Mara had called the number Lucian left.
His car arrived in four minutes.
Now she held the photograph while Sofia discussed fabrics.
“I don’t need six dresses,” Mara said.
“You need twelve,” Sofia replied. “Mr. Rook reduced it to six.”
“Mr. Rook is paying me to lie, not become a display window.”
Sofia adjusted a midnight-blue gown.
“In Greyhaven, those occupations are often the same.”
Sofia was in her fifties, elegant and unsmiling. She had introduced herself as Lucian’s household director, though Mara suspected the title concealed several more dangerous responsibilities.
“Did you know his father?” Mara asked.
“Yes.”
“What was he like?”
“Complicated.”
“That seems to be the family religion.”
Sofia looked at the photograph in Mara’s hand.
“Where did you get that?”
Mara noticed the change in her voice.
“Someone left it at my apartment.”
Sofia took the picture carefully.
Evelyn Bell appeared to be around twenty-five. Wind pushed her pale hair across her face. She stood beside the lighthouse railing with one hand resting on the shoulder of a dark-haired man.
The man’s face had been scratched away.
Sofia stared at the damaged section.
“You recognize him,” Mara said.
“No.”
“You answered too quickly.”
Sofia handed back the photograph.
“Show it to Lucian.”
“Where is he?”
“In a meeting.”
“I’ll interrupt.”
“People who interrupt Mr. Rook tend to regret it.”
“People who kiss me without permission also tend to regret it.”
For the first time, Sofia smiled.
“His office is at the end of the west corridor.”
Mara found two guards outside the office.
They tried to stop her.
She walked between them and opened the door.
Seven men sat around a long table.
Lucian stood beside a digital map of the harbor.
The room became silent.
Mara held up the photograph.
“This arrived at my apartment.”
Lucian dismissed the others with one look.
The men gathered their files and left. Several studied Mara with obvious curiosity.
When the door closed, Lucian approached her.
“Who delivered it?”
“I didn’t see.”
He examined the picture.
His controlled expression shifted.
The change was small, but Mara saw it.
“You know the man.”
Lucian walked to the window.
“My father.”
Mara looked at the photograph again.
“Silas Rook?”
“Yes.”
“Why was he with my mother?”
“I don’t know.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“I expected never to see this photograph.”
He opened a drawer and removed an old leather folder.
Inside was a newspaper clipping dated twenty-seven years earlier.
HARBOR EXECUTIVE KILLED IN BLACKWATER EXPLOSION.
The article described a fire aboard a survey vessel near the lighthouse. Three people had died, including Silas Rook, president of Rook Navigation.
Mara frowned.
“I thought your father died in a car accident.”
“That is the story my family released.”
“Why?”
“Because the truth would have started a war.”
Lucian placed another photograph beside hers.
It showed the wreckage of a vessel scattered across black rocks.
“My father spent his final year collecting evidence against the Meridian Circle.”
“What is that?”
“A partnership disguised as a civic organization. Shipping owners, judges, union leaders, bankers, and senior police officials. They decided which companies survived, which politicians won elections, and which crimes were investigated.”
“And you?”
“I inherited several businesses that served them.”
“Served them legally?”
“No.”
Mara studied him.
“You admit that easily.”
“I am not asking you to mistake me for a good man.”
“Then what are you?”
“A useful one.”
Lucian tapped the damaged photograph.
“My father discovered something powerful enough to frighten the Meridian Circle. Before he could release it, his vessel exploded near Blackwater Point.”
“And my mother was connected to him.”
“She worked in the harbor signal office.”
“She told me she processed weather reports.”
“That was part of her job. She also monitored marine radio traffic.”
Mara remembered Evelyn sitting near the apartment window every morning, listening to the distant bell with her eyes closed.
“Why didn’t she ever mention Silas?”
“Perhaps because everyone associated with his investigation was hunted.”
Mara’s throat tightened.
“Is that why someone sent the picture?”
“They want to know what your mother told you.”
“She told me nothing.”
“People rarely believe ignorance when fear would be more convenient.”
Lucian moved closer.
“Tonight, we attend a reception at Ashcroft Hall. The person who ordered the men to follow you will probably be there.”
“You know who it is?”
“I have three suspects.”
“Names.”
“Judge Alden Shaw. Harbor Commissioner Marcus Dane. And Celestine Vale.”
Mara knew the last name.
Everyone did.