Chapter 12 - The Bloodline Ledger
The silence in the penthouse penthouse suite was louder than a detonating bomb.
My knees gave out slightly, but Aiden caught me before I could stumble against the concrete rail.
His hands were steady, but the cold radiating from his touch was absolute.
I stared at the black-and-white photograph, unable to reconcile the monster in the frame with my memories.
The man in the shadows had the same kind eyes, the same crooked smile, the same gentle hands that used to patch my scraped knees.
My father, Dr. Arthur Vance, had spent forty years running a modest free clinic in South Seattle.
He had died of a sudden stroke three years before I ever patched Aiden Chambers up in the ER.
"That can't be him," I whispered, the words choking on the sudden bile rising in my throat.
"Marcus, trace the courier's vehicle and run facial recognition on the body," Aiden ordered, his voice devoid of all human emotion.
Marcus gave a single curt nod, took two steps back, and vanished inside the penthouse.
"Aiden, look at me," I pleaded, grabbing the lapels of his linen shirt.
"My father was a pediatrician, he ran charity drives, he never owned a firearm in his life."
Aiden gently took my wrists, peeling my hands off his shirt with devastating gentleness.
"Your father had three separate identities before you were born, Clara."
The revelation struck me like a physical blow to the sternum.
"What did you just say?"
"I knew who Arthur Vance was the night I walked into your trauma bay," Aiden said quietly, turning his back to the sun.
"You... you knew who I was before you ever saw me?"
The terrace suddenly felt ten thousand feet high, and the wind off the Sound bit through my clothes.
"I didn't seek you out because of him," Aiden replied, his voice cracking with an agony he couldn't conceal.
"I was shot, bleeding out from a traitor’s bullet, and your hospital was the closest surgical wing."
"When I opened my eyes and saw the nametag on your scrubs, I thought providence had sent me the daughter of the man who built my cage."
"You signed a contract with me because of a vendetta?" Tears burned behind my eyelids, furious and scalding.
"No!" Aiden snapped, his voice booming across the glass terrace before softening into desperation.
"I stayed because you were the only person in thirty-two years who touched me without wanting to tear flesh from my bones."
"I burned your father’s old files in my archives six months ago because they didn't matter anymore."
"I chose you over the ghosts, Clara."
"Then why is his face sitting in this box right now?" I demanded, pointing a trembling finger at the lacquered crate.
Aiden picked up the rusted silver pocket watch and thumbed the release latch.
The watch snapped open with a dull metallic click.
Inside the casing, carved into the gold backing with a diamond chisel, was a fresh engraving.
*The debt Arthur Vance stole from Chicago must be paid in his daughter’s marrow.*
May you like
*Forty-eight hours, nephew, or Seattle will burn to the harbor floor.*
A red digital timer hidden behind the clock face flickered to life, counting down from 47:59:59.
