
“Then why hide it?”
“Equipment malfunction.”
I almost laughed.
Vincent didn’t.
“He blamed Eric for unauthorized adjustments.”
“And the intimidation?”
“Claims he knew nothing.”
“Isabella?”
“Claims her accident was unrelated.”
He walked toward the window.
“But he made one mistake.”
“What?”
“He mentioned the flash drive.”
I went still.
“How did he know?”
“Exactly.”
Only Vincent, Anthony, I and the forensic team knew about it.
No public record.
No police disclosure.
Vincent turned.
“Harrison said Isabella’s ‘dramatic little video’ had distorted the situation.”
My stomach tightened.
“So he saw it.”
“Or knew about it.”
Anthony entered holding a tablet.
“And we now know how.”
The greenhouse had an old security system separate from the main estate network.
Most of it had stopped functioning years earlier.
One hidden camera still stored partial footage.
Anthony played a clip.
Four years ago.
Isabella entered the secret office.
Twenty minutes later, she left.
Thirty-seven minutes after that, another man appeared.
Dr. Harrison Blake.
He tried the hidden door.
Locked.
He left.
Nine days later, Isabella died.
Then came another clip.
The day after her funeral.
Blake returned with Eric Sloan.
This time they opened the door.
They spent almost an hour inside.
“They searched it,” I whispered.
“But didn’t find the drive,” Anthony said.
Vincent looked murderous.
Then the phone rang.
One of the detectives answered.
His expression changed.
“Blake just left his clinic.”
Vincent frowned.
“He was told not to leave the county.”
“He’s not going home.”
“Where?”
“We lost his vehicle near Greenwich.”
Every instinct in me sharpened.
I looked toward the twins’ room.
“No.”
Vincent followed my gaze.
“He doesn’t know where we are.”
“He knows you.”
“What does that mean?”
“He knows what you’d choose.”
Silence.
“If he wanted leverage,” I continued, “he wouldn’t search randomly for the boys.”
Anthony understood first.
“He’d go somewhere Vincent would trade himself for them.”
My phone rang.
Unknown number.
Everyone froze.
I answered.
“Hello?”
Dr. Blake’s voice came through.
“Ms. Morgan.”
My blood turned cold.
“Harrison.”
“You created quite a mess.”
“Where are you?”
“I need Vincent.”
I looked at him.
He was already signaling detectives to trace the call.
Blake continued.
“Tell him to return to the estate.”
“Why?”
“Because there is something in Isabella’s old room he needs to see.”
Vincent reached for the phone.
Blake’s voice sharpened.
“And Claire?”
“Yes?”
“Ask Vincent why the fire alarm at his second house just went off.”
Vincent’s face drained of color.
Anthony checked his phone.
Then swore.
The lake house.
Smoke had been detected inside.
It was empty now.
But Blake knew we had been there.
He had found us once.
Maybe he could find us again.
The call ended.
A message arrived seconds later.
A photograph.
The front gates of our current safe residence.
Taken that morning.
May you like
Blake knew exactly where Lucas and Leo were.
---
