Chapter 2
Chapter Two
Henry
Christmas music filled the air as I stood in the shadows of my best friend’s kitchen, surveying him with the curiosity of a wildlife photographer who’d just uncovered a new species.
This man standing in front of me, stirring risotto like someone who spent his days watching cooking shows, was a ghost of who he used to be. A man remade. Settled. Whole.
He was happy .
What was that like?
I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt anything resembling peace or happiness. Most days, I didn’t feel much of anything. Just the burn of anger in my chest and the chill of grief that never fully thawed.
“You keep looking at me like I’ve grown a second head,” Gideon remarked, glancing over his shoulder.
I dragged my eyes to his, forcing a smile I didn’t feel. “I just didn’t think I’d ever see this.”
“See what?”
“That you’d be so…domesticated.”
He beamed, stealing a quick glance at his wife as she lounged in the living room before returning his gaze to me. “I couldn’t imagine my life any other way.”
It was a surprising thought, all things considered.
A few years ago, Gideon had been fueled by nothing but rage. Betrayal. Revenge. For a long time, it looked like the fire inside would burn him to ash.
But then Imogene happened. She helped him find his way out of hell. Now they were married. Expecting their first child. Building a future instead of being haunted by his past.
I wished I could take a page out of his book.
But I couldn’t.
Not until I made things right.
Not until justice was served.
“Don’t look so shocked,” he added with a sly smile that reminded me of the carefree days of our twenties. Of the men we used to be.
Or, at least, the man he used to be.
I was never that carefree. Not with my past constantly hanging over me like an ominous cloud.
“I’m not shocked,” I replied. “Just observing the species in its natural habitat.”
Gideon laughed, the sound carrying through the high ceilings of his home.
And that was exactly what this place was.
A home.
The walls were no longer adorned with pieces of art chosen by an interior designer. Instead, every inch of his house was filled with memories of the people who lived in it.
It was a stark contrast from my house, which felt more like a mausoleum with a security system. I hadn’t felt like I had a home since my father returned from deployment and brought the war with him. A war I still fought over thirty years later.
“What’s up with you?” Gideon asked after a beat.
“What do you mean?”
He shrugged, fully facing me. “You’ve been…off.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re full of shit.”
Gideon and I had known each other since we were teens. Survived the same hellish foster home where we learned we could only count on each other. He knew me better than anyone. And he could tell I wasn’t here for New Year’s small talk and toasts.
“I was right,” I said quietly.
“About?” He arched a single brow.
“Sarah. She didn’t commit suicide.”
I lifted my glass and let the scotch burn a path to the pit of my stomach, hoping it would cauterize the wound I’d been carrying for months. A wound I couldn’t see but felt every time I breathed.
Gideon turned to face me fully now, his expression sharpening. “How do you know?”
“I reached out to her brother.”
His spine straightened, and he narrowed his gaze at me. Gideon was also one of the few people in my life who knew about Sarah. He’d been there for me every step of the way.
When I learned my high school girlfriend was pregnant.
When she made the decision to give the baby up for adoption.
Then when I came home from the hospital after we let her go.
Regardless, I never stopped keeping an eye on her… At least not since I hacked into the adoption records to make sure she had the life we envisioned for her.
And she did.
She had everything we never could have given her. Comfort. Love. Happiness.
So when I learned she’d supposedly committed suicide while staying in some luxurious hotel suite in Santa Monica, it didn’t sit right with me.
I may not have known her well — or at all, really — but I knew she didn’t commit suicide.
Call it instinct. Call it intuition. It didn’t matter how I knew. I just did.
But after months of being unable to confirm my instincts any other way, I knew I had to do the one thing I swore I wouldn’t.
I got in touch with Sarah’s adoptive brother, Lucian.
“What did he have to say?”
“He mentioned she’d met someone during her travels.
He didn’t know much, just that he was older and that his name was Victor.
Apparently, he told all of this to the cops, but they didn’t pursue it because they’d already ruled it a suicide.
But considering her body was found in a suite of one of Victor Kane’s hotels… ”
“You think it was him,” Gideon finished.
“I know it was him.” I clenched my jaw, willing the fury back under the surface. “She was found in one of his hotels. Alone. Autopsy said suicide. Sleeping pills. No signs of struggle. No forced entry. But nothing about it adds up.”
“You think he killed her to cover up the affair?”
“He’s got a curated reputation that’s polished to a goddamn shine. A scandal like this would ruin him.”
Gideon’s brow furrowed. “Are you sure you’re not letting your emotions cloud your judgment here? So what if her body was found in a hotel that Victor Kane owns? It’s not exactly a smoking gun.”
“I know it’s not. Which is why I did more digging.”
I looked toward the living room where Imogene and her best friend, Melanie, currently sat huddled together on the couch, probably picking out baby names.
“I traced a donation,” I began, stepping closer to Gideon and dropping my voice. “One of Kane’s subsidiaries sent a payment to a nonprofit connected to Robert Alba.”
“Robert Alba?”
“The District Attorney in Miami. It’s a payoff.
The timing lines up too perfectly. Just days after, the medical examiner released his autopsy report, stating no evidence of foul play was found, ruling Sarah’s death a suicide.
I can feel it in my bones. That asshole paid off the DA to cover up a scandal.
But she wasn’t a scandal. She was my goddamn daughter. ”
My voice cracked on the word. I tried to swallow it back down, but it stuck in my throat like broken glass. I may not have had a hand in raising her, but she was a part of me. The best part, if I was being honest.
Gideon didn’t say anything at first. Just stood there, processing everything I just shared as if he might be able to offer another version of what happened. A better ending.
But there wasn’t one.
Sarah was gone.
Nothing either of us did or said would bring her back.
“What are you going to do?” Gideon asked eventually.
“What I have to.”
He nodded in understanding, not needing me to spell out exactly what I planned to do to make Victor pay.
“I get it. I know what it’s like to live and breathe revenge. I spent over five years consumed by the idea. Almost let it cost me everything.”
He glanced toward Imogene as she threw her head back and laughed at something Melanie said. She was physically glowing, happiness radiating from her. Gideon, too.
“She brought me back from the darkness,” he said. “But you…” He leaned closer. “You look like you’re already there.”
“I’ve been there my entire life.” I met his gaze, letting him see the determined set of my jaw. “I need to do this. For Sarah. Need to get her the justice she deserves. And she won’t get it through normal means. Victor is too connected for that.”
Gideon nodded slowly. “If you’re certain this is the path you want to go down.”
“It’s my only option.”
He pushed out a long sigh. “Then I’ll help.”
I shook my head immediately. “No. Absolutely not.”
“Need I remind you of everything you did to help me?”
“You have a wife now. A baby on the way. They’re your life now. Not me.”
I drained the rest of my scotch, though it tasted like ash now. Like guilt. Like regret.
I thought I was doing the right thing.
After all, Sarah had a good life. She was adopted by incredible parents who gave her everything Amber and I never could, considering we were only sixteen at the time.
But now, because of Victor Kane, I’d never get a chance to know my daughter.
He’d taken away the one person who meant everything to me, even if she didn’t know it.
And I was going to make him learn exactly how that felt.