Chapter 2 - Harbor House
“All of them,” Dominic said.
Noah Grant had worked for the Vale family long enough to recognize the rare moments when Dominic’s voice became quieter instead of louder. Those were the moments when everyone else in the room learned not to argue.
“Yes, sir.”
Twenty minutes later, two black SUVs rolled through Dorchester beneath a sky the color of old steel.
Harbor House stood exactly where the report said it would: a converted brick warehouse wedged between an auto-repair garage and a laundromat with a flickering blue sign. Its windows were painted with flowers, rockets, smiling suns, and handprints in every color.
Dominic remained inside the SUV for nearly a minute.
“No weapons visible,” Noah said from the front seat.
Dominic looked toward the building.
“That isn’t why we’re here.”
Still, four men got out first.
Claire Bennett saw them through the front window.
She was standing near a folding table covered in cereal boxes and donated winter coats. The second she recognized the dark vehicles, the men in tailored black coats, and then Dominic himself stepping onto the sidewalk, her expression changed.
Not fear.
Anger.
She came outside before he reached the door.
“You can’t be here.”
Dominic stopped three feet from her.
“I came to ask questions.”
“You can send a lawyer.”
“I don’t want to ask a lawyer.”
Claire folded her arms. “That makes one of us.”
Behind the painted glass, children moved between tables. A little boy held up a crooked drawing. Two girls argued over a box of markers. Somewhere deeper in the building, someone was playing a badly tuned piano.
Then Sophie appeared in the doorway.
She wore purple rain boots and a paper crown decorated with glitter.
“Mr. Quiet!”
Every man Dominic had brought with him went still.
Sophie ran toward him.
Claire reached for her. “Sophie, wait—”
But the little girl had already taken Dominic’s hand again.
The same way she had in the chapel.
Like it belonged there.
Dominic looked down at her.
“You’re wearing a crown.”
“I’m the queen of snack time.”
“That sounds serious.”
“It is.”
For the first time since Vincent Vale’s death, something close to a smile touched Dominic’s face.
Claire noticed.
Her anger did not disappear, but it changed shape.
“Sophie,” she said gently, “go back inside.”
“But Mr. Quiet came to visit.”
“No,” Dominic said. “Your mother is right.”
Claire’s eyes sharpened. “I’m her mother.”
Dominic nodded once. “I know.”
That answer unsettled her more than if he had denied it.
He looked toward the Harbor House sign.
“My father gave this place money for nearly five years.”
Claire’s expression tightened.
“Your father’s companies gave this place money. We didn’t know it was Vincent Vale.”
“Would you have refused it?”
She glanced through the window at the children.
“That’s not a fair question.”
“No,” Dominic said. “It isn’t.”
A delivery truck rumbled down the narrow street. For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Then Claire said, “Come inside. Alone.”
Noah stepped forward. “Mr. Vale—”
“I said alone.”
Dominic handed Noah his coat.
He followed Claire into Harbor House.
The building smelled like tomato soup, crayons, disinfectant, and warm bread. It was not clean in the polished, expensive way Dominic’s office was clean. It was lived in. Every wall held proof that children had been here: school photos, painted stars, thank-you cards, lists of chores, paper snowflakes taped along the ceiling.
Claire led him into a small office with a desk too large for the room.
“You have five minutes.”
Dominic sat across from her.
On the desk was a photograph of a younger Claire standing beside a dark-haired woman holding a baby. The woman had Sophie’s eyes.
Danielle Carter.
Dominic studied the picture.
“She was your friend.”
“She was my family,” Claire said.
“Did she know my father?”
“No.”
“You’re sure?”
“I’m sure.”
“Then why did his money start coming thirty-two days after she died?”
Claire’s jaw flexed.
“You think Vincent Vale was Sophie’s father.”
“I think there’s a connection.”
“There isn’t.”
“You’re certain?”
Claire stood abruptly. “You came into a children’s center with armed men waiting outside and asked me if the most dangerous man in Boston had a secret child with my dead best friend. What exactly do you expect me to say?”
Dominic stood too.
“I expect the truth.”
Her eyes flashed. “The truth is that Danielle died scared, broke, and alone. She had a heart condition her insurance wouldn’t cover properly. She left behind a baby girl and bills that could have buried all of us. Three weeks after her funeral, an anonymous donor paid off everything.”
Dominic said nothing.
Claire continued, her voice shaking now.
“Then Harbor House got its first transfer. We thought it was a blessing. We didn’t ask where it came from because when you’re trying to keep children fed, you take help wherever you find it.”
“Did Danielle ever mention Vincent Vale?”
“No.”
“Any man connected to him?”
“No.”
“Any threat?”
Claire hesitated.
Dominic noticed.
“What threat?”
Her eyes dropped to the photo on the desk.
“Danielle was scared during the last few months of her life. She said someone had been calling her. She wouldn’t tell me who. She just kept saying she’d made a mistake.”
“What mistake?”
“I never found out.”
Before Dominic could press further, the office door opened.
Sophie stood there holding a yellow crayon drawing.
“This is for you.”
Dominic accepted it.
It showed a tall black figure standing in the rain beside a much smaller yellow figure. Above them were uneven letters:
MR. QUIET AND ME.
His throat tightened.
Then Noah’s voice came through Dominic’s earpiece.
“Sir. We have a problem.”
Dominic’s face changed.
Claire saw it immediately.
“What is it?”
Noah spoke again.
“Two men are parked across the street. They’re watching the building. One of them is Anthony Rusk.”
Dominic went still.
Anthony Rusk had once been Vincent Vale’s most trusted enforcer.
And Vincent Vale had been dead for less than twenty-four hours.
Dominic looked at Claire.
“Lock the doors.”
Her face drained of color.
“Why?”
He placed Sophie’s drawing carefully inside his jacket.
“Because someone has decided Harbor House matters.”
Outside, across the rain-slicked street, Anthony Rusk lifted a phone to his ear.
May you like
And smiled.
---
