Chapter 455

[ 1,228 words ]

Noah’s POV

I didn’t go back to the hospital.

After I left my father’s office, I drove without a real destination, the rain thinning into a fine mist that made the streets look polished and empty. His words kept turning over in my head, clean and sharp, the way he had always delivered the things that were meant to cut deepest. He had not confessed. He had not denied in any way that felt honest. He had simply rearranged the blame until it sat on my shoulders again, heavier than when I walked in.

Someone wants you looking at me.

The line refused to leave.

By the time I pulled over, the sky had gone fully dark. I sat in the car with the engine off and stared at my phone for a long time before I finally made the call.

Marcus answered on the second ring.

“Noah p>

“I need to talk to you,” I said. “Alone. Not at the hospital. Not with Julian in the room yet p>

There was a short pause on his end.

“Where p>

I gave him the name of a quiet bar twenty minutes from the hospital, the kind of place that stayed open late and didn’t ask questions if you looked like you belonged there. He said he would be there in half an hour.

I arrived first. Took a corner table. Ordered nothing. When Marcus walked in, he was still in the same coat he had worn at the hospital, his expression unreadable. He sat across from me without ceremony.

“Talk,” he said.

I did.

I told him everything. The way I had walked into my father’s office without waiting to be announced. The accusation. The exact words my father had used when I told him the car had been tampered with and that the method matched what had been done to Julian’s parents. I told him how Father had called the work sloppy and how he had claimed that if he wanted Julian dead, he would not have left Katia alive to talk. I told him about the patience threat, about the remark regarding Delia, about the final needle, about giving his regards, and about hoping her sister recovered quickly.

Marcus listened without interrupting. His face didn’t change much, but his eyes sharpened when I repeated the line about accidents being unpredictable.

When I finished, the silence sat between us for a few seconds.

“You believe him,” Marcus said. It wasn’t quite a question.

“I don’t know what I believe.” The admission tasted bitter. “That’s the problem. He sounded like he was telling the truth. Or like he’d rehearsed the truth so well it didn’t matter anymore. He planted just enough doubt that I left more confused than when I arrived. And he knew it p>

Marcus leaned back slightly.

“You’re here because part of you still thinks it was him p>

“Yes.” I met his eyes. “I think my father has something to do with the accident. Maybe not with his own hands. Maybe not even with a direct order that could be traced. But the method, the timing, the fact that it was Julian’s car—none of that feels random. He has history with that family. He has motive. And he is more than capable of making something look like misfortune while he stays clean p>

“And the other part of you p>

“The other part heard a man who is very good at making other people carry his guilt for him. He told me someone wants me looking at him. That the real hand stays clean while the grieving son and the angry cousin point the same direction. I hate how plausible that sounded coming out of his mouth p>

Marcus was quiet for a moment, turning the information over with the same careful attention he gave everything else.

“Julian already considers him a primary suspect,” he said eventually. “So does the rest of the room. What you just told me doesn’t clear him. It also doesn’t give us anything solid enough to move on. Clean denials and psychological pressure are not evidence p>

“I know p>

“What do you want from me, Noah p>

I exhaled slowly.

“I want to know the truth. Not the version that makes me feel better. Not the version that makes the Windsors feel justified. The actual truth. If my father did this—or ordered it—I need to see it clearly. If someone is using him as the obvious target so the real person stays hidden, I need to see that too. I’m done operating on suspicion and family loyalty. Both have already cost too much p>

Marcus studied me for a long time.

“You’re asking me to run a parallel line of inquiry,” he said. “Quiet. Separate from the main investigation Julian is pushing. And you’re asking me to do it while still reporting to him p>

“I’m asking you to find out who touched that car. Follow the money, the access, and the people who had the skill to make it look like weather and bad luck. If the trail leads to my father, I won’t stand in the way. If it leads somewhere else, I need to know before this family starts a war on the wrong front p>

Marcus didn’t answer immediately. When he did, his voice was even.

“I can do that. But understand what you’re asking. If I find something that points at Elliot Vesper, I will take it to Julian. I won’t sit on it to protect your blood. And if I find something that points away from him, I will take that to Julian as well. My loyalty is to the people in that hospital bed, not to your need for certainty p>

“I’m not asking you to protect him,” I said. “I’m asking you not to stop at the first convenient name. My father is many things. He is also the most obvious answer in the room. Obvious answers are sometimes correct. Sometimes they’re bait p>

Marcus nodded once, slowly.

“I’ll dig. Quietly. You’ll hear from me when I have something that isn’t just another theory p>

He stood. I remained seated.

“One more thing,” I said before he could leave. “He mentioned the parents. Not directly. But the way he talked about the method—about precision versus theater—it felt like he knew more about that old crash than a man who was only reading newspaper reports. I don’t know if that means involvement or just the kind of attention he pays to his enemies. Either way, it sat wrong p>

Marcus’s expression tightened a fraction.

“Noted p>

He left without another word. I sat in the quiet bar for a long time after he was gone, turning the conversation over, trying to separate what I feared from what I could prove. Outside, the mist had thickened into proper rain again. Somewhere across the city, Katia was recovering, and Julian was planning the next move. Somewhere else, my father was probably still standing at that window, completely unbothered by the damage he had left in his wake.

I paid for the untouched glass of water the waiter had eventually set down, stepped back out into the rain, and headed toward the hospital.

I still didn’t know whether I had just started the process of exposing my father or the process of clearing him.

I only knew I could no longer afford to sit in the middle of that question and do nothing.

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