Chapter 8 - Bloodline and Blackmail
The silence that followed was suffocating.
Nick stared at the cassette player, his knuckles pressed against his mouth, his chest heaving as if he had just been pulled from icy water.
“She killed him,” Nick whispered, the horror vibrating in his voice. “She didn't just forge the trust. She murdered my father. And she used Clara’s mother as the scapegoat to keep her silent for twelve years.”
“Sarah didn't kill him,” I said, tears finally breaking through my composure, hot and furious. “Martha switched the medication. She murdered Julian, blamed my mother, and threatened to ruin our lives if my mother ever told the truth. That’s why my mother stopped nursing. That’s why we moved across the city. That’s why my mother looked terrified every time I mentioned Nick’s last name!”
Victoria stepped beside me, placing a steady hand on my shoulder. “Sarah Vance was protecting you, Clara. All these years, Martha held a fabricated murder charge over Sarah’s head to ensure she never told Nick the truth about Julian’s estate, about Evelyn, or about Newport.”
Marcus Hayes was already typing furiously on his phone. “Arthur Vance gave this to us thinking it would tear Nick and Clara apart. He didn't realize Julian managed to record Martha’s voice on that cassette before he passed. Martha kept this tape as a trophy—her ultimate leverage. But in criminal court, this isn't leverage. It’s a full confession to premeditated murder.”
“Marcus,” Nick said, standing up, his face set with a lethal determination that made him look completely transformed. “Call the Special Investigations Unit at the DA’s office. Right now.”
“It’s midnight, Nick,” Marcus warned.
“I don't care if it’s four in the morning,” Nick said. “Martha is currently sitting in a county holding cell awaiting bail on larceny charges. If her high-priced lawyers get her out on bail tomorrow morning, she will be on a private jet to a non-extradition country before sunset. Get the DA out of bed. File the first-degree murder warrant tonight.”
Marcus grabbed his coat. “I’m heading to the courthouse. Victoria, come with me. We need Julian’s primary probate records to verify the timeline.”
As the door clicked shut behind them, the penthouse fell quiet again.
I walked over to the floor-to-ceiling glass, looking out over the dark, churning water of Boston Harbor. The reflection in the pane showed my sharp, cropped hair, my pale face, and Nick standing a few feet behind me, looking at me with a reverence that bordered on heartbreak.
“You should have walked away eight years ago,” Nick said softly, stepping closer until his chest brushed my back. “The first time she snubbed you at that Thanksgiving dinner. The first time she made you cry in the car. You should have run as far away from the Carlisle name as you could.”
I turned around, meeting his gaze.
“I didn't fall in love with the Carlisle name, Nick,” I said, resting my hands against his chest, feeling the steady, rapid beat of his heart. “I fell in love with the boy who worked sixty hours a week in an architectural lab to pay his own tuition because he refused to take a dime of his mother’s blood money. You are not her.”
May you like
Nick pulled me into his arms, burying his face into the hollow of my shorn neck, kissing the skin that Martha had exposed with her shears. “We finish this tomorrow, Clara. Together.”
***
