Chapter 4 - The Spider’s Web
Three weeks passed. In Detroit, I became a ghost.
I dyed my chestnut hair pitch-black, cut it into a sharp bob, and wore oversized coats that hid my frame. I paid cash for a grimy third-floor studio above an auto parts store and visited a back-alley clinic where an unlicensed doctor redressed my hand without asking questions about the stitches.
Every morning, I checked the Chicago headlines on public library computers. The city was tearing itself apart.
“Carter Enterprises Raids South Side Warehouses.”
“Five Dead in West Loop Shootout: Mob War Reignites.”
“Ethan Carter Offers $5 Million Reward for Missing Wife.”
He was hunting me like a manic warlord. But more importantly, the news confirmed what Marcus had feared: Victoria Hale had moved into the penthouse suite of the Carter Hotel on Michigan Avenue. She was appearing at charity galas with Ethan, posing as his grieving confidante while he tore the Midwest apart looking for me.
On a freezing Tuesday morning, I unlocked safety deposit box 412 at the Detroit bank.
Inside lay three thick ledger notebooks, an encrypted hard drive, and a handwritten letter from my father dated two days before his death.
My dearest Claire, the letter began. If you are reading this, I did not make it to Ethan in time. Do not blame him for his blindness—men like Carter are built to conquer kingdoms, but they are easily poisoned by debts they think they owe the past. Seven years ago, Ethan didn't send Victoria to rehab; he sent her away because she was pregnant with Julian Rossi's child. She traded Carter secrets then, and she is trading them now. Inside this drive is the wiretap recording between Victoria and Julian. They planned the crash that took my life to prevent Ethan from finding out that the Rossi family now holds the digital codes to his entire offshore empire. Take this to him, Claire. Or destroy him with it. The choice is yours.
My hands shook so violently the papers fluttered onto the metal desk.
Ethan hadn't kept Victoria close out of lingering romance. He had kept her close out of a warped sense of chivalry, believing he was protecting a vulnerable woman who had once loved him. And while he played the honorable protector, she had orchestrated my father’s murder and nearly taken mine.
"He doesn't know," I whispered to the empty room. "He really doesn't know."
Suddenly, the heavy door of the vault clicked.
I whipped around, jamming the hard drive into my pocket. The bank manager walked in, his face pale as chalk, followed immediately by four men in tailored charcoal suits.
May you like
At the center stood Julian Rossi.
His smile was razor-sharp, his dark eyes glistening with predatory delight. "Well, well. Mrs. Carter. You have no idea how much money I had to spend tracking your father's old Detroit connections."
