The Night Daniel Died
Chapter 04 - The Night Daniel Died
Adrian’s explanation lasted six minutes.
It contained weather, loyalty, panic, and no truth Naomi could hold.
He said Daniel had called him from Vermont.
He said Daniel sounded agitated and accused Vivian of hiding property transfers.
He said he drove north because he wanted to stop Daniel from ruining the company with unproven allegations.
He said they argued beside the mountain road.
He said Daniel rode away angry.
He said the crash happened later.
“Why did you lie about Boston?” Naomi asked.
Adrian rubbed both hands over his face.
“Because Daniel was dead, and I knew how it would look.”
“How did it look?”
“Like I followed him.”
“You did follow him.”
“To talk.”
Agent Monroe sat across from him at the library table.
“Were you the last person to see Daniel Cross alive?”
Adrian looked at Vivian.
Vivian stared into the fire.
Naomi saw it then.
A family reflex.
The son looked to the mother not for comfort, but for instructions.
Adrian said, “I don’t know.”
Monroe’s expression did not change. “That is not an answer people forget.”
Sloane stood near the doorway.
“Adrian,” she whispered, “you said you were never in Vermont.”
He turned on her. “Why are you still here?”
Sloane flinched.
Naomi watched the moment Sloane stopped being the rival in white and became simply another woman learning how Adrian treated people after they became inconvenient.
“Because the agents told me not to leave,” Sloane said.
Adrian laughed without humor. “Of course they did.”
Naomi crossed the room.
“Did you touch Daniel’s motorcycle?”
“No.”
“Did you take his compass charm?”
“No.”
“Did you open the storage unit?”
“No.”
Every answer came faster than the question deserved.
Marcus placed a printout on the table.
The storage unit had been paid for annually through a dormant Vale Meridian vendor account.
The payment approval ID belonged to Adrian.
He stared at the page.
“I didn’t approve this.”
Vivian stood.
“Enough. We are exhausted, grieving, and being manipulated by old paperwork.”
Agent Monroe said, “Sit down.”
Vivian did not.
Monroe did not raise her voice.
“Mrs. Vale, sit down.”
Vivian sat.
Naomi looked at the woman who had spent eleven years telling her that good wives protected family privacy.
Privacy, Naomi understood now, was Vivian’s favorite room because evidence rarely entered it.
At 2:00 a.m., the agents left Blackthorn under guard. Adrian was instructed to remain available. Vivian retreated to the east suite. Sloane was driven to a hotel by an agent.
Naomi did not sleep.
At six, she went to the garage.
Her motorcycle stood under a gray cover.
Daniel had helped her choose it when she was twenty-six, before marriage turned every adventure into something Adrian tolerated rather than shared.
She removed the cover.
The fuel tank gleamed black beneath the lights.
The lockbox where the keys had been stored hung open.
Rosa came in carrying coffee.
“I saw Mr. Adrian take them,” she said.
“You told Marcus?”
“Yes.”
“Did anyone else enter the garage?”
Rosa hesitated.
“Mrs. Vale came down last week.”
“Vivian?”
“She never comes here. She said she wanted the Rolls-Royce registration.”
Naomi crouched beside the motorcycle.
On the floor near the rear wheel lay a sliver of brass.
A broken edge from the original compass charm.
Someone had switched it in this garage.
Not seven years ago.
Last week.
The old charm had recently been returned from somewhere.
Naomi stood.
“Rosa, what else happened last week?”
Rosa’s eyes filled.
“Mr. Vale dismissed Mr. Thomas.”
Thomas Bell had been Blackthorn’s estate mechanic for thirty-four years. He maintained every car, generator, gate, and motorcycle.
“Why?”
“He said Thomas was stealing fuel.”
“Was he?”
“No.” Rosa lowered her voice. “Thomas told me someone had replaced a brake line on your motorcycle.”
Naomi stopped breathing.
Her motorcycle.
Not Daniel’s.
“Where is Thomas now?”
“I don’t know. He never made it home.”
Rosa handed Naomi an envelope.
“He left this in the pantry for you.”
Inside was a single photograph.
Daniel’s wrecked motorcycle on the night he died.
Someone had circled the brake line in red.
May you like
On the back, Thomas had written:
Same cut. Same hand.
