Chapter 6 - The Clock in the Basement
Nicholas Vale did not enter the house.
He wanted them frightened.
More importantly, he wanted them moving.
Damian understood that.
So he did something Vale did not expect.
He stayed.
For twelve hours, Damian locked down the estate, replaced the compromised security system, moved Noah into a reinforced safe room and contacted no one outside his oldest three-man protection team.
Only after sunrise did they leave.
Not for Caitlyn’s childhood home.
For a motel twenty miles away.
Caitlyn stared at the peeling wallpaper.
“You own skyscrapers.”
“Yes.”
“And this is your safe house?”
“No.”
“Then why are we here?”
“Because Nicholas thinks I’m incapable of staying somewhere with carpet like this.”
She looked down.
The carpet was orange.
“That’s fair.”
Damian almost smiled.
It disappeared quickly.
That afternoon Marco confirmed no surveillance.
They reached Caitlyn’s childhood house after dark.
The new owners were away.
Damian had already arranged legal access through their attorney.
The basement smelled exactly as Caitlyn remembered.
Dust.
Old wood.
Cold concrete.
And the grandfather clock was still there.
The owners had never removed it.
Caitlyn touched the carved oak.
“My dad used to wind this every Sunday.”
Noah, beside her, began crying.
Caitlyn crouched beside him.
“You remember.”
His fingers squeezed hers.
Damian examined the clock.
Behind the pendulum he found a small steel compartment.
Inside was a ledger.
The real ledger.
Thomas Elmore had hidden it in the one place Noah would remember.
Damian opened it.
Names filled the pages.
Dates.
Transactions.
Container numbers.
And finally—
The traitor.
Caitlyn saw the name.
Her stomach dropped.
“No.”
Damian did not speak.
The name was not Vincent Russo.
Not Evelyn.
Not Marco.
It belonged to someone Damian trusted even more.
Anthony Hamilton.
His father.
Damian stared at the handwriting.
“My father died fourteen years ago.”
Caitlyn looked at the dates.
Some entries were from three years ago.
“That’s impossible.”
Then Damian understood.
“Someone has been using his identity.”
A floorboard creaked upstairs.
Everyone froze.
Marco reached for his weapon.
Another sound.
Footsteps.
Damian switched off the basement light.
“Behind me.”
Caitlyn moved beside Noah.
The basement door opened.
A figure descended.
Marco aimed.
“Stop.”
The man stepped into the faint light.
Vincent.
His injured shoulder was bandaged.
Damian’s expression became murderous.
“How did you find us?”
Vincent looked at Caitlyn.
“I followed her.”
Caitlyn stared.
“What?”
Vincent reached inside his jacket.
Marco raised his weapon.
Vincent slowly removed a photograph.
He handed it to Damian.
It showed Nicholas Vale.
Taken that morning.
Beside Nicholas stood a man Caitlyn recognized.
Dr. Samuel Harris.
Noah’s neurologist.
Vincent said:
“Harris has been working for Vale.”
Caitlyn’s blood went cold.
“He treated Noah for two years.”
“Exactly.”
Vincent looked toward her brother.
“And I don’t think Noah’s condition is entirely from the accident.”
Silence.
Caitlyn whispered:
“What are you saying?”
May you like
Vincent’s face hardened.
“I’m saying somebody may have been keeping your brother from recovering.”
