Chapter 6 - THE BLACK VALENTINE
The chef’s face went pale as milk. He slowly raised his hands, pointing toward a set of double swinging doors at the end of the kitchen.
"Through... through there," he stammered. "But the restaurant is closed. The staff is preparing for a private VIP luncheon."
"My mother’s luncheon," I said, a cold realization washing over me.
Today was the day of the contract signing. Eleanor and the Vance family were meeting to celebrate the transfer of my assets. They thought I was still locked in the dark, waiting for a midnight plane to Switzerland.
"Keep him here, Clara," I said, handing her the gun. "If anyone enters, use it."
"Rachel, no," Clara whispered, her eyes wide with fear. "You can't go out there alone."
"I have to get the proof," I said, looking down at my torn, bloody dress. "It’s the only way we get out of this alive."
I slipped through the double doors into the main dining area of L'Étoile d'Or.
The restaurant was breathtakingly beautiful, but to me, it looked like a gilded tomb. The glass walls offered a panoramic view of the Manhattan skyline, the morning sun casting long, golden bars across the polished marble floors.
The private dining room was located at the far end of the mezzanine, behind a pair of frosted glass doors.
I crept along the edge of the room, my bare feet silent on the thick carpet.
The door to the private room was unlocked. I slipped inside, closing it quietly behind me.
The room was dim, the walls lined with dark mahogany paneling. And there, hanging in a massive, gilded frame above the marble fireplace, was the painting.
The Black Valentine.
It was a striking, haunting portrait of a woman dressed in black lace, her hand resting on a bleeding heart.
I dragged a heavy velvet chair to the fireplace, climbing onto the hearth. My hands were shaking so violently I could barely grip the edges of the heavy frame.
I pulled the painting forward.
It was heavy, the wire backing creaking under the strain.
I reached my hand behind the canvas, my fingers searching the dusty wood of the backing.
Nothing.
"Come on," I whispered, tears of frustration stinging my eyes. "It has to be here."
I slid my hand higher, near the center of the frame, until my fingers brushed against a small, rectangular slit cut into the wooden backing.
I reached inside.
My fingertips caught the edge of a thick, plastic envelope.
I pulled it out.
Inside was a small, high-density flash drive and a stack of notarized documents bearing the signatures of Eleanor Morgan, Julian Vance Sr., and several high-ranking city officials.
I had it.
The proof of the embezzlement, the murder of Julian Sr., and the systemic corruption of the Morgan Group.
"It’s beautiful, isn't it?" a voice said from the doorway.
I froze.
I turned slowly, still standing on the hearth, the envelope clutched tightly in my hand.
My sister, Caroline, stood in the doorway.
She was wearing my green trench coat, her hair styled exactly like mine. But her face was twisted into a look of pure, venomous hatred.
"You always had to be the special one, Rachel," she whispered, stepping into the room. "The smart one. The one Dad actually loved."
"Caroline," I said, my voice shaking as I stepped down from the hearth. "You don't have to do this. Mom is using you. She’s going to discard you the moment she has the money."
"She’s my mother!" Caroline shrieked, her hand reaching into the pocket of my trench coat. "She loves me! She’s doing all of this for my baby!"
"She made you poison your husband, Caroline," I said, taking a step toward her. "She made you lock my daughter in a burning shed! Do you really think she’s going to let you raise that child in peace?"
Caroline's hand came out of the pocket.
She wasn't holding a phone.
May you like
She was holding a small, silver pocket revolver.
"She told me you would try to confuse me," Caroline said, her eyes wild, her finger tightening on the trigger. "She said if you escaped, I had to finish it."
