Chapter 6 - The Setup
The air on the terrace instantly turned to ice.
Gabriel took the iPad from Anthony’s hand, his dark eyes scanning the digital financial statement.
There it was in high-contrast black and white: Brooks Family Bakery LLC. Deposit: $30,000. Origin: Cayman Capital Asset Group.
"This is impossible," Emma said, her voice shaking as she took a step toward Gabriel. "I don't even have an offshore account! I've never heard of Cayman Capital!"
"It was routed directly into your commercial checking account at Fifth Third Bank at five-fifteen this afternoon, Miss Brooks," Anthony said, his tone dripping with fake sorrow. "Along with a complete payoff notice for your bakery’s seventy-thousand-dollar mortgage debt."
Anthony turned to Gabriel, his voice dropping into that smooth, persuasive register he used in courtrooms.
"Gabriel, look at the timeline," Anthony urged. "Sophie disappears three weeks ago. She happens to wander three miles across the city to a specific bakery in Queens. Miss Brooks 'finds' her, refuses a small cash reward to gain your trust, brings herself into your home, and within three weeks, her entire commercial debt is liquidated by the very syndicate trying to block our Boston port acquisition."
Emma felt as if the ground beneath her feet had suddenly dissolved. She looked at Gabriel, her chest heaving, her hands trembling as she reached out toward him.
"Gabriel... look at me," Emma begged, tears streaming down her cheeks. "You know me. You know I would never, ever use a child! I love Sophie! I love—"
"Don't say it," Gabriel whispered.
His voice was dead.
The warmth that had filled his face minutes ago was completely gone, replaced by a gray, stone-like coldness that was far more terrifying than anger. He stared at the screen, then looked up at Emma.
"Did you take money from Fifth Third Bank today?" Gabriel asked, his voice dropping into an icy whisper.
"I didn't take any offshore money!" Emma cried out. "A man from the bank called me at four o'clock saying my loan was under review! I thought it was standard routine! I swear to you on my mother's memory, Gabriel, I knew nothing about this!"
"She's lying, Gabriel," Anthony insisted softly. "We swept her communications. Keller found photograph evidence of her meeting with an unidentified man in an alley behind her shop on Tuesday."
"That was Jimmy!" Emma screamed, turning on Anthony with fierce rage. "That was an addict who tried to rob my shop! Gabriel was there! He saw him!"
Gabriel closed his eyes.
In his mind, a violent storm of doubt and agony raged. He saw Emma holding Sophie in the kitchen. He felt her hands on his while rolling dough. He felt her lips against his on the terrace seconds ago.
And then he saw his wife's face on the night she died—the night he had trusted an insider who had sold his route details to his rivals.
Trust kills, his father’s voice echoed in his head from thirty years ago. In our world, trust is the weapon you hand your enemy.
"Gabriel..." Emma sobbed, reaching out to touch his sleeve.
Gabriel took a step back, stepping out of her reach.
"Marco," Gabriel called out softly.
The head of security stepped out from the darkness near the garden wall, his shadow long against the stone.
"Take Miss Brooks home," Gabriel said, his voice flat, emotionless, and entirely dead. "Ensure she receives her coat. She is not permitted on the estate grounds again."
"Gabriel! No!" Emma wept, her heart breaking into a thousand jagged pieces right there on the terrace. "Listen to me! Don't do this! Don't let him build these walls again!"
Gabriel didn't answer. He turned his back on her, walking slowly through the glass doors into the darkened house, leaving her standing in the cold wind while Marco gently guided her away.
An hour later, Gabriel sat in his dark library, a crystal glass of scotch sitting untouched on the heavy mahogany desk before him.
The fire in the hearth had died down to glowing red embers.
The door clicked open, and Anthony Vale walked in, carrying a leather folder.
"It’s done," Anthony said softly. "Marco dropped her at her shop. I’ve initiated a formal legal hold on her bakery properties through our banking contacts. She won't be able to open the doors on Monday morning."
Gabriel didn't move. He sat staring at the dead fireplace, his broad shoulders hunched as if bearing the weight of a collapsing mountain.
"You did the right thing, Gabriel," Anthony said, placing a comforting hand on Gabriel’s shoulder. "I know it hurts. She was charming. She fooled all of us for a moment. But a man in your position cannot afford sentimentality. Sophie is safe. That’s all that matters."
"Leave me, Anthony," Gabriel whispered.
"Gabriel—"
"I said leave me!" Gabriel roared, slamming his heavy fist onto the desk with such violent force that the crystal glass shattered, scotch and shards of glass spraying across the dark wood.
Anthony flinched, stepping back toward the door. "I'll... I'll be in my office if you need me."
When the door closed, Gabriel looked down at his bleeding palm.
He didn't feel the glass cutting his skin. He didn't feel the scotch burning the cut. All he felt was an empty, black abyss where his heart used to be.
He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out the small leather sketchbook Sophie had given him that morning.
He opened it to the page with the crayon drawing of the yellow house, the three figures, and the silver stars.
And there, stuck to the back of the page with a small piece of clear tape, was a small, hand-printed paper receipt from Brooks Family Bakery:
Two hot chocolates. One apple braid. One bus fare. $12.50.
And written beneath it, in Emma’s neat, round handwriting:
Paid in full. Love cannot be bought.
Gabriel stared at those six words.
May you like
He looked at his bleeding hand. Then he looked at the shattered glass on his desk.
And for the first time in three hours, the Don began to question whether he had just executed the wrong person.
