Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 75793 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75793 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
“He wanted to burn the envelope I’d found. He wanted to destroy it before anyone found out and it destroyed you.”
“But Sly already knew.”
“And maybe that’s why he had initially confessed to the embezzlement charge and took that plea deal. Maybe that’s why Sly Fox is walking free, and your dad is behind bars.” I think this is true. I know Sly blackmailed Hart into taking the fall. He had to have. But does he know about the bloodwork? Does he know Ophelia can’t be Horatio’s daughter?
I wish I’d looked in that envelope all those years ago. Then I’d know exactly what I was dealing with. As it stands, I’ll need to go see Sly and figure it out without giving anything away.
“Do you believe that? Truly? Do you believe my father is innocent?”
“I don’t know if he’s 100% innocent, but I do know Sly is 100% guilty.”
“So, Dad wanted to make sure those newspaper articles burned so I’d never know what they accused him of doing.”
I nod.
“And then what happened?”
“I was arrested and taken to the local jail. Sly doesn’t have as much pull down here as he does in Sinistral, though, and Nigella got me out on bail.”
“But you didn’t set the fire. My dad confessed.”
“No, but convicts aren’t normally taken at their word, and don’t forget the kidnapping charge.”
“They know now you didn’t kidnap me, though.”
I nod and serve us heaping plates of bacon and eggs. I’m starving and I’m not sure when Ophelia last ate either. “And as far as me ramming my SUV into Ethan’s limo, that she argued as reckless driving. I’ll still have to go to court, but I’m not worried about that.”
We sit quietly as Ophelia digests all of this. Only when we’re finished does she turn to me.
“I want to meet him. My grandfather.”
I study her. “I’m not sure that’s a great idea, O.”
“I want to know for myself who he is, what kind of man he is. I want to decide for myself for a change. I’m not a child anymore. No one can take me away from anyone. And we’re married. You said yourself the Foxes can’t touch me now.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Well,” she says, sliding off her stool and walking into my arms. “If there’s one thing I can trust, it’s that you’ll keep me safe, Silas. Please take me to meet him. Take me to meet my grandfather.”
15
OPHELIA
We drive to Sinistral that afternoon. Silas holds my hand as we walk into the lobby of the hotel.
“I hate this fucking place,” he mutters.
“Me too.” The memory of what happened after the Foxes barged into that small room and found Silas and I together overshadows what was a beautiful moment. What happened after they hauled Silas away in handcuffs darkens all the good moments. I wonder if that will always be the case.
Silas walks up to the concierge desk and greets the woman standing behind it. “Call up to the penthouse and let Carlisle-Bent know Ophelia Cruz, formerly Hart, is here to see him.”
She looks from him to me and back. I wonder if she was here the night he was arrested.
I set my hand over top of Silas’s forearm. “Please,” I add, smiling.
“Of course,” she says. Her smile is tight, but she picks up the phone to call my grandfather. A moment later, she puts the phone down and signals the porter over. She hands him a key. “Take Ms. Hart and—”
“It’s Mrs. Cruz,” Silas corrects.
“Of course,” she stammers. “Please take Mrs. Cruz and her companion—”
“Husband,” Silas interrupts again.
I clear my throat and give him a look. He shrugs his shoulders.
“Her husband up to the penthouse.” She turns to us. “Mr. Carlisle-Bent was expecting you.”
“I’m sure he was,” Silas mutters, letting me know how little he likes this as we follow the porter to the elevator and take the familiar ride up.
Silas gives my hand a squeeze as the doors slide open onto the penthouse, and before we even step off the elevator, I see him. My grandfather. He’s there waiting for us—for me, I guess—his gaze fixed and anxious.
Silas keeps hold of my hand, and we step into the suite. The doors close behind us.
There is a smell in the room, something sickly that wasn’t here before when Silas occupied the suite. It’s barely masked by the odor of cigarette smoke. I take it in, processing the whole strange scene.
Two men in white nurses’ uniforms are working at the kitchen counter. A woman in a similar uniform is seated at the table typing something into an iPad.
Chandler Carlisle-Bent is leaning against the far wall. I see the remnants of a bruise on his forehead. He is holding a cigarette in his hand. It’s not lit, and I realize it’s not real when he brings it to his mouth to draw on it and the tip lights up. He watches me, his eyes boring into me with that same look inside them as I saw in the limo. Something unkind.