Chapter 8 #2
"These texts," Ryder interrupted, looking up from the phone with a gleam in his eyes. "These aren't from Cade."
"What?" Bruce turned to him sharply.
"I mean, of course, they aren’t, but the phrasing, the way they're structured, it's not how she writes," Ryder explained, handing the phone back to Bruce.
"She never uses phrases like 'super busy' or 'catch you later.
' And look at the timestamps from a few weeks ago, they're all sent between 2 and 4 PM.
Cade would have had classes during those hours on Tuesdays and Thursdays.
" I exchanged glances with Cole. Even in the depths of his obsessive grief, Ryder knew Cade's schedule by heart, knew the rhythm of her speech well enough to spot a fake. It was both touching and disturbing.
Bruce examined the phone with renewed intensity, his jaw tightening as the implications sank in.
"Someone's been sending these to keep me in the dark," he said, his voice deadly calm. "Someone who knows enough about her to be convincing, but not enough to get the details right."
“It’s more than that,” Ryder carried on, pointing to something on the screen.
“These messages go back way before she was taken, right back to almost the beginning of the year.” He looked up at me, his eyes shining, “Whoever has been doing this has been doing it for months, planning it. I can’t say for sure, but it could be the same person who was sending Cade the notes, the one responsible for the Halloween incident. ”
“Notes? Halloween incident?” Bruce snapped, “What the fuck is going on in this place?
I want every scrap of information you have on my granddaughter's disappearance," he told us, his voice flat.
“Every lead, every theory, every dead end. And I want to know exactly what happened with her mother at that dinner.”
"Mr Turner," Williams ventured, mopping his brow with a handkerchief. "Perhaps we should-"
"You don't get to speak," Bruce cut him off without looking at him. "You lost that right when you allowed my granddaughter to be whipped and branded based on falsified evidence." Williams seemed to physically shrink in his chair. I almost felt sorry for him. Almost.
"We have theories," Cole said, breaking his silence. "About who might have taken her." Bruce turned to him, eyes sharp.
"Go on."
"The threatening notes she received before her disappearance," Cole explained. "We initially thought they might be from one of the other girls, Julia Latters or someone working with her, but the timing never quite made sense, and Julia was more brazen about her dislike of Cade."
“Plus Julia has been with her family in the south of France all Christmas break,” I said. “We had visual confirmation of it.”
"We should focus on what we know," Killingham interjected, his voice steady despite the tension crackling through the room.
"The van that took her was professional, untraceable.
The photo sent afterward was designed to taunt, but revealed nothing about her location.
These aren't the actions of an amateur or someone acting on impulse. "
"Show me the photo," Bruce demanded. I hesitated, not wanting to inflict that image on anyone else, let alone Cade's grandfather. But Cole was already pulling out his phone, bringing up the horrific image that I didn’t need to see.
It was burned into my memory: Cade bound in the van, blindfolded, her face bloody and bruised, that awful sign around her neck.
Bruce took the phone, his face a mask of control as he studied the image.
But I saw the slight tremor in his hand, the whitening of his knuckles.
This wasn't just The Gavel looking at a victim; this was a grandfather seeing his beloved granddaughter in pain.
When he handed the phone back, his eyes were glacial.
"I'm going to find her," he said, with the quiet certainty of a man stating a natural law.
"And then I'm going to find who did this.
" He swept his gaze across the room, lingering on each of us in turn.
"Anyone who had a hand in hurting her, directly or indirectly, is going to answer to me.
" The threat hung in the air, encompassing all of us. Even Blake had the sense to look sober.
"What can we do?" I asked, meeting Bruce's eyes directly.
"We've been searching for five weeks. My father's resources, the Trivium's connections, nothing has turned up a trace of her.
" Bruce studied me for a moment. “Your father?” he asked with a lilt of surprise in his tone. "Nicholas Bale. He’s involved?"
"He's been helping with the search," I confirmed. "He has contacts in places the rest of us can't reach."
“Why would that bastard care about my granddaughter?” I shook my head.
“The night she was taken, it was just after dinner with my father,” I let out a short laugh, although there was no humour in sight. “She impressed him.”
“Of course she did,” Bruce said, “My granddaughter is the best of the best.” I nodded my agreement.
“As soon as he knew, my father had the full force of the Bale family in search of Cadence.”
"And yet, no results," Bruce observed dryly.
"I can imagine it wouldn’t look good for him, his son losing a Consort." The words hit like a physical blow. Five weeks ago, I might have hesitated, might have had to examine my own motives. But now?
"It’s not like that. I love her," I said simply, the words feeling strange and raw on my tongue.
"I didn't realise how much until she was gone.
I've made mistakes, unforgivable ones. But I want her back safe because the world is emptier without her in it, not because of what it means for me or my family name.
" Something shifted in Bruce's expression, not softening, exactly, but a reassessment.
"Good," he said, though whether he believed me or not was impossible to tell.
"Because I'm going to need all of you if we're going to find her.
Every connection, every resource, every scrap of information.
" He turned to Blake. "Even you, Dominic.
I know you keep tabs on the depraved side of the elite world.
" Blake inclined his head in acknowledgment.
"I'll see what I can discover. For a price, of course." Bruce's smile was all teeth.
"The price is that I don't remove your spine through your throat, old friend." To my surprise, Blake actually laughed. "Fair enough."
“There is one more person I am bringing in,” Bruce said as he reached for his phone again, punching in a number with deliberate precision.
"It's me," he said into the receiver, his voice transformed, colder, more brutal, the voice of a man who had made hardened criminals tremble. "Remember that favour you owe me? I'm calling it in now." I heard a voice on the other end, but couldn’t make out the words. “I don’t give a shit, Lynch. It’s Cade, she’s in trouble.” He listened for a moment, then ended the call without another word.
Bruce turned back to us, his expression grim.
"I want a full account of everything that's happened since Cade became your Consort.
Every detail, no matter how small or seemingly insignificant.
Starting with exactly what went down at that Alumni Dinner with her mother.
" I exchanged glances with Cole and Ryder.
The full story would implicate us in countless ways, expose our cruelty and failures.
But if it helped find Cade, nothing else mattered.
"It's a long story," Cole warned.
"Then you'd better start talking," Bruce said, lowering himself into a chair for the first time since entering the room. "Because until I have my granddaughter back, none of you are going anywhere."