Chapter 21
CASSIAN
Two letters won’t leave me alone.
F & L
Engraved on the back of a silver locket that fell from Aurelia’s purse four nights ago. I picked it up off my bedroom floor while she was in the bathroom. Saw the initials. Put it in my pocket instead of back in her bag.
She noticed it was missing. Checked her purse twice before leaving, her movements quick and nervous, but she didn’t say anything. Just left.
Now the locket sits in my desk drawer at the office. I take it out every few hours, turn it over in my palm, trace the engraving with my thumb.
F & L
It could mean anything. Family initials.
Friends who mattered once. A keepsake from someone dead.
But Aurelia’s story has too many gaps. Six years missing.
Tight security around her now that she’s home.
The way she deflects every question about where she was, what she did, and why Julian watches her so closely.
The locket is a piece of something bigger.
I call Declan at seven in the morning. “I need you to dig into something.”
“What?” His voice is rough with sleep.
“Aurelia Vance. Where she was for six years.”
Silence stretches between us.
“We’ve been looking for six years, Cass. Found nothing.”
“Do what I ask, Declan.”
I hang up and open the desk drawer again. The locket catches the morning light coming through the windows.
F & L
Two letters that won’t stop nagging at me.
Declan calls back six hours later.
“I found someone,” he says. “Guy named Martin Reese. He handled property management for Victor. Leases, logistics, maintenance. Mid-level enough that he knows things but not high enough to be untouchable under Julian’s new structure.”
“Will he talk?”
“For the right price. He’s nervous about Julian finding out, but he needs money more than he needs loyalty to a dead man.”
“How much?”
“Fifty thousand cash. Plus relocation assistance if things go sideways.”
“Done. Set it up for tonight.”
The meeting happens in a hotel room in Queens. Martin Reese shows up twenty minutes late. He’s in his forties, balding, sweating through his shirt despite the air-conditioning running full blast. He won’t make eye contact when he sits on the edge of the bed.
Declan stands by the door. I take the chair across from Reese.
“You handled properties for Victor Vance,” I say.
He nods.
“I need information about a specific one. Set up about six years ago. Quiet location, off the books, probably under a shell company.”
“Victor had dozens of properties like that—”
“Ireland.”
His face changes. Recognition flashes across his features before he can hide it.
“Ballycotton,” he says quietly. “Eastern edge of the village. Three-bedroom cottage. Victor bought it through a shell company called Emerald Holdings.”
Ballycotton. My childhood village where I visit every few months to see my mother.
I keep my expression neutral. “Who lived there?”
“I don’t know. Victor didn’t share that information with me. Just told me to set it up, make sure it was secure, and arrange for monthly household expenses to be paid from a separate account.”
“What kind of expenses?”
Reese shifts on the bed. “Groceries. Utilities. Staff salaries for a housekeeper and a security guard. Medical care.”
“Medical care for who?”
“I saw the receipts when I processed payments. Pediatric appointments. Children’s clothing in small sizes. Educational supplies. Toys.”
My pulse kicks up, but I keep my face blank. “How many children?”
“Two. Based on the clothing purchases and medical bills. Boys, from what I could tell.”
“Ages?”
“The receipts started a little over five years ago with newborn items. They’d be five now.”
I stand and pull an envelope from my jacket. Fifty thousand in cash. I set it on the bed next to him. “You never talked to me,” I say. “You don’t know my name. If Julian asks, you don’t know anything about this meeting.”
He grabs the envelope and leaves without another word.
When the door closes, Declan turns to me. “Two boys. Five years old. In your village.”
“Get me the actual records. Property lease, financial transactions, medical receipts, everything Reese processed. I want to see the documents myself.”
“You think they’re yours.”
“I don’t think anything yet. Just get me the records.”
But I’m lying. The timeline fits too perfectly to ignore.
She disappeared six years ago. Right after she watched me kill Dmitri Petrov. Right after Vance security grabbed her off the street.
If she was pregnant when they took her, the twins would be five now.
The records arrive the next afternoon. Declan brings them to my office in a thick manila folder. “Everything Reese had access to. Property documents, expense reports going back five years, receipts for major purchases.”
I spread them across my desk.
The property lease is first. Emerald Holdings purchased a three-bedroom cottage in Ballycotton, Ireland. The monthly rent paid through an account registered to a law firm in Dublin that handles Vance family business.
