Chapter 19
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Lucas
The penthouse smelled the same—subtle hints of cedarwood and the faintest trace of the expensive cologne I used to keep in my bathroom. The floor-to-ceiling windows framed the Atlantic, sunlight glinting off the waves as if nothing in my life had changed.
But everything had.
I set the last box down, rolling my shoulders as I took in the space. The oriental rugs, the sleek furnishings, the ocean view—it all looked the same as it had a few days before. But for the first time, it felt like mine. Not something given to me, not something I owed my father for, but something I’d fought to reclaim.
A fresh start. A second chance.
I glanced at my Rolex—forty-five minutes until I had to pick up Ella and head to the bail bondsman’s office. Just enough time to settle in.
Crossing to the bar, I poured a splash of whiskey into a glass, letting the liquid catch the light before taking a slow sip. I should’ve been relieved. I was back in my home. My trust was still intact. My father’s empire was crumbling instead of mine.
But the weight on my chest refused to lift. He was still my father. And I was still cleaning up his mess. I set the glass down with a sharp clink and pulled out my phone to text Ella.
Lucas: Leaving now. See you in 15.
Her reply came almost instantly.
Ella: I’ll be outside waiting for you.
I grinned, shaking my head as I grabbed my keys and headed downstairs.
Ella stood outside the museum, arms crossed, with a pensive expression on her face until she spotted me. Then, that soft smile broke through, the one that made my pulse slow just a little.
I pulled up beside her, leaning over to push the door open. “Your chariot awaits.”
She laughed, the sound light but thoughtful. “So… how does it feel? Being back in your place?”
I glanced at her, then back at the road. “Weird. Like I walked into a life that doesn’t belong to me anymore.”
Ella tilted her head. “But it does.”
I exhaled. “I don’t know. Maybe.”
She studied me, then changed the subject. “Are you sure you want to do this?”
I knew what she meant—bailing out my father. “I have to,” I said simply. “He’s still my dad.”
Ella nodded, resting her elbow against the window. “I get it. And, for what it’s worth, I think you’re doing the right thing.”
“That makes one of us.”
She turned to me fully. “Lucas, I know you don’t owe him anything, but if he listens to you, if there’s even a chance that he might come clean… maybe encouraging him to return the art is just the push he needs to finally put an end to your family’s struggles.”
I sighed, gripping the wheel tighter. “You really think he’ll listen?”
“You know him better than I do.”
I scoffed. “That’s debatable.”
We pulled into a parking space outside the bondsman’s office, across the street from the Miami-Dade Courthouse. I shut off the engine and turned to her.
“Listen, I don’t expect a grand redemption arc for my father. But the good book says to honor your parents, and even if he doesn’t deserve it, I have to try.”
Ella smiled softly, resting her hand on mine for a second before opening her door. “Then let’s get this over with.”
As we stepped out, I shook off the uneasy feeling settling in my chest. In twenty minutes, my father would be free.
At that moment, I had no idea how wrong I was.
The bail bondsman’s office was small and dimly lit, the kind of place that smelled like stale coffee and old paperwork. A bulky desk took up most of the space, and behind it sat Frank D’Angelo, the guy I’d spoken to on the phone earlier. He was a thick-necked man with sharp eyes and a permanent scowl, but his job wasn’t to smile—it was to get people out of jail.
He looked up as we stepped inside, his mouth already opening to greet us. But something in his expression changed. The tension in the air was immediate, thick enough to make my stomach twist.
D’Angelo cleared his throat and stood, hands planted on the desk. “There’s been a change.”
I frowned. “What do you mean?”
Ella stiffened beside me, but I barely noticed—every nerve in my body was suddenly on high alert.
D’Angelo picked up a stack of papers and flipped through them as if double-checking before saying the words. “I just got an update from the courthouse. As of ten minutes ago, Alistair Devereux has been denied bail.”
The words slammed into me like a punch.
“What?” I barked. “Why?”
D’Angelo hesitated, glancing at Ella before answering. “Because the case just got bigger. New evidence was presented, and the judge determined that if your father is released, he’s a flight risk.”
I felt my pulse hammer in my skull. “What evidence?”
D’Angelo’s mouth tightened. “They haven’t released that yet. But whatever it is, it’s serious. He’s not getting out anytime soon.”
For a second, I just stood there, trying to process.
No bail.
My father wasn’t just being investigated anymore—he was being buried. I reached for my phone, already dialing Frank Curtain’s office, but before the call could connect?—
The front door burst open.
