Chapter 2 - THE WOMAN BEHIND M. RADCLIFFE
The church bells rang for nearly a minute.
Camille stood behind the iron gate of her parents’ house, holding the ultrasound in one hand and staring at Roman Vale as if he had just rewritten the previous twenty-four hours in a language she did not understand.
Trevor had cheated.
That part remained.
He had admitted Mara existed.
Admitted the affair had resumed.
Admitted he intended to marry Camille before telling her.
Nothing Roman said could erase that.
But the small gray image in Camille’s hand was suddenly something else.
Not proof of another family.
Evidence.
“What do you mean he was hiding someone else’s life?” Camille asked.
Roman glanced toward his men.
“Open the gate.”
Camille’s father immediately stepped forward.
“No.”
Roman looked past Camille.
Thomas Hunt was sixty-two, broad-shouldered, silver-haired, and normally one of the calmest men she knew.
He did not look calm now.
“This is my property,” Thomas said.
“I’m aware.”
“Then you can explain from there.”
Roman studied him for a moment.
Then nodded.
“Fair.”
That surprised everyone.
Especially Nadia.
Camille looked at Roman.
“Who is the woman?”
Roman’s eyes returned to the ultrasound.
“The patient name is false.”
“M. Radcliffe.”
“Yes.”
“Mara Radcliffe is real.”
“Yes.”
“She’s the woman Trevor admitted sleeping with.”
Roman’s jaw tightened.
“Yes.”
Camille’s stomach twisted again.
“Then why is her name on this?”
“Because Mara allowed another woman to use her identity for medical treatment.”
Diane Hunt gasped behind Camille.
“That’s illegal.”
Roman’s expression barely moved.
“So are many things people do when they’re terrified.”
Camille tightened her grip on the paper.
“Who was terrified?”
“My sister.”
Silence.
Even Nadia stopped moving.
Camille stared.
“You have a sister?”
“I do.”
“What’s her name?”
“Serena Vale.”
Roman said it quietly.
There was something in his face now.
Not mafia-boss coldness.
Not intimidation.
Fear.
Real fear.
“Serena disappeared twelve weeks ago.”
Camille’s heartbeat accelerated.
“Eleven weeks and two days,” she whispered.
Roman nodded.
“She learned she was pregnant after she vanished.”
Camille looked at the ultrasound.
“Who is the father?”
“A man named Noah Mercer.”
“And where is he?”
Roman’s expression changed.
“Dead.”
Camille lowered the ultrasound.
“What happened?”
Roman did not answer immediately.
That hesitation mattered.
Nadia leaned close to Camille.
“This is getting worse.”
Camille barely heard her.
“Did you kill him?”
Thomas said sharply, “Camille.”
But Roman answered.
“No.”
The certainty was immediate.
“Did your people?”
“No.”
“Did Serena think you did?”
Roman’s eyes became colder.
“Yes.”
There it was.
The missing piece.
“Why?”
“Because Trevor convinced her.”
Camille stared.
“Trevor?”
“Trevor Ames worked with one of my attorneys for several years. Quiet matters. Asset structures. Negotiations where people wanted legal paperwork more than publicity.”
“You hired my fiancé?”
“Not directly.”
“Did you know him before today?”
“I knew his name.”
Roman’s mouth hardened.
“Now I know it much better.”
Camille lifted the ultrasound.
“You said Trevor was supposed to protect Serena from you.”
“He told her I was responsible for Noah’s death.”
“Was there evidence?”
“Yes.”
“Real?”
“Partly.”
Camille almost laughed.
“Partly real evidence sounds like a very convenient phrase.”
Roman accepted the insult.
“There was a recording of me threatening Noah.”
Her stomach tightened.
“What did you threaten him with?”
Roman looked toward Thomas.
Then Camille.
“Death.”
Diane whispered, “Oh my God.”
Camille’s father reached for her arm.
“Inside.”
Camille did not move.
“Why?”
Roman’s voice remained level.
“Noah had been meeting with Dominic Kessler.”
Nadia muttered, “Am I supposed to know who that is?”
Roman looked at her.
“Better if you don’t.”
“Great.”
Camille ignored them.
“Who is Dominic?”
“A rival.”
“That means criminal rival?”
“Yes.”
Roman did not pretend otherwise.
“Noah worked for you?”
“He ran part of my private security.”
“And he was involved with your sister.”
“Yes.”
“Did you approve?”
“No.”
Camille stared.
Roman continued.
“That was my first mistake.”
“You think disapproving was the mistake?”
“My mistake was believing being her brother gave me authority over her choices.”
That answer made Camille stop.
Roman went on.
“I found evidence Noah was meeting Kessler. I assumed betrayal. I threatened him. Serena heard part of it.”
“And then Noah died.”
“Three days later.”
“How?”
“His car went into the river outside Milwaukee.”
“Accident?”
“Police said yes.”
“And Serena thought you arranged it.”
“Trevor made sure she did.”
Camille felt cold.
“How?”
Roman looked toward the ultrasound again.
“Forged account transfers. Edited audio. A statement from a man Serena trusted.”
“Who?”
“Elliot Crane.”
Camille knew the name.
Trevor’s business partner.
The same man who claimed Trevor had not answered him in forty-eight hours.
Her stomach dropped.
“Elliot lied about Trevor disappearing.”
“Yes.”
“You know that?”
“My people checked phone records.”
Roman’s expression hardened.
“Trevor and Elliot spoke six times yesterday.”
Camille felt something inside her settle.
Not relief.
Focus.
“The morning Trevor was in my house?”
“Yes.”
