Chapter 5 – The Secret My Sister Carried

“Nine years?”

I stared at Roman.

“Grant and I haven’t even known each other for one.”

“I know.”

“Then why would he come after my family now?”

Roman opened the notebook again.

“That’s what we’re going to find out.”

I looked at the date beside Beth’s name.

Nine years earlier, I was twenty-six.

Rosie hadn’t been born yet.

I’d been working at a small neighborhood bookstore, saving money for an apartment.

Beth had already spent years taking care of me.

I remembered how exhausted she used to look after work.

And I remembered one particular night.

She’d come home in a gray coat, her hands shaking.

I asked what was wrong.

She said there’d been an accident at work.

The next morning, she quit her job.

She never explained why.

“Beth left Whitmore Construction after the fire,” I said.

Roman nodded.

“Several employees did.”

“Did you ever speak to her?”

“Once.”

He looked at the photograph of his brother.

“She came to the funeral. She told me Nico had tried to get people out.”

“What else?”

“She said there were things I needed to know.”

I waited.

Roman’s expression grew painful.

“I told her to speak to the investigators.”

“Did she?”

“I don’t know.”

“Why didn’t you ask?”

He looked down.

“Because I was angry. My brother was dead, and every conversation about the warehouse felt like somebody looking for someone to blame.”

I shook my head.

“That’s what she was trying to tell you?”

“I understand that now.”

I wanted to be angry with him.

Part of me was.

But I’d spent eleven months refusing to look too closely at what Grant was doing to my own daughter.

I understood how fear could make a person avoid the truth.

That didn’t make it right.

Anthony returned with Denise Harper and a plainclothes detective.

The detective introduced herself as Mara Ellis.

She was in her forties, with tired eyes and a calm voice.

She sat beside me.

“Evelyn, we’re coordinating with hotel security. We believe Rosie is still inside the building.”

I grabbed her hand.

“You’re sure?”

“We can’t promise that yet. But the information we have is encouraging.”

I nodded.

She continued.

“Mr. DeLuca’s people have been asked to let the police handle any direct confrontation. We don’t want anyone making a move that puts Rosie at risk.”

Roman nodded.

“You’ll have our cooperation.”

Detective Ellis examined the forged authorization.

Then she asked me several questions.

Had I agreed to let Rosie travel with Grant?

Had I signed temporary guardianship paperwork?

Had anyone threatened me if I canceled the wedding?

I repeated Grant’s warning from earlier that afternoon.

You walk away from this wedding, and you’ll never see her again.

The detective wrote it down.

Then she looked at my wedding dress.

“Evelyn, do you have somewhere safe to stay afterward?”

The question caught me off guard.

Afterward.

I’d been so focused on finding Rosie that I hadn’t considered what would happen when the police brought her back.

The apartment belonged to Grant.

Most of my belongings were there.

My bank account was nearly empty.

Four months earlier, Grant had persuaded me to leave my bookstore job because he wanted me available to plan the wedding.

I’d called it a fresh start.

Now I understood how much independence I’d surrendered.

“I don’t know,” I admitted.

Roman spoke.

“We can arrange a safe place, if Evelyn wants assistance.”

The detective looked at me.

“That’s your decision. We can also connect you with a victim advocate who can discuss emergency housing and other options.”

I nodded.

“Thank you.”

Roman didn’t try to decide for me.

He simply stayed beside the table.

While the detective stepped outside to speak with hotel security, I studied the notebook again.

A small photograph had been tucked between two pages.

It showed a warehouse office.

Three people stood beside a desk.

And a younger Grant Whitmore.

I stared at his face.

He was smiling.

His arm rested casually against the back of Beth’s chair.

My sister wasn’t smiling.

I turned the photograph over.

Someone had written a date.

September 14, 2017.

Two days before the fire.

“What happened here?” I asked.

Roman examined it.

“I don’t know.”

Then Anthony returned.

He had spoken with a former Whitmore employee who still worked in hotel facilities management.

The man remembered Beth.

More importantly, he remembered Grant.

“Whitmore was overseeing security contracts at Mercer Street,” Anthony explained. “His father ran the company, but Grant supervised the building operations.”

I looked at the notebook.

Grant notified.

The words suddenly felt much heavier.

“Did Grant order that exit locked?”

“We don’t know,” Anthony answered. “The records are incomplete.”

Roman looked toward the detective.

“Then we give her everything we’ve got.”

He closed the notebook.

“I should have done it nine years ago.”

I looked at him.

“You’re really willing to do that?”

“Yes.”

“Even if it hurts your family?”

He glanced at Nico’s photograph.

“My brother deserved the truth. So did the workers who were hurt.”

Then Denise rushed back into the room.

She held a printed security image.

“We found Martin Vale.”

My heart jumped.

“Where?”

“Fourth-floor service corridor.”

“Is Rosie with him?”

“Not in the footage we have.”

She placed the image on the table.

It showed Vale speaking to a woman wearing a pale-blue dress.

But the next image was different.

Beth was pressing both hands against a closed door.

Vale stood between her and the hallway.

Then another man appeared.

Grant.

He’d entered the corridor through a private stairwell.

I stared at the timestamp.

He’d been there while I was searching for Rosie upstairs.

Roman leaned forward.

“Can you enlarge the next frame?”

Denise showed us another image.

Grant was holding a small white suitcase.

Rosie’s suitcase.

Its handle had a pink ribbon tied around it.

I recognized the ribbon because my daughter had put it there herself.

Under the photograph, the security report listed the room where Vale had taken the suitcase.

PRIVATE HOSPITALITY — 4C.

I grabbed Roman’s sleeve.

“She’s there.”

Detective Ellis studied the image.

“We need to verify that before approaching.”

Then Denise looked at us.

“There is one more thing.”

She pointed to the time printed on the security record.

It was taken almost an hour before I ran into Roman’s dining room.

Long before Beth had supposedly betrayed me.

Long before I discovered Rosie’s empty bedroom.

Grant had been preparing to take my daughter before the wedding ceremony even began.

And beneath the photograph was an instruction entered by his office: