Father. The fear was palpable, a tremor in his voice that mirrored the one in Mother's diary. "Fine. Where? But make it soon."
"The farmers' market in the town square," he said quickly. "Tomorrow, noon. I'll be in a blue shirt. Come alone, sir. Please."
"No tricks, Ray," I warned, my voice steel. "You run, I find you. And if this is a setup,"
"It's not!" he exclaimed, panic rising. "I swear. I... I need to tell someone. It's eaten at me for years. Tomorrow, noon."
The line went dead, and I lowered the phone, the suite's silence closing in like a shroud. Tomorrow. Answers. It all hinged on Ray's words. But the fear in his voice... what had he seen that could endanger his life?
Sleep has been a stranger, the bed too empty without Aurelia, her absence a physical ache. I missed her, the way her body fit mine, her laugh lighting the dark, her strength in vulnerability. Soon, I'd go to her, explain, beg if needed. But first, Ray's truth.
Dawn broke gray and drizzly, the city wrapped in fog as I dressed, dark jeans, grey shirt, leather jacket for anonymity, a cap pulled low. The farmers' market in the town square was a bustle of activity despite the weather. Safe, public. Ray had chosen well.
I spotted him by the apple stand, hunched in a blue shirt, hands in pockets, eyes darting like a hunted animal, his face pale under the hood's shadow. He saw me approach, straightening with a jolt, his gaze flicking left and right before settling on me. "Mr. Krogen," he whispered, his voice barely above the market's hum. "You came. I... I wasn't sure."
"Sit," I said, gesturing to a nearby bench under a dripping oak, the leaves a carpet of red and gold beneath. We sat, the crowd a buffer, but I kept my voice low, my eyes scanning the surrounding. "Talk. What did you see?"
Ray swallowed hard, his hands twisting in his lap, nails bitten to the quick. "It’s been over 20 years? I was eight, helping Mom with laundry. Heard screams from Mrs. Krogen's room, crying, yelling, like nothing I'd heard before. Mom told me to stay away, but... I peeked through the door crack. Couldn't help it, sir. She was my favorite. Always gave me cookies, asked about school. I had to see if she was okay."
My pulse quickened, leaning in, the market's chatter fading to a distant buzz. "What did you see?"
He took a shaky breath, eyes distant, reliving it. "She had a knife. Holding it to Mr. Krogen's chest, shaking like a leaf, tears streaming down her face. 'You're a monster,' she said, her voice breaking but fierce. 'How could you do that to a child? How could you sell my daughter? She was barely 11.' I didn't understand then, but her words... they stuck. Mr. Marcus, he was calm at first, like it was nothing. Said something about how he 'always found it questionable'. Didn't make sense to me, but his face... cold, sir. No remorse."
The words hit like a sledgehammer, my breath catching, the photo in my pocket suddenly heavy as lead.My daughter.The girl in the picture, burnt face, dark hair. Sold. At 11? My hands clenched, nails digging into palms, drawing blood. "Go on."
Ray's voice dropped, whispering now, his eyes darting as if Father might appear from the crowd. "She screamed about ledgers, said she had all of them from his shipments. 'I'll expose everything you've done,' she yelled, waving the knife. 'The women, the girls, the lies, it's over!' Mr. Marcus... his face changed. Rage, pure and ugly. He slapped her hard, crack like thunder, her head snapped back, blood from her lip splattering. She stumbled but got up, knife out, swinging wild. He kicked her knee hard. I heard the pop.She went down, crying, begging him to stop. But he grabbed her hair, yanking her head back so hard I thought he'd snap her neck, knife to her throat. 'You think you can threaten me?' he snarled, his voice like ice. 'After everything I've given you? The house, the kids, the life? You're nothing without me.' She fought, scratching his arm, drawing blood, but he threw her, by the hair, sir, like a rag doll. Her head hit the bedpost edge with a thud, blood trickling from her temple. She crumpled, fainting, limp on the floor."
My vision blurred, rage and grief colliding in a strom, my fists clenching so tight my nails broke skin. Mother, elegant, loving Valentina, beaten, broken by the man who'd vowed to love her. The ledgers, the shipments, the trafficking. She'd discovered it and he'd silenced her. "And then?" I pressed, my voice a growl, leaning closer.
Ray paled, swallowing hard. "He... he didn't help her. Just stared down, cold as stone. Said to her unconscious body, 'If you weren't such a bitch, this wouldn't have happened.' Then he staged it, the rope, looped around the chandelier, the note in her handwriting, forged, maybe? He called it suicide. Told the staffs and the cops she'd been depressed. But I saw... I saw him kill her. Murder, plain and simple."
The revelation shattered me, the world tilting on its axis, my mind blanking out in a white haze of shock. Mother, the one who'd read stories, bandaged knees, shielded us from Father's temper, murdered by his hand. The "suicide" we'd been fed, the quick burial, the family's silence, it was a lie, a cover for his crime. The girl, ‘my daughter’, sold at 11, perhaps the catalyst for her confrontation. She'd known, threatened exposure, and he'd ended her. My hands shook, vision blurring with tears, the market's bustle fading to a distant roar, Ray's face a blur.
"Sir?" Ray's voice pulled me back, tentative. "You okay? I... I had to tell someone. The burden... it's too much. What now?"
I stood abruptly, the bench scraping back, my voice hoarse. "Stay hidden. Don't tell anyone else. I'll handle it."
He nodded, fear in his eyes. "Be careful, sir. Your father... he's dangerous."
I left without another word, the market's colors and sounds assaulting me like noise, my mind reeling. Mother murdered. A sister sold. Father's empire, built on more than trafficking, on family blood. I'd destroy it, piece by piece.
Chapter 27
Keith
Isat in my car outside the farmers’ market, the engine ticking as it cooled. The world was closing in, a suffocating tunnel of gray rain and jagged truths, each one cutting deeper than the last.
I needed to know if anyone else carried this truth, if the family had seen the cracks I’d missed. Anton was older when Mother died, old enough to have noticed something, anything, even if buried under trauma. I fumbled for my phone, the screen cold against my palm, and dialed his number, the line ringing as the rain drummed harder, each drop a hammer on my nerves. He picked up on the third ring, voice thick with sleep. “Keith? Again? Man, it’s barely noon. What’s with the early calls?”
“Did you know?” I demanded, my voice raw, cutting through the static like a blade. “About what Father did to Mother? You had to have seen something.”
A pause, then a confused laugh. “Know what? Keith, you’re talking in riddles. Did what to Mother? What’s this about?”
I clenched my jaw, his ignorance a fresh wound. “Did you know he hurt her? That it wasn’t suicide? That he,” I stopped, the truth too heavy, too raw to spill over a phone line that might not be secure. “Did you ever see another kid with us? With Mother?”
Another pause, longer, his voice shifting, uneasy. “A girl? What the hell, Keith? No, just us, you, me, Zora. Why are you asking this? What’s going on? You sound… unhinged. Did Father do something? You said he hurt her, what do you mean?”
“Forget it,” I snapped, my voice a growl, cutting the call before he could push further. The phone clattered to the dashboard, my hands shaking. Anton’s puzzlement was real, but it didn’t help, didn’t fill the gaps. He didn’t remember, repressed, like me, or just blind to Father’s shadows. The car was a cage, the air stale, my empire, Elysian Haven, the hotels, the billions I’d clawed from nothing, meaningless now. I’d built it all on control, on never letting anything break me, but this? Mother’s murder, a sister sold, Aurelia’s betrayal in her eyes as she fled the warehouse, this was a storm I didn’t know how to weather. I needed an escape, a lifeline, something to pull me back from the abyss.