FBI agents. Three of them, moving with sharp precision, their badges flashing like blades in the dim light.
“Lucas Devereux?” the lead agent called, stepping forward. His suit was crisp, his stance rigid. No hesitation. No confusion.
Ella gasped beside me, clutching my arm.
I barely had time to react before the agent continued, his voice cutting through the stunned silence: “You are under arrest for aiding and abetting in an art theft ring.”
The room tilted. The air vanished. For a split second, nothing made sense.
I barely felt the agent gripping my arm, spinning me around as he pulled a pair of handcuffs from his belt.
“This is a mistake,” I growled, my breath coming faster now. “I haven’t?—”
“You have the right to remain silent,” the agent said smoothly, locking one cuff around my wrist before snapping the other into place. “Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law.”
“Lucas!” Ella’s voice cut through the chaos, sharp with panic. I turned my head just in time to see her reaching for me, her face pale, her eyes wide and pleading.
Before I could respond, I felt a shove between my shoulders. “Let’s go.”
I dug my heels in. “Wait. At least let me?—”
“Move.”
Agent Dimmel pushed me forward, and I had no choice but to go.
My mind raced. What the hell was happening? This was about my father. Not me. But as I was dragged toward the door, another realization struck me. Someone had set this in motion. Someone had given them exactly what they needed to come for me.
Was it my father?
Had he cut a deal—traded me in for his own skin?
I gritted my teeth, fury rising like a storm. I had barely taken three steps when Ella’s voice rang out again, desperate and fierce. “I love you!”
I turned my head as far as I could, searching for her. She stood frozen near the desk, her hands curled into fists, her entire body trembling. “I love you, too, Ella!”
I’ll fix this,” she vowed. “I swear I will.”
The agent searched my pockets and handed my car keys to Ella before pulling me forward. I stumbled, but not from the force of his grip. It was her words and the raw certainty in them.
Ella wasn’t walking away from this.
From me.
And as they shoved me into the waiting black SUV, that was the only thing keeping me from breaking apart.
The inside of the SUV was silent except for the engine’s hum and the distant chatter from the police radio. The air was cold and clinical, as if designed to strip away any sense of control.
My hands, cuffed behind my back, dug into the leather seat as I shifted, trying to get comfortable—not that it mattered. The agents in the front didn’t acknowledge me; their focus was on the road ahead, the steady rhythm of the flashing lights reflecting off the windows.
I let my head fall back against the seat, staring up at the ceiling as the reality of what had just happened settled in. It wasn’t that Ella hadn’t warned me.
Agent Dimmel finally turned, and with a stern expression, he sneered, “You’ve got quite a name, Mr. Devereux.”
I forced a smirk. “Thanks. I’ll be sure to put that on my resume.”
He didn’t react. “Do you know why you’re here?”
“Oh, I have an idea.” I kept my voice even. “But why don’t you go ahead and enlighten me?”
He tilted his head slightly, studying me. “Your father’s in deep, Lucas. You might want to think about how much you were involved with your father’s art deals.”
I let out a sharp laugh. “That’s cute. You think I had anything to do with this?”
The agent didn’t blink. “We know about the vault.”
My stomach dropped. I froze, my smirk fading. The hidden vault in the gallery wasn’t even in the public records—it was a family secret, a shadow inside a shadow.
And if they knew about it… That meant someone had talked.
I swallowed hard, my mind racing. Had Gabrielle said something? No, she was loyal and wouldn’t have had access to that information.
So who? Then I remembered Svetlana’s calm demeanor when I loaded The White Angel into that nondescript van. Now, it all began to make sense.
Another agent leaned forward slightly, sensing my hesitation. “You’re looking at twenty years minimum if we tie you to what’s inside that vault. More, depending on how deep this goes.”
I turned my head toward the window, trying to hide the flash of panic that surged through me. They had me cornered.
Agent Andrews sat back. “You want to help yourself? You tell us everything you know.”
I breathed in slowly, forcing my voice to remain steady. “You’re wasting your time. I don’t know anything.”
Andrews exhaled through his nose, clearly expecting that answer. “Suit yourself,” he said. “But if I were you, I’d start thinking long and hard about where I want to land when this is over.”
The SUV slowed and turned into the secured entrance of the federal detention center. My heart pounded as I took in the high walls, rows of cameras, and iron gates locking into place behind us.
I was in it now.
And for the first time in my life, I wasn’t sure if I could talk my way out of it.