Chapter 3 - THE SISTER IN ROOM SEVENTEENThe medical facility was called Greenhaven Recovery Center.
It sat outside Richmond behind brick walls and carefully maintained gardens. Its website described private treatment for trauma, addiction and neurological disorders.
No public records mentioned Celia Marwick.
The payment logs did.
Every month for six years, money moved from a Vincent-controlled account through WILD ROSE to Greenhaven.
Sometimes the amount covered medical care.
Other transfers were labeled security.
“Vincent kept her alive,” I said.
Dante stood beside the hotel window, phone against his ear.
“For leverage.”
“Against you?”
“Most likely.”
“Why tell you she disappeared?”
“Because a missing person can be searched for. A dead person can be mourned. A person hidden under another identity remains useful.”
His voice remained steady, but I could see the effort holding it there.
He ended the call.
“My people can reach Greenhaven in four hours.”
“Simon expects us at the shipyard tomorrow.”
“Which means Vincent expects us to focus on Rose.”
I looked at the records.
“Maybe the account was named Wild Rose because Rose is involved.”
Dante did not dismiss the idea.
That frightened me.
“My father said the person had access to my calendar and home.”
“Rose does.”
“She is my best friend.”
“I know.”
“She threatened Simon when he made me cry after our first fight. She stayed in the hospital with me when my mother died. She helped my father hide Christmas gifts because he was terrible at it.”
“People can love you and still hide things.”
“Is that supposed to make me feel better?”
“No.”
I looked at the photograph of Rose on my phone.
She was laughing beside me during my engagement party, one arm wrapped around my shoulders.
Could she have been reporting to Vincent?
Had she known Simon’s plan?
Or had she been using Vincent’s money to protect Celia?
“We need to reach Greenhaven before Vincent moves her,” I said.
Dante nodded.
“We leave in ten minutes.”
“You said your people.”
“You are not entering another unknown property without me.”
“I thought I was staying here.”
“I reconsidered.”
“Did that hurt?”
“Immensely.”
Evelyn remained behind to coordinate with Dante’s men and monitor the shipyard. We traveled north in two vehicles.
The drive lasted nearly seven hours because we avoided major highways and changed cars twice.
Dante sat beside me in the rear seat.
For most of the trip, neither of us spoke.
The silence did not feel empty.
It felt crowded with things we were not ready to ask.
Finally, I said, “Why did you really come to the chapel yourself?”
He looked at me.
“You have men.”
“Yes.”
“You could have sent someone to show me the photograph.”
“You would not have believed them.”
“I barely believed you.”
“But you knew me.”
“I had met you four times.”
“You had formed an opinion.”
“That you were arrogant, dangerous and probably responsible for several unexplained disappearances.”
“Strong foundation for trust.”
“You climbed through a window.”
“The doors were watched.”
“You could have called.”
“Simon had your phone mirrored.”
I looked down at the device in my hand.
“How long have you been watching him?”
“Since he joined Turner Coastal’s legal team three years ago.”
“Before we dated.”
“Yes.”
“Did you know he was interested in me?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you warn me?”
“I had no proof.”
“You had suspicions.”
“If Dante Marwick had approached you three years ago and said your charming attorney was working for my uncle, what would you have done?”
“Called the police.”
“Exactly.”
I hated that he was right.
He looked toward the passing trees.
“I thought Simon would use you to access company records. I did not believe he would propose.”
“When did you realize?”
“The night of your engagement.”
“You were there?”
“Outside.”
I remembered seeing a black vehicle near the dock after Simon proposed. It had disappeared before dessert.
“You watched him propose to me.”
“Yes.”
“And did nothing.”
Dante’s expression became distant.
“I considered several things.”
“Legal things?”
“No.”
Despite myself, I almost smiled.
“Why didn’t you stop him?”
“Because you looked happy.”
The answer landed softly.
I turned toward the window.