“He was talking to Elliot.”
“Yes.”
“So when Elliot told me Trevor hadn’t answered in two days—”
“He was protecting him.”
Camille looked back toward her parents’ kitchen.
The canceled flowers.
The unopened champagne.
The arch in the backyard.
Yesterday, those things represented a ruined wedding.
Now they looked like the stage set of a plan she had never seen.
“What did Trevor want with Serena?”
Roman answered carefully.
“At first, perhaps what he claimed.”
“To protect her?”
“Yes.”
“You believe that?”
“I believe Serena believed it.”
“That isn’t the same.”
“No.”
Camille appreciated that he did not pretend.
Roman continued.
“After Noah died, Serena wanted to disappear. Trevor offered to help. He told her I would force her back, take control of Noah’s estate, possibly hurt the child if I knew she was pregnant.”
Camille’s expression hardened.
“Would you?”
“No.”
“How do I know?”
“You don’t.”
The answer came without offense.
“You shouldn’t trust me because I walked to your gate in an expensive suit.”
Nadia muttered, “Finally, something reasonable.”
Roman almost smiled.
Camille did not.
“Then why are you looking for her?”
“Because someone else found the alias.”
“Mara’s?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“Trevor stole this.”
Roman pointed at the ultrasound.
“Why?”
“Proof of access.”
Camille frowned.
“Access to what?”
“Serena.”
A cold sensation moved down her back.
Roman continued.
“Trevor needed something he could show me if I found him.”
“So he could prove he knew where she was.”
“Yes.”
“He carried an ultrasound around as leverage.”
“Yes.”
“That’s sick.”
Roman’s jaw tightened.
“Yes.”
“Why not a photograph?”
“Because photographs can be old.”
Camille looked at the date.
Eleven weeks.
A current medical image.
A timestamped proof of life.
Her nausea returned.
“Did Trevor contact you?”
“Three nights ago.”
“What did he say?”
“He asked what Serena’s safety was worth.”
Camille stopped breathing.
“Money?”
“Partly.”
“What else?”
Roman’s gaze shifted toward the house.
Then to the white flowers being dismantled in the backyard.
“He wanted time.”
“For what?”
“To get married.”
Every sound around Camille seemed to disappear.
“My wedding.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Roman paused.
“I don’t know yet.”
Camille laughed once.
“You came here with armed men and you don’t know?”
“I know what Trevor stole.”
“What?”
“A file.”
“What kind?”
“A ledger compiled by Noah Mercer before he died.”
“What’s in it?”
“Names.”
Roman’s expression turned hard.
“Payments. Police officers. Judges. Businesses. Shipping routes. Accounts.”
“Yours?”
“Some.”
“Kessler’s?”
“Some.”
“And Trevor has it?”
“I believe he has access to it.”
Camille looked down at the ultrasound.
“Why would he need to marry me first?”
Roman did not answer.
Camille’s father did.
“Because of the Hunt trust.”
Everyone turned.
Thomas Hunt had gone pale.
Camille stared at him.
“What?”
Her father looked suddenly older.
“Trevor asked me about your grandmother’s trust three months ago.”
Camille’s stomach dropped.
“What did you tell him?”
“That it becomes fully distributable when you marry or turn thirty-five.”
Nadia swore.
Camille felt anger rush so fast she became dizzy.
“I’m thirty-two.”
“Yes.”
“And marriage would have released it?”
“Yes.”
“How much?”
Thomas hesitated.
“Dad.”
“Approximately four-point-eight million dollars.”
Camille stared.
The wedding was not only emotional security for Trevor.
It was financial access.
Not direct ownership.
But marital proximity.
A wife with liquid assets.
A respectable family.
A clean source of money.
“You never told me.”
“You knew there was a trust.”
“I thought it was restricted until thirty-five.”
“The marriage clause was in your grandmother’s documents.”
Camille closed her eyes.
Another man deciding information could wait.
Thomas immediately said, “I should have told you.”
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry.”
She appreciated that.
Later.
Roman said quietly, “Trevor needed money that wouldn’t immediately look connected to him.”
Camille opened her eyes.
“He was going to use me.”
Roman did not soften it.
“Yes.”
Her phone vibrated.
Unknown number.
Every person froze.
Camille looked at the screen.
A photograph appeared.
Trevor.
Alive.
Sitting inside what looked like a motel room.
His face bruised.
Beside him stood a woman.
Blond.
Thin.
Terrified.
Camille had never seen her.
Roman had.
His entire body changed.
“Serena.”
The woman in the photograph wore an oversized sweatshirt.
One hand rested protectively over her stomach.
A second message appeared.
NO WEDDING. NO MONEY. NEW TERMS.
Then:
BRING THE ULTRASOUND TO CHICAGO. ROMAN COMES ALONE.
Camille stared.
Roman’s sister was alive.
Trevor was alive.
And whoever sent the message knew exactly where Camille had found the one piece of paper Trevor had planned to use as insurance.
Roman looked at her.
“You’re not going.”
Camille slowly lifted her eyes.
“You don’t get to decide that.”
His jaw tightened.
For one second, she expected the dangerous man everyone feared.
Instead he nodded.
“No.”
A pause.
“But I’m asking you not to.”
Camille looked at Serena’s frightened face.
Then Trevor’s.
The man she had almost married.
“No.”
Roman’s expression hardened.
She continued.
May you like
“I’m going.”
And fourteen hours after losing a wedding, Camille Hunt found herself preparing to travel to Chicago with a mafia boss to rescue the pregnant woman her fiancé had used as leverage.
Related Stories