Then the expense reports. I lean back in my chair and stare at the receipts.
Two boys. Raised in Ballycotton from birth. Everything is purchased in pairs. Same sizes, same ages, growing up together.
Twins.
Born five years ago.
Ballycotton. The village where I visit my mother. Where I’ve been going every few months for two decades.
She was there the whole time.
My phone buzzes on the desk. I check and see it’s a text from Aurelia: I think I left something at your place the other night. A necklace. Small silver locket. Have you seen it?
I look at my desk drawer where the locket sits. She’s asking about it. Four days later, she finally asks.
I text back: Haven’t seen anything. Did you check your purse?
Her response comes immediately: Yes. I’ve checked everywhere. I must have dropped it.
Want to come by and look for it?
Would that be okay?
Of course. Tonight around 7?
Perfect. Thank you.
I set the phone down and open the drawer. The locket gleams in the overhead lights.
F & L
She’s coming to look for it. And I’m going to watch her search and lie to her face.
She arrives at seven exactly. I buzz her up and open the door before she can knock. She’s in jeans and a sweater, hair pulled back, no makeup.
“Thank you for letting me come search,” she says, stepping inside. “I know it’s a pain.”
“It’s fine. Where do you think you lost it?”
“I don’t know. Maybe the bedroom? Or the living room when we were talking?”
“Go ahead and look. I’ll check the kitchen in case the housekeeper moved it.”
She heads toward the bedroom while I walk into the kitchen and call out to Maria, who’s putting away groceries. “Maria, did you find any jewelry when you cleaned the other day? A small necklace?”
“No, Mr. Rourke. I didn’t find anything.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes, sir. I would have set it aside for you if I had.”
“Thanks.”
I walk back out to find Aurelia on her hands and knees beside my bed, checking under the nightstand. She’s moved the pillows, looked under the dresser, checked the bathroom counter.
“Anything?” I ask.
She sits back on her heels. “No. Nothing.”
“Maria says she didn’t find anything when she cleaned.”
Her face falls. “Oh.”
“What did the necklace look like?”
“Silver locket. Small. It was my mother’s. I’ve had it since she died.”
The lie sounds so true, I almost believe her.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “Maybe you lost it somewhere else?”
“Maybe.” She stands and brushes off her jeans. “I was so sure I had it when I came here.”
“Check the car. Sometimes things fall out of purses in the car.”
“Yeah. I’ll do that.” She moves toward the door, and I follow. “Thank you for letting me look.”
“Of course. Let me know if you find it.”
“I will.”
She leaves, and I close the door behind her. Then I walk back to my office and open the desk drawer. The locket sits exactly where I left it.
She came here looking for it. Searched my apartment. Lied about it being her mother’s. And she has no idea I have it.
Whatever those initials mean, she doesn’t want me to know.
I text Declan: I need surveillance on the Vance estate. Public places where the family might go. Parks, playgrounds, restaurants. Anywhere children might be.
His response comes thirty seconds later: You want photos.
Yes.
That’s going to be difficult. Julian has tight security.
Find public spaces. School pickup, parks, anywhere kids that age go. Just get me the photos.
Understood.
Six days later, Declan brings photos in a folder marked with yesterday’s date. “Central Park. East side near the playground. Our guy got these from a distance with a telephoto lens. It’s the best he could do without getting spotted by Vance security.”
I open the folder. The first photo shows Aurelia sitting on a park bench. Two boys play on the grass in front of her. They’re small, dressed in matching jackets, both with dark hair that curls at the ends.
The second photo is closer. One of the boys is laughing, head thrown back, mouth open wide. I can see his face clearly. Green eyes. Sharp jawline. The exact slope of his nose.
I know that face. I see it in the mirror every morning.
The third photo shows both boys together. Perfect mirrors of each other.
Twins. Dark hair. Green eyes. Features that are unmistakably mine.
I set the photos down and press my palms flat against the desk.
Then I remember.
A year ago. Ireland. Ballycotton. I was visiting my mother and went for a walk through the village. Two small boys were playing near the harbor. Four years old. Dark hair, bright eyes, laughing as they kicked a ball back and forth.
I stopped their ball when it rolled toward me. Talked to them for a few minutes. They told me their names.
Finn and Liam.
F & L.
The locket.
I pick up the photos again and study every detail.
These are my sons.