Chapter 2 – THE WOMAN IN THE PHOTOGRAPH

~900 words

Vincent didn’t shout. He didn’t throw anything. He just stood there, holding his dead daughter’s silver bracelet, trapped in a house he apparently no longer owned.

Charlotte pressed her back against the steel table. “Vincent, it’s a mistake. Arthur has been trying to ruin me for years. He must have forged the documents!”

“He forged a notary seal and my signature?” Vincent asked, his voice dead.

“Yes! You know how dangerous he is!”

Vincent turned to Marcus. “Get the guests out. All of them. Tell them there’s a gas leak. I don’t care. Clear my house.”

“Yes, sir.” Marcus slipped back out the door.

Vincent looked at me. “Evelyn. Take June upstairs to my study. Lock the door. Do not let anyone in except me or Marcus.”

I nodded, gently taking June’s trembling arm. “Come on, honey. Let’s go.”

As we walked past Charlotte, she glared at me with such venom I felt a chill run down my spine. “You’ll both be on the street by morning,” she spat.

“They won’t,” Vincent said quietly. “But you might not survive the night.”

I hurried June down the back servants’ hallway. The sounds of confusion began echoing from the ballroom as Marcus started clearing the guests. We climbed the narrow staircase to the third floor, where Vincent’s private study was located.

When we got inside, I locked the heavy oak door and guided June to a leather armchair.

“Breathe, Mrs. June. You’re safe here.”

She clutched her chest, her breathing shallow. “I had to tell him, Evelyn. I couldn’t let her keep stealing from the little girl’s memory.”

“You did the right thing.” I went to Vincent’s wet bar to pour her a glass of water.

As I opened the cabinet to grab a glass, something caught my eye. Tucked behind a row of crystal tumblers was a small, worn photograph.

It was hidden intentionally.

I pulled it out. The photo showed a younger Vincent, maybe ten years ago, smiling on a beach. He was holding Lily on his shoulders.

But standing next to him, holding his hand, wasn’t Charlotte.

It was a beautiful woman with dark, curling hair and kind eyes. And she was wearing the exact same silver charm bracelet that June had just given Vincent.

“Evelyn?” June called out. “What did you find?”

I brought the photo over to her. “Who is this?”

June gasped. She touched the face of the dark-haired woman. “That’s Maria. Vincent’s first wife. Lily’s mother.”

“Did she die when Lily was born?” I asked.

June shook her head slowly. “No. She died in a car accident just a year before Lily got sick.”

I stared at the photo. The bracelet was clearly visible on Maria’s wrist. But Vincent had just said Lily lost the bracelet at the hospital.

“Mrs. June… if this was Maria’s bracelet, how did Lily get it?”

“Maria gave it to Lily the day before the car crash. She said it was a family heirloom.”

A heavy knot formed in my stomach. “Mrs. June… look closely at the photo. Look at Maria’s neck.”

June squinted. Around Maria’s neck was a delicate gold chain with a very distinct pendant—a ruby surrounded by tiny diamonds in the shape of a teardrop.

I recognized it immediately.

“Charlotte was wearing that necklace tonight,” I whispered.

June’s eyes went wide. “No. That’s impossible. Vincent told me he buried Maria in that necklace.”

Before either of us could say another word, the heavy oak door of the study rattled.

Someone was trying the handle.

“Vincent?” June called out weakly.

There was no answer. Just the sound of a key sliding into the lock.

I grabbed a heavy bronze paperweight from the desk and stood in front of June.

The lock clicked. The door swung open.

It wasn’t Vincent. And it wasn’t Marcus.

It was a man I had never seen before, wearing a tuxedo identical to the ones the guests were wearing downstairs. But his eyes were cold, and in his right hand, he held a suppressed pistol.

He looked at the photograph in my hand.

“I’ll be taking that,” Arthur Vale said.

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