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)
It feels like an eternity has passed since then.
I think about that night as I park and lock the car to head inside. Who am I now compared to who I was then? Am I a very different woman? I know the truth about the men in my life now, but am I different? Am I stronger?
I know the answer. It’s a disappointing one.
My phone rings and I look at the display, not surprised to see it’s Silas. I’m sure Hamish called him as soon as he realized I wasn’t in the house. I decline the call and pull the glass door open and can’t stop myself from glancing in the direction of the table where Silas had sat with his date, surrounded by those couples. Where he’d seen me enter the brasserie long before I’d seen him.
What happened tonight, him telling me he loved me, the way he told it, I believe him. I do. It was strange how it came up, though, how he told me. And it’s doubly strange that we had that conversation after he visited my grandfather behind my back. Those papers I found in the fire, he was burning those so I wouldn’t see them. Why?
A ding alerts me to a voicemail as the phone rings again. Once more, I decline the call.
“Ophelia,” someone calls out, and I look across the bar to a high table in one corner. Mr. Higgins is waving me over.
I force a smile, cross the noisy bar toward him.
“Hi,” I say, taking off my coat and sliding into the empty seat. I set the phone on the table.
“You okay?” he asks, and I wonder what I look like. I don’t have any makeup on and a hand to my braided hair tells me it’s still damp. I look down at what I’m wearing. A pair of sweats, a hoodie and boots that could pass as slippers. I must look like I’m in my pajamas, especially in this crowd.
“I was in a rush.” My phone vibrates with a message this time. I pick it up, the notification letting me know it’s Silas—which I already knew.
Silas: Where are you? Pick up.
I put it face down without answering. “What’s going on?”
He purses his lips, calls the waiter over. “What would you like?” he asks me.
“Club soda. Just a club soda, please,” I say.
“I’ll have the same.”
The waiter almost rolls his eyes, knowing he’s not going to be making money off us, but I don’t care. I turn my attention back to Higgins who looks at the phone when it once again begins to ring. Irritated, I pick it up and open the last text to type my reply.
Me: You don’t tell me where you are so why should I tell you where I am?
I attach a photo of him entering The Sinistral then switch the phone off and tuck it into my pocket.
“There’s new evidence that’s been introduced, Ophelia. Your father withdrew his confession.”
“What evidence?”
“A phone call. A recording of Sullivan Fox blackmailing your father into taking the fall.”
I just stare, struck mute.
“I’ve heard it myself. Fox threatens to expose…” he trails off, clears his throat. “What he knows about you.”
“About me?”
“I assume it’s the Carlisle-Bent connection.”
How long has Sullivan Fox known? I remember the deal I thought I was savvy enough to negotiate when the Foxes ambushed me into setting a date for the wedding. How I’d thought he was laughing at me. He’d known who I was then. He’d known about my grandfather’s money.
I shake my head, not wanting to think about that because it doesn’t matter. Not anymore.
“My father didn’t do it? He didn’t embezzle the money?”
“No. But we could never prove it. It looked bad for him but even so, you know I was surprised when he did an about face and took full responsibility. It was an abrupt move. Now, with the timing of the call, it makes perfect sense.”
I sit back in my chair. “He went to prison, he lost everything, including his reputation, so I wouldn’t find out who my family was?”
“I wonder if he thought you’d believe the stories that he kidnapped your mother. I’m not sure, honestly, Ophelia but I know he did what he did to protect you.”
“I need to see him.”
Mr. Higgins nods. “Tomorrow. I’ll make arrangements.”
“What happens to Sullivan Fox now?”
“Police will arrest him, I suppose. Or at least bring him in for questioning.”
“This is a lot.”
“I know it is.” His phone buzzes and I see it’s his wife asking where he is. “I need—”
“You should go home. Thanks, Mr. Higgins.”
“Of course, Ophelia. If you need anything.”
“I’ll call.”
He puts a few bills on the table to cover our drinks and leaves. When the waiter passes, I raise my hand to stop him, intending to order something stronger when the man standing behind him catches my eye. I gasp, and he smiles, slithers over to take the seat Mr. Higgins just vacated.