For months, Simon had told me Dante wanted Turner Coastal. He described the Marwicks as predators circling my father’s legacy.
He had not been entirely wrong.
But predators were sometimes the first to recognize one another.
“Were you planning to enforce the marriage agreement?” I asked.
“No.”
“Ever?”
Dante was quiet for a moment.
“When I was twenty-five, before I understood what my family had done, I saw the agreement as a future obligation.”
“That is a romantic way to describe acquiring a stranger.”
“I was not romantic at twenty-five.”
“And now?”
His eyes met mine.
“Now I understand that obligation without choice is another form of violence.”
I looked away first.
We reached Greenhaven after dark.
The facility appeared peaceful. Warm lights shone from tall windows. Patients walked through landscaped courtyards beside nurses in pale uniforms.
Dante’s men had already taken positions around the property.
A former state investigator named Lena Park met us near a service entrance.
“Celia is registered as Clara Mason,” she said. “Room seventeen in the secure east wing.”
“Condition?” Dante asked.
“Records list traumatic brain injury, memory disturbance and episodes of paranoia.”
“Are they genuine?”
“Some. The medication list is extreme.”
“They have been keeping her sedated.”
Lena nodded.
“There are six private guards. None employed by the facility.”
“Vincent’s?”
“Likely.”
Dante checked his weapon.
I touched his arm.
“We cannot storm a hospital.”
“It is not a hospital.”
“There are patients inside who believe it is.”
His jaw tightened.
“What do you suggest?”
“We enter through the front.”
“Security knows my face.”
“They do not know mine.”
“No.”
“Dante.”
“No.”
“I am a shareholder whose wedding became a public scandal this morning. I can create a distraction without firing a weapon.”
“You have no medical credentials.”
“I have money. Private facilities respect it more.”
Lena smiled faintly.
“She is not wrong.”
Dante looked between us.
“I dislike this plan.”
“Your objection is recorded.”
Ten minutes later, I entered Greenhaven wearing a borrowed blazer and carrying a designer bag Lena kept for undercover work.
At the reception desk, I introduced myself as Margaret Ellis and claimed I needed immediate placement for my younger sister, who had attacked a family member during a psychotic episode.
The administrator’s sympathy increased noticeably when I mentioned private payment.
While she showed me a conference room, Lena entered through the service corridor wearing medical scrubs.
Dante waited outside the east wing.
My job was to keep the administrator occupied.
I asked about private rooms.
Security.
Confidentiality.
Whether staff could prevent relatives from contacting a patient.
The administrator assured me Greenhaven had “extensive experience managing difficult family dynamics.”
A scream came from the hallway.
Not part of the plan.
The administrator stood.
The lights went out.
Emergency bulbs activated.
A man’s voice shouted near the east wing.
Then gunfire cracked through the building.
Dante had specifically ordered no guns unless Vincent’s men fired first.
Which meant they had.
I ran into the hallway.
Patients emerged from rooms. Nurses shouted for everyone to stay calm.
Smoke moved from the east corridor.
A guard appeared and grabbed my arm.
“You need to return to the conference room.”
I struck him with the designer bag.
The metal clasp caught his mouth.
He released me.
“With a handbag?” a familiar voice said behind him.
Dante drove the guard into the wall.
“With a pearl button,” I replied. “I’m adaptable.”
His eyes flashed despite the danger.
“Room seventeen.”
We ran.
Lena had disabled the electronic locks. Doors stood open along the secure wing.
At the end of the corridor, a man in a gray suit fired toward us.
Dante pulled me behind a nurses’ station and returned fire.
The man fell.
I tried not to look at him.
Room seventeen had a reinforced door.
Dante entered the code Lena provided.
Inside, a woman sat on the floor beside the bed.
She was thin, with dark hair cut unevenly near her shoulders. Bruises marked the places where IV lines had been inserted repeatedly.
She looked at Dante.
Her face showed no recognition.
He stopped several feet away.
“Celia.”
The woman pressed herself into the corner.
“No.”
“It’s Dante.”
“No Dante.”
His expression broke.
Not dramatically.
A small fracture around his eyes.
He lowered his weapon and crouched.
“I’m your brother.”
“Dante is dead.”
“No.”
“Vincent said.”
“Vincent lied.”
She began rocking.
“Dante killed Lucian. Vincent killed Dante.”
I remained near the door.
Dante reached slowly into his pocket and removed a silver pendant.
A small bird.
Celia stared at it.
“You gave me this when you were twelve,” he said. “You stole it from our mother’s jewelry box.”
“She said it was ugly.”
“You said that was why I deserved it.”
Celia stopped rocking.
Her eyes moved to his face.
“Dante?”
He nodded.
She crawled toward him.
When he opened his arms, she struck him across the face.
“You left me!”
He accepted the blow without moving.
“I looked for you.”
“You left me with him.”
“I did not know.”
She struck him again.
Then collapsed against his chest.
Dante held her.
His eyes closed.
For one minute, the war outside the room disappeared.
Then Celia looked over his shoulder and saw me.
Fear returned instantly.
“Who is she?”
“Mara Turner.”
Celia pushed away from Dante.
“Richard’s daughter?”
“Yes.”
She grabbed my wrist.
“Your father came here.”
My heart stopped.
“When?”
“Before he died.”
“What did he say?”
Celia looked toward the open door.
“He said someone close to you was protecting me. A girl with red hair.”
Rose.
“Did Rose come here?”
“Every month.”
Relief hit so hard I nearly lost my balance.
Rose had not betrayed me.
She had been using Vincent’s account to keep Celia alive.
“Why would Vincent let her?”
“He did not know,” Celia said. “Rose changed the account route. Richard taught her.”
Dante looked at me.
My father had trusted Rose with a secret he had never shared with me.
“Why?” I asked.
Celia’s grip tightened.
“Because Rose is Richard Turner’s daughter too.”
The corridor seemed to tilt.
“No.”
“Your father brought her here. He called her his child.”
I pulled my hand away.
“That is impossible.”
Celia shook her head.
“Different mother. Same father.”
Gunfire sounded again.
Lena appeared in the doorway.
“We have to move. Vincent’s people are coming from the south entrance.”
Dante lifted Celia.
She resisted until he whispered something in her ear.
Then she held his neck.
We moved through the service corridor toward the waiting vehicles.
Outside, police sirens approached.
Dante’s men helped Celia into an SUV.
My phone rang.
Simon.
I answered.
“You found her,” he said.
“How do you know?”
“Greenhaven’s director called Vincent.”
“Where is Rose?”
“At the shipyard.”
“I want proof.”
A video arrived.
Rose sat inside my father’s old office. Her hands were tied, but she appeared conscious.
Margaret Vale sat beside her.
Simon entered the frame.
“Midnight is no longer convenient,” he said. “Come now.”
Behind him, a digital clock showed 10:42 p.m.
“You have one hour.”
The video ended.
Dante looked toward me.
“We cannot reach Charleston in one hour.”
“The shipyard has a private runway,” Celia said weakly from the SUV.
Dante turned.
“It was closed.”
“Vincent reopened it. He uses it for cargo.”
Lena checked the distance.
“There’s a charter airport twelve minutes away.”
Dante called someone immediately.
I stood beside the vehicle trying to understand the truth Celia had given me.
Rose was my sister.
My father had hidden her.
Protected her.
Trusted her.
And now she was tied inside the office where he had taught both of us to read shipping manifests.
Dante ended the call.
“A plane will be ready.”
I climbed into the SUV.
He caught my hand.
“Mara, what Celia said—”
“Later.”
“You do not have to go into that shipyard.”
“Yes, I do.”
“You are not responsible for Rose because she may share your blood.”
“No.”
May you like
I looked toward the video frozen on my screen.
“I am responsible because she threatened to burn the city down looking for me.”
