Chương 6
I should have said no.
I should have protected the little peace left in the room.
Instead, I heard myself say, “Call him.”
Blake arrived forty minutes later under police escort.
He stopped when he saw my mother.
She did not acknowledge him.
Then Bell placed the anonymous messages on the tray.
Blake read the first three without reacting.
When he reached the last one, every trace of color disappeared from his face.
I watched his hand grip the edge of the paper.
“Who sent this?”
Bell said, “You tell me.”
Blake looked at me.
For the first time since I had known him, he did not look guilty or angry or ashamed.
He looked afraid.
“Blake.”
He swallowed.
“What happened the night Chloe left Phoenix?”
His eyes moved toward Bell, then my mother, then back to me.
“I was nineteen.”
“I didn’t ask how old you were.”
His fingers tightened.
“My father made me promise never to talk about it.”
My mother gave a quiet, contemptuous laugh.
“You’re thirty-two.”
Blake flinched.
“I know.”
“Then act like it.”
He lowered his head.
For several seconds, nobody spoke.
When he finally looked at me again, his voice had changed.
“Chloe didn’t leave because she stopped loving me.”
I felt something cold settle inside me.
“Why did she leave?”
“Because my father paid Graham to take her away.”
Bell leaned forward.
“Why?”
Blake stared at the message about Priya.
“Because Chloe saw something she was never supposed to see.”
Blake looked toward the door as though his father might somehow be standing on the other side.
Bell leaned forward.
“What did she see?”
Blake rubbed his palms against his pants.
“My father meeting with a city inspector.”
“That sounds illegal only if you’re leaving out the important part.”
“I am.”
My mother muttered something under her breath.
Blake ignored her.
“Stanford Group was developing a warehouse complex near Tolleson.”
Bell’s expression stayed neutral.
“There had been structural complaints.”
“What kind?”
“Foundation movement.”
Owen shifted near the window.
“That sounds significant.”
“It was.”
Blake swallowed.
“One of the subcontractors had falsified soil compaction records.”
Bell said, “And your father knew.”
“Yes.”
“Before construction continued?”
“Yes.”
My mother stared at Blake.
“And Chloe saw him paying someone to bury that?”
“Not exactly.”
He looked at me.
“She saw the inspector hand my father a report.”
I waited.
Blake’s eyes dropped.
“Then she saw my father burn it.”
The room went quiet.
Bell asked, “Where?”
“At our old guesthouse in Paradise Valley.”
“Why was Chloe there?”
“We were dating.”
“That doesn’t answer the question.”
Blake’s mouth tightened.
“We used the guesthouse when we wanted privacy.”
My mother looked away with visible irritation.
Bell wrote something down.
“So nineteen-year-old Chloe witnesses Richard Stanford destroying evidence.”
“And Graham was there.”
Bell stopped writing.
“Her stepfather?”
“Yes.”
“Working for your father.”
“Yes.”
“What happened next?”
Blake exhaled.
“Chloe confronted them.”
My mother said, “At nineteen?”
“She was like that.”
For the first time, there was something almost tender in his voice.
It made my stomach twist.
Not because he still had feelings for her.
That discovery had stopped being interesting.
What hurt was how easily tenderness still appeared when he spoke about a woman who had helped put me in intensive care.
“She threatened to go to the police,” Blake continued.
“My father told her she had misunderstood what she saw.”
“And Graham?”
“He told her to keep her mouth shut.”
Bell asked, “Did she?”
“No.”
Blake shook his head.
“She called me.”
I watched his face.
“You knew that night.”
“Yes.”
“How much?”
“Enough.”
The answer landed harder than I expected.
For three years, Blake had presented Chloe as an old love who left him suddenly.
A wound without explanation.
A story I was expected to respect because it belonged to his past.
Now it turned out he had been standing inside that past the entire time.
“What did you do?” I asked.
“I went to the guesthouse.”
Bell said, “Who was there?”
“My father, Graham, Chloe, and me.”
“What happened?”
Blake closed his eyes.
“My father told me Chloe was unstable.”
My mother gave a short laugh.
“Apparently that line runs in the family.”
“Mom.”
She stopped.
Blake looked grateful for the interruption, which annoyed me.
“Keep going.”
He nodded.
“Chloe said she had taken pictures.”
Bell straightened.
“Pictures of what?”
“The inspector’s report.”
“Where are they?”
“I don’t know.”
“What happened to her phone?”
“Graham took it.”
“By force?”
Blake hesitated.
“Yes.”
Bell’s voice sharpened.
“And you watched?”
“I tried to stop him.”
“Tried how?”
“I grabbed his arm.”
“Then?”
“He shoved me into a table.”
The shame on Blake’s face seemed old.
Not invented for us.
“He was stronger than I was.”
My mother said, “And your father?”
“Did nothing.”
Bell asked, “What happened to Chloe?”
“She screamed at Graham.”
“About the phone?”
“About him choosing my father over her.”
That changed something.
I looked at Bell.
He saw it too.
The conflict had not just been Chloe versus Richard.
It had been Chloe versus the man who raised her.
Blake continued.
“She told Graham she hated him.”
His voice had slowed.
“He slapped her.”
My mother’s face hardened.
“And you?”
“I hit him.”
There was no pride in the answer.
“What happened then?”
“He hit me back.”
Blake touched the bridge of his nose unconsciously.
“I broke it.”
Bell asked, “Police?”
“No.”
“Hospital?”
“No.”
“My father’s doctor came to the house.”
Bell stared at him.
“Of course he did.”
Blake accepted the contempt.
“He set my nose.”
“And Chloe?”
“She locked herself in the bathroom.”
“How long?”
“Maybe twenty minutes.”
“What happened when she came out?”
Blake looked at me.
“She was different.”
I disliked the vagueness.
“What does that mean?”
“She wasn’t yelling anymore.”
“People get quiet when they know yelling is useless.”
His eyes met mine.
He understood why I said it.
“She asked Graham if he would really destroy her life for Richard.”
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“And?”
“Graham said he was trying to save it.”
