Chapter 6 - The Weight of Blood
I didn't touch the book.
My hands, which had signed off on countless executions and multi-million-dollar smuggling operations, felt paralyzed.
“Why are you telling me this now, Mother?” I asked, turning my gaze back to Eleanor Hale.
Mother reached out, taking Clara’s hand once more, holding it tight against her knee.
“Because I am dying, Bennett,” Mother said quietly. “I have maybe three weeks left. Maybe less. And I will not go to my grave knowing that this girl will be hunted by your men the moment my eyes close.”
“I didn't know she was alive,” I said, my voice defensive, sharp.
“You would have found out,” Mother countered. “Your capos are paranoia-driven monsters, Bennett. You raised them to be. The moment I pass, your security detail will purge this house of every temporary worker. They would have run her background. They would have found her fake identity. And they would have killed her to cover old tracks.”
She was right. My head of security, Marcus, was a paranoid hound. The moment my mother died, every staff member without a ten-year security clearance would be quietly detained and interrogated. Clara would have been dead within forty-eight hours of my mother's funeral.
“She wants to leave,” I said, looking at Clara.
“No,” Clara said firmly. “I’m not leaving until Eleanor passes.”
I stared at her, genuinely stunned. “You want to stay here? In the home of the man whose family destroyed yours?”
“I don't stay for you, Mr. Hale,” Clara replied coldly. “I stay for her. She was kinder to me in five months than anyone has been since my mother died. I promised her I would sit beside her until the end. I don't break my promises.”
I looked between the two women—my dying mother who had turned her back on our legacy, and the daughter of my dead accountant who was offering my family a mercy we had never earned.
Slowly, I picked up the black ledger from the mahogany desk.
Clara’s shoulders tensed slightly. She braced herself, likely expecting me to summon Marcus, burn the book in the fireplace, and dispose of her.
Instead, I opened the bottom drawer of my desk, dropped the ledger inside, locked it with a silver key, and slipped the key into my inner breast pocket.
“Marcus will not touch you,” I said, my voice grave. “You will remain in the east wing. You will have full access to my mother's quarters. No guard will question your movement.”
Clara blinked, surprised. “And after she’s gone?”
I looked her dead in the eye. “After she passes, I will personally see that you leave this city with a new identity, five million dollars in a clean offshore account, and full legal immunity.”
May you like
Clara let out a harsh, bitter laugh. “You think you can buy my forgiveness with five million dollars, Mr. Hale?”
“I don't expect your forgiveness, Miss Vance,” I replied softly, feeling a cold, heavy weight settle over my heart. “I am simply trying to pay a debt that my father left unpaid.”
