Chapter 16 Silas
SILAS
You’re no imposter. Fox confirmed that, but I’m guessing he’s regretting that now that you married the wrong son.
“What are you thinking about?” Ophelia asks as we drive back to Nigella’s house.
I shake my head. “Just processing. He’s not what I expected.”
“Me either. I like him, actually.”
My phone rings and I glance at the display before hitting answer. “Morning, Nigella.”
“Morning. Is Ophelia with you?”
“Right here,” Ophelia says.
“Good. Just got off the phone from one of Carlisle-Bent’s lawyers. I’m guessing you’ve been to see him?”
“We have. He works fast,” I say.
“He’s sent some preliminary paperwork. Where are you?”
“We’re heading to the house now.”
“Can you come to the office instead?”
I glance at Ophelia, who nods. “Sure, shouldn’t be a problem.”
“Great. See you in a little bit.”
“What did you think of Chandler?” Ophelia asks once we disconnect the call.
“He’s a piece of shit and he’ll be up to something. If he’s cut out completely, at least.”
Ophelia opens the music box on her lap and touches the small dancer inside. “My grandfather is not going to last long, is he?”
“I don’t think so, sweetheart. I’m sorry.”
“Maybe I can come back tomorrow and spend a little time with him.”
I nod, my mind split as we descend into silence until we reach Nigella’s office.
It isn’t her office exactly. She uses one of the conference rooms of another law group she’s partnered with when she’s in Boston.
The offices are housed in a building downtown.
Once I park, I text Hamish the address and ask him to meet us here.
The receptionist is expecting us and shows us to Nigella’s makeshift office.
Her laptop is open on one end of the long table and she’s looking over a sheet of paper she places on one of the many stacks before her.
Her assistant is standing at the copy machine that looks like it’s been rolled in just for them. He’s printing and collating copies.
“Thanks for meeting me here. It’s easier. Coffee?”
“I’d love some,” Ophelia says, and Nigella gestures to her assistant who hurries off to make one. “I’m not used to whiskey so early in the day.”
“Meeting was that good?” Nigella asks, eyebrows high.
“It was different than expected,” I say. “In a good way.” I wrap my hand around the back of Ophelia’s neck and squeeze. “Right?”
She smiles and nods.
When Nigella’s assistant returns, he hands Ophelia the coffee and Nigella begins to explain what the lawyers sent.
“Do you need me for this part?” I ask, interrupting. Both women look up at me.
I keep my eyes on Nigella who tilts her head but answers. “No, not really. This is mostly for Ophelia to look over.”
“Why?” Ophelia asks.
“I need to get some work done,” I say.
“I can drop Ophelia off at the house when we’re done,” Nigella says.
“I’ve already called Hamish. He’s on his way. He’ll take her back to the house if you wrap up before I’m back.” I turn to Ophelia. “Do you mind?”
“No, that’s fine,” she says but I can see she’s surprised.
“Good. Call if you need me,” I say before she can ask any questions and walk out.
I climb into my SUV and drive out of the lot, turning in the direction of the prison because I need to talk to Horatio again.
Since I’ll likely get there after visiting hours, I dial Higgins’s number, which I’ve saved on my cell phone, and ask him to meet me.
As Hart’s lawyer, he’ll be able to see his client anytime.
The prison is a forty-five-minute drive out of town, and I arrive at the same time as Higgins.
We enter together. He must have called to let them know he was coming because they’re expecting us.
Well, they’re expecting him, but it’s not an issue to let me enter with Higgins and I wonder if that’s the guards turning a blind eye or if it has to do with the stabbing, but I don’t dwell.
We walk past the large visiting area which is empty now since we are here after normal hours and are shown into a smaller, private room.
The guard walks Horatio in and Horatio thanks him. I notice he’s had his hair cut and is clean shaven. If you didn’t know he’d been stabbed, you wouldn’t say he’s the same man who was lying in that hospital bed just days ago.
“John.” Horatio and Higgins shake hands before Horatio turns to me. “Silas. I had a feeling you’d be back soon.”
“How are you holding up?” Higgins asks.
“Well, I guess you could say my accommodations have been upgraded.”
I raise my eyebrows.
“Solitary. They’re worried about another attack, so they’ve moved me to a different part of the prison. At least it offers more privacy. Prison doesn’t want a lawsuit on their hands.”
“I guess that’s the cup half full outlook,” I say, distracted, because I need my questions answered.
We all sit down. “Have you told him?” Horatio asks Higgins.
Higgins shakes his head.
“Told me what?”
“I’m retracting my confession and bringing forth new evidence.”
“Excuse me?” I look from Horatio to Higgins and back.
“Fox and I had a deal. He’s gone back on that.”
“Unfortunately, when a prisoner confesses after admitting to having lied at least once, the courts aren’t exactly eager to take him at his word again,” Higgins says.
“Well, it’s a start,” Horatio says. “And the evidence I have doesn’t rely on my word. They hear it directly from the horse’s mouth.”
“What evidence are you talking about?”
“Later. That’s not why you’re here. How is my daughter?”
I raise an eyebrow.
“She is that, Silas. No matter if we share blood or not. How is she?”
“She met her grandfather today.”
His eyes narrow and he clenches his jaw.
“To be honest, he doesn’t seem so bad.”
“No?” he sits up, leaning toward me. “Then you’re not paying attention.”
“Listen, Horatio,” I start, sitting closer, clasping my hands together and setting them on the table.
“I’m going to need to know exactly what is going on and who knows what.
I can’t juggle all the players if I don’t know the truth.
The whole truth. You know I have Ophelia’s best interests at heart.
So talk. Because right now, she’s at my lawyer’s office looking over paperwork sent by Carlisle-Bent’s attorneys that will, from what I understand, make her the sole inheritor of the Carlisle-Bent fortune.
And from what I can see, Chandler isn’t too happy about that. ”
“I told you to keep her away from them.”
“And she wanted to meet her grandfather. My loyalty is to her, not you.” His eyes narrow but I continue. “I’m back to the envelope Sly had me deliver some years back. The one you saw the other night.”
Horatio nods, his expression darkening at the mention of the envelope.
“What was in it, exactly? Then, I mean. How much does he know?”
He glances at Higgins, sits back in his chair, and shifts his gaze to me.
“He knows she’s a Carlisle-Bent. He thought he knew that I kidnapped her mother. Those newspaper clippings were what was inside that envelope along with copies of our driver’s licenses, both mine and Claire’s.”
“Does he know you’re not her biological father?
” I ask outright. “Because the old man confirmed that Fox made sure she was a Carlisle-Bent. I assume he did that with a DNA test, DNA he’d have obtained easily enough when she was with Ethan.
But that makes her Claire’s daughter and he’d have no reason to believe you’re not her father.
At least I don’t think so. Am I correct? ”
“You are.”
“The bloodwork that was included in the paperwork I found in the box hidden in your office, he’s never seen that?”
“He’s never seen it, no.”
“So Sly doesn’t know that you’re not her biological father?”
“I don’t think so.”
“You don’t think so? But you don’t know for sure?”
“It’s not exactly a question you can ask without raising suspicion, is it? No. I don’t know for sure. But if he did know, he’d have used the information against me by now.”
I inhale, exhale. I’m not sure that’s good enough. “Why would you keep it, Horatio? Why keep the evidence?”
After a long moment, he sighs, and it’s as though he’s come to terms with something. “Because it was in Phee’s biological father’s best interest to keep our whereabouts a secret.”
This is a turn I don’t expect. “So, you were using that information to blackmail Ophelia’s biological father?”
He nods gravely.
I look at Higgins then Horatio. “What the fuck am I missing?”
“Higgins. Can you step out for a minute?”
Higgins nods, gets up and leaves the room, closing the door behind him.
Horatio studies me and I imagine he’s weighing his options, deciding what he can and cannot—what he should and should not—tell me.
“You need to come clean. Completely clean.”
He gets up, walks a few steps away, keeping his back to me. “The suicide note. Do you remember what it said?”
I remain seated, watching his back. I can still see the handwritten note, the blotched ink where I imagine tears spilled, his and hers.
I’m sorry. I can’t look at her. I can’t stand it. I’m sorry.
Claire
“I remember.”
“She couldn’t stand it because when she looked at Phee,” he starts, turning to face me, any anger or abruptness gone from his voice. “She didn’t see herself. I did. I only saw Claire in Phee.”
I wait as he pushes a hand into his hair and shakes his head.
“Who is he? Who did she see?” I ask and a sense of dread fills me. Because I think I might be able to guess. I think only one thing makes sense.
Horatio sits down, shoulders slumped. “You can’t tell her, Silas. Phee can never find out. Can you promise me that?”
“I can’t promise anything until I know.”
“Silas—”
“Fucking tell me!”
He leans back in his chair again, resigned now.
“This… this is the reason for all of it. When I found out Claire was pregnant, I assumed the baby was mine. Of course, I did. We’d been careful.
So careful. But accidents happen and I just assumed…
” He shakes his head. “When Ophelia was born, well, all you could see in her was her mother. I didn’t know… ”
“A lot of babies don’t look like their parents,” I hear myself say, wanting to believe it because what is coming, what I am waiting to hear? I don’t want to hear it. I want to be wrong.
“Do you see anything of me in her now?” he asks although he’s not really expecting an answer. “I should have known, I guess. Suspected. If she’d told me, maybe… It doesn’t matter now, though. Gordon found out. He must have. It explained things. Claire was always his favorite. His golden child."
“Who is he?” I ask tightly because now he’s going off on a tangent. “Who is Ophelia’s biological father?”
When I meet his eyes, I see a man who is out of options, who thought he could take a secret to his grave and protect the daughter he loves. But secrets don’t work that way. Especially dark ones.
Horatio shakes his head. “I wonder sometimes if it wasn’t Gordon who created the monster. His affections were very clear.”
“Horatio.”
He faces me dead on, eyes shadowed.
“Say it. Who is her biological father?”
“Silas—”
“Fucking say it.”
“Chandler,” he says flatly.
To think it is one thing. To guess it. To hear it, though, and to know it as fact, it’s another thing altogether.
“Chandler Carlisle-Bent hated his half-sister. He despised her, Silas. He raped her over months and months, and I never even saw it. Never saw what was right in front of my eyes.”
Christ. Fuck. I push my hands into my hair. My chair scrapes loudly against the floor as I stand. “It can’t—”
“Chandler Carlisle-Bent isn’t Ophelia’s uncle. He’s her father.”