Chapter 3 - Bloodlines and Black Gold
The heavy rumble of a twelve-cylinder engine echoed up the long gravel driveway.
Cole immediately moved to the window, parting the velvet drapes with one hand.
Below, a sleek black Bentley came to a halt under the portico lights.
A tall, silver-haired man in a tailored cashmere overcoat stepped out into the rain, flanked by two private security guards in dark suits.
Victor Kane was fifty-eight years old, possessed razor-sharp features, and smiled like a loan shark sizing up collateral.
"He knows," Cole said without looking back.
"He has an informant inside the attorney’s office."
Arthur straightened his back, attempting to project the authority he had wielded decades ago.
"Put the trust documents back into the safe, Cole," Arthur ordered.
"Hannah, take the birth certificate and go to the service quarters."
"No," Hannah said firmly, standing up from the armchair.
Her fear was rapidly turning into an unyielding resolve.
She had spent her entire life scraping by on scraps of pity and overdue notices.
She was not going to run away to the kitchen like a frightened child while powerful men decided her history.
"I am not hiding," Hannah declared, clutching the birth certificate against her chest.
"If this man was involved in my father’s death, I want to look him in the eyes."
Cole turned around, his cold expression shifting into a look of reluctant respect.
"You don't understand who Victor is, little girl," Cole warned, walking over to her.
"Victor doesn't carry a badge, and he doesn't care about justice."
"If he realizes you have that document, you won't survive the drive back to Elm Street."
"Then protect me," Hannah shot back, staring directly into Cole’s dark eyes.
"Your grandfather said my father took three bullets for you."
"Pay the debt."
A flash of dark amusement flickered across Cole’s chiseled features, quickly replaced by lethal focus.
"Fair enough," Cole murmured.
He reached inside his suit coat, clicked the safety off his custom semi-automatic handgun, and tucked it back into his holster.
"Grandpa, leave the papers on the desk," Cole said calmly.
"Let Victor see what we found."
"Let's see how much he flinches."
Heavy footsteps echoed down the parquet hallway outside Room 4B.
The door pushed open before the butler could announce the visitor.
Victor Kane walked in, shaking rainwater from the brim of his fedora.
"Arthur, you really shouldn't be staying up past nine," Victor said in a smooth, theatrical voice.
"At your age, stress ruins the vascular system."
Victor stopped, his pale grey eyes landing first on Cole, and then shifting onto Hannah.
His gaze lingered on her uniform, her face, and finally the document in her hands.
A microscopic twitch occurred at the corner of Victor's thin lips.
"And who is this charming young lady?" Victor asked, his voice dripping with condescension.
"The new evening maid?"
"Her name is Hannah Reed, Uncle Victor," Cole said, stepping sideways to block Victor's direct line of sight to her.
The temperature in the library seemed to drop ten degrees.
Victor’s hand, still holding his wet hat, froze for half a second.
He quickly recovered, letting out an airy chuckle.
"Reed?" Victor asked.
"A common name."
"Why is a domestic worker standing in the private family study during confidential estate reviews?"
"She was helping me organize the 1999 settlement archive," Arthur said, his voice cold and steady.
"The files regarding the North Pier incident, Victor."
Victor’s smile faded into a flat, calculating mask.
"Arthur, we buried those files twenty-five years ago with Anthony," Victor said, taking a step toward the desk.
"Digging them up now won't bring anyone back."
"It will only disrupt the business interests Cole and I have worked so hard to stabilize."
"The business interests you stole from my father after he drowned in that harbor," Cole interjected coldly.
Victor turned his icy glare onto Cole.
"Your father was reckless, nephew," Victor hissed.
"He thought he could use an undercover cop to expose the family’s offshore accounts to the federal authorities."
"He brought that ambush upon himself."
"And what about Thomas Reed?" Hannah shouted, stepping out from behind Cole.
"Did he bring three bullets upon himself too?"
Victor stared at Hannah, his eyes widening slightly as he took in her facial structure.
"You look just like her," Victor whispered, almost to himself.
"Like who?" Hannah demanded.
"Like your mother?" Victor said, sneering.
"Which mother, child?"
"The woman who cleans motel rooms on Elm Street, or the woman who was buried in an unmarked grave in New Jersey in 1998?"
Hannah felt as if all the oxygen had been sucked out of the room.
"What did you say?" Hannah gasped.
Arthur slammed his cane against the floor.
"Victor, that is enough!"
"No, Arthur, let her hear it!" Victor snapped, his eyes gleaming with malicious satisfaction.
"She thinks she is the tragic daughter of a martyr cop!"
"Tell her the truth, old man!"
"Tell her who Margaret Reed really was!"
Before Arthur could speak, the library door opened again.
An older woman with cropped silver hair and a beige trench coat stepped into the room, holding a leather detective’s badge in her hand.
"I think I should be the one to explain that, Victor," the woman said in a raspy, gravelly voice.
Cole turned his head, his eyes widening slightly.
"Detective Brooks?" Cole said.
Helen Brooks, the retired chief of internal affairs, closed the heavy door behind her and locked it with a sharp click.
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"Good evening, Cole," Helen said, her eyes fixed entirely on Victor.
"I’ve been waiting twenty-six years for this family to gather in the same room."
