Part 3: Secrets in the leather.
Part 3
Secrets in the leather.
My breath hitched in my throat as Lily’s words hung in the air, heavy and poisonous. My wife sent him.
Victoria.
We had been locked in a bitter, high-profile divorce battle for the past six months. She wanted half of my venture capital empire, the Hampton estate, and full control of our charitable foundation. But I had refused to sign the settlement papers just three days ago. I knew she was greedy, but I never imagined she would cross the line into pre-meditated murder.
"Lily," I said, my voice dangerously quiet as I leaned in closer to the shivering girl. "How do you know my wife?"
Lily pulled the cashmere blanket tighter around her wet shoulders. "I don't know her," she whispered, her eyes darting out the tinted window as streetlights flickered past in the storm. "I was hiding in the alley behind the restaurant because I was cold. A big black car pulled up. The man with the scar got out, and a lady in the backseat gave him an envelope full of cash. She showed him a picture of you on her phone and said, 'Make sure Julian Vance doesn't leave L'Hiver alive tonight.'"
"Did you see her face?" I asked, my knuckles turning white against the leather seat.
"She had blonde hair," Lily murmured. "And a shiny diamond necklace with a big blue stone."
A cold pit formed in my stomach. The Sapphire Serpent necklace. It was a one-of-a-kind piece I had bought Victoria for our third anniversary. There was no doubt left.
Suddenly, my phone vibrated in my jacket pocket. The screen lit up with an incoming call: Victoria.
I stared at the glowing name for three seconds before sliding the answer button and placing the phone to my ear, keeping my expression entirely neutral.
"Julian?" Victoria's voice came through the speaker, laced with a rehearsed, sweet concern that made my skin crawl. "Are you okay? I just heard on the news that there was a shooting at L'Hiver! I was so worried about you."
"I'm fine, Victoria," I replied, controlling every breath. "I got out unharmed."
There was a brief, almost unnoticeable pause on the line—the silence of a woman whose assassin had just failed his mission.
"Oh, thank God!" she squealed, recovering her fake composure instantly. "Where are you now? Do you want me to come over to your penthouse? You shouldn't be alone after something so traumatic."
"No need," I said coldly. "I'm taking care of some unfinished business. I'll see you in court on Monday for the final signing."
"Julian, wait—"
I disconnected the call and turned the phone off completely, pulling the SIM card out and snapping it in half.
"Driver," I called out to the front seat. "We're not going to the penthouse. Take us to the safehouse in Upstate New York. Now."
"Understood, Mr. Vance," the driver replied, pulling the heavy SUV onto the highway, leaving the neon glow of Manhattan behind us.
I looked back at Lily, who was fast asleep, exhausted from the terror of the night. But as I reached out to adjust the blanket over her, I noticed something strange sticking out from the pocket of her torn denim dress. It was a small, worn leather-bound notebook, soaked around the edges.
Curious, I gently slid it out without waking her. I opened the damp cover to the first page. Handwritten in neat, elegant cursive was a name that made my heart completely stop:
Property of Eleanor Vance.
May you like
Eleanor. My older sister, who had mysteriously vanished seven years ago after accusing my father of corporate embezzlement.
I turned the page, and a folded, yellowed photograph fell into my lap. It was a picture of a young Eleanor holding a newborn baby—a baby with the exact same distinct hazel eyes as the little girl sleeping right next to me.
