A Marriage Built on Ashes

Chapter 3: What She Died For

Sloane

What in the world could give Cade the confidence to be right there?

I looked around. His timing was perfect. I didn’t see Aunt Claire or Uncle Marcus limousines outside. They must have left while I was with Jonathan, meaning it was just me.

He didn’t move as I approached. He just stood there with that. Up close, he looked exhausted.

"Move, Cade," I said, my voice shaking with a mix of fury and exhaustion. "I don’t want to hear a single word you have to say. Not one."

I reached for the door handle, but he didn't budge. He was like a wall of solid granite. "Sloane, just listen to me for five seconds."

"Five seconds? You had five years," I spat, my eyes blurring with heat. "Get away from my car before I call estate security."

"Your grandmother knew something," he said, his voice low and urgent. "She knew why Lily died."

The name hit me like a physical punch to the gut. I stopped struggling for the handle and looked up at him. “Wait. Lily? Lily, your sister?”

A flash of pain crossed his face, quick as a heartbeat, before the mask slipped back into place.

I felt a cold numbness spreading from my chest to my fingertips. “Dead? Cade, no... when? How?” My mind struggled to process it. I had just been thinking of her as alive, as a person who existed somewhere in the world. To find out she had been gone this whole time was a jagged, horrible shock. “I never knew. Was it an accident?”

“I'm sorry, Cade," I whispered, my anger faltering for a second. "I know how much you loved her. But why would my grandmother know anything about that? It was an accident."

“She was murdered, Sloane. And the people who did it are still out there.”

“Murdered? How did...”, I say with shock.

“The police ruled it a suicide,” Cade interrupted. “They were wrong. Or, more likely, someone paid them to be wrong.”, he said. "It wasn't an accident," Cade said. He stepped closer, dropping his voice so the security guards at the gate wouldn't hear. "I’ve spent every day since then digging. And I suspect your family is involved in it”

I pushed him back and stared at him, my mind reeling. "What are you talking about? My family runs hotels, not a crime syndicate."

“Exactly, Sloane. My sister was looking into luxury hotels being used as cover an illegal trafficking operation. And the Hartford properties keep showing up where they shouldn’t.”

“You’re crazy!”

"Lily was looking into the trafficking and it led her to Hartford Hotel," he continued regardless. "She was murdered because of what she found out about your family’s business. I don’t know who’s behind it. I only know where Lily died.”

The shock turned into a cold, biting rage. I felt it rise from my chest to my throat until I was practically shaking.

"You have some nerve," I hissed. "You leave me without a word. You disappear for five years, letting me think I wasn't good enough for your family's precious 'status.' And now you show up on the day of my grandmother's funeral to accuse my family of being criminals?"

"Sloane, I'm trying to help you..."

"Help me?" I interrupted, shoving my shoulder into his chest to get to the door. "You don't get to say that. You lost that right the night you walked away. My grandmother built this empire from nothing. She was the only person who actually cared about me, and you’re standing here dragging her name through the mud because you're grieving."

"Yes, I am grieving," he snapped, his voice finally breaking. He grabbed my arm, not to hurt me, but to force me to look at the reality in his eyes. "But I'm also right. People are dying, Sloane! Every day you ignore what’s happening in those hotels. People are being moved like cargo through your hallways!"

I ripped my arm away, the tears finally spilling over. "I am sorry about Lily, Cade. I truly am. I loved her too. And I’m sorry you’re hurting. I just lost my grandmother. Today. I watched them put her in the ground. You were there"

I yanked the car door open, the broken glass tinkling onto the floor mats.

"But you don't see me going around telling people their families are murderers just because I’m sad," I said, my voice cracking. "Go home, Cade. Stay away from me, and stay away from my family.”

I climbed into the seat, slammed the door and started the engine, the roar of the motