Chapter 26
Keith
Father's voice had called after me, "Keith, come back here!
" but I'd ignored it, my boots pounding the polished stone as I strode down the long hallway, my mind a whirlwind of Ray’s terrified eyes peeking through the door crack.
Father, emerging just in time to interrupt, his presence a calculated barrier.
Coincidence? Hardly. In this house, nothing was accidental, everything was a move in an endless game of power and deception.
Frustration boiled over, my fist slamming the wall with a thud that rattled the frame.
"Damn it." He was hiding, or gone, scared off by Father's arrival.
I needed his contact, now. Storming back upstairs, I found Elias in the foyer, polishing a silver vase, his elderly face impassive but his eyes watchful.
"Elias," I said, my tone clipped, "Ray. I need his contact information. Now."
“Ray, sir?” he looked puzzled.
“The maid’s son?”
Elias paused, setting down the cloth, his expression turning neutral, years of service making him a master of discretion.
"Of course, sir. One moment." He moved to the side table, pulling out a leather-bound ledger, flipping through the pages with deliberate slowness that grated on my nerves.
"Ray Thompson. Phone: 555-0192. Lives in the staff cottages.
His mother, Maria, has the day off, but he might be running errands. "
I snatched the number, committing it to memory. "If you see him, tell him to call me. Immediately. And Elias, no word to Father about this. Understood?"
"Perfectly, sir," he replied, his voice even, but there was a flicker in his eyes. Pity? Warning? I didn't care. I left, the mansion's doors closing behind me like a tomb sealing, the driveway gravel crunching under the tires as I peeled out, the engine's roar a match for the fury in my chest.
The drive back to the hotel was a haze. The photo was tucked in my coat pocket, a constant reminder, the burnt face a accusation I couldn't ignore. Who was she? The thought made bile rise in my throat.
Back in the suite, the door clicking shut behind me, the silence was oppressive, Aurelia's absence a void that echoed.
Two weeks. Two weeks of radio silence, her fleeing to Galena, to her family's arms, away from me, from the betrayal Boris's dying words had unveiled.
Father had approved her sale, perhaps unknowingly, but the stain was there, tainting me by association.
I'd called, texted, left voicemails pleading for a chance to explain.
I didn't know, I'd never been part of the trafficking side.
Victor's watcher reported she was safe but withdrawn, barely leaving the house, her brother Killian hovering like a guard dog.
Good! She needed that protection, that space.
But the emptiness clawed at me, nights spent staring at the ceiling, her touch a ghost on my skin, her laughter a memory that haunted.
I sank into the armchair, dialing Ray's number, the line ringing in the quiet room, each tone a hammer on my patience. Pick up. The call connected on the fourth ring, a voice answering, hesitant and shaky. "Hello?"
"Ray," I said, my tone low, authoritative, leaving no room for evasion. "It’s Keith. We need to talk."
A sharp intake of breath, the sound of fumbling, perhaps the phone nearly dropped. "Mr. Krogen? I... oh God, I didn't expect... how did you get my number?"
"You were peeping in Mother's room. You had something to say. Tell me. What is it?"
Silence stretched, broken by his ragged breathing, the faint hum of traffic in the background suggesting he was outside.
"I... I can't over the phone, sir. It's too dangerous.
If anyone hears... my mom, she's worked there forever.
Please, we need to meet. Somewhere public, crowded. Safe from... from him."
Father. The fear was palpable, a tremor in his voice that mirrored the one in Mother's diary. "Fine. Where? But make it soon."
"The farmers' market in the town square," he said quickly. "Tomorrow, noon. I'll be in a blue shirt. Come alone, sir. Please."
"No tricks, Ray," I warned, my voice steel. "You run, I find you. And if this is a setup,"
"It's not!" he exclaimed, panic rising. "I swear. I... I need to tell someone. It's eaten at me for years. Tomorrow, noon."
The line went dead, and I lowered the phone, the suite's silence closing in like a shroud. Tomorrow. Answers. It all hinged on Ray's words. But the fear in his voice... what had he seen that could endanger his life?
Sleep has been a stranger, the bed too empty without Aurelia, her absence a physical ache. I missed her, the way her body fit mine, her laugh lighting the dark, her strength in vulnerability. Soon, I'd go to her, explain, beg if needed. But first, Ray's truth.
Dawn broke gray and drizzly, the city wrapped in fog as I dressed, dark jeans, grey shirt, leather jacket for anonymity, a cap pulled low. The farmers' market in the town square was a bustle of activity despite the weather. Safe, public. Ray had chosen well.
I spotted him by the apple stand, hunched in a blue shirt, hands in pockets, eyes darting like a hunted animal, his face pale under the hood's shadow.
He saw me approach, straightening with a jolt, his gaze flicking left and right before settling on me.
"Mr. Krogen," he whispered, his voice barely above the market's hum. "You came. I... I wasn't sure."
"Sit," I said, gesturing to a nearby bench under a dripping oak, the leaves a carpet of red and gold beneath. We sat, the crowd a buffer, but I kept my voice low, my eyes scanning the surrounding. "Talk. What did you see?"
Ray swallowed hard, his hands twisting in his lap, nails bitten to the quick.
"It’s been over 20 years? I was eight, helping Mom with laundry.
Heard screams from Mrs. Krogen's room, crying, yelling, like nothing I'd heard before.
Mom told me to stay away, but... I peeked through the door crack.
Couldn't help it, sir. She was my favorite.
Always gave me cookies, asked about school. I had to see if she was okay."
My pulse quickened, leaning in, the market's chatter fading to a distant buzz. "What did you see?"
He took a shaky breath, eyes distant, reliving it.
"She had a knife. Holding it to Mr. Krogen's chest, shaking like a leaf, tears streaming down her face.
'You're a monster,' she said, her voice breaking but fierce.
'How could you do that to a child? How could you sell my daughter?
She was barely 11.' I didn't understand then, but her words.
.. they stuck. Mr. Marcus, he was calm at first, like it was nothing.
Said something about how he 'always found it questionable'.
Didn't make sense to me, but his face... cold, sir. No remorse."
The words hit like a sledgehammer, my breath catching, the photo in my pocket suddenly heavy as lead. My daughter. The girl in the picture, burnt face, dark hair. Sold. At 11? My hands clenched, nails digging into palms, drawing blood. "Go on."
Ray's voice dropped, whispering now, his eyes darting as if Father might appear from the crowd.
"She screamed about ledgers, said she had all of them from his shipments.
'I'll expose everything you've done,' she yelled, waving the knife.
'The women, the girls, the lies, it's over!
' Mr. Marcus... his face changed. Rage, pure and ugly.
He slapped her hard, crack like thunder, her head snapped back, blood from her lip splattering.
She stumbled but got up, knife out, swinging wild.
He kicked her knee hard. I heard the pop.
She went down, crying, begging him to stop.
But he grabbed her hair, yanking her head back so hard I thought he'd snap her neck, knife to her throat.
'You think you can threaten me?' he snarled, his voice like ice.
'After everything I've given you? The house, the kids, the life?
You're nothing without me.' She fought, scratching his arm, drawing blood, but he threw her, by the hair, sir, like a rag doll.
Her head hit the bedpost edge with a thud, blood trickling from her temple.
She crumpled, fainting, limp on the floor. "
My vision blurred, rage and grief colliding in a strom, my fists clenching so tight my nails broke skin.
Mother, elegant, loving Valentina, beaten, broken by the man who'd vowed to love her.
The ledgers, the shipments, the trafficking.
She'd discovered it and he'd silenced her.
"And then?" I pressed, my voice a growl, leaning closer.
Ray paled, swallowing hard. "He... he didn't help her.
Just stared down, cold as stone. Said to her unconscious body, 'If you weren't such a bitch, this wouldn't have happened.
' Then he staged it, the rope, looped around the chandelier, the note in her handwriting, forged, maybe?
He called it suicide. Told the staffs and the cops she'd been depressed.
But I saw... I saw him kill her. Murder, plain and simple. "
The revelation shattered me, the world tilting on its axis, my mind blanking out in a white haze of shock.
Mother, the one who'd read stories, bandaged knees, shielded us from Father's temper, murdered by his hand.
The "suicide" we'd been fed, the quick burial, the family's silence, it was a lie, a cover for his crime.
The girl, ‘my daughter’, sold at 11, perhaps the catalyst for her confrontation.
She'd known, threatened exposure, and he'd ended her.
My hands shook, vision blurring with tears, the market's bustle fading to a distant roar, Ray's face a blur.
"Sir?" Ray's voice pulled me back, tentative. "You okay? I... I had to tell someone. The burden... it's too much. What now?"
I stood abruptly, the bench scraping back, my voice hoarse. "Stay hidden. Don't tell anyone else. I'll handle it."
He nodded, fear in his eyes. "Be careful, sir. Your father... he's dangerous."
I left without another word, the market's colors and sounds assaulting me like noise, my mind reeling. Mother murdered. A sister sold. Father's empire, built on more than trafficking, on family blood. I'd destroy it, piece by piece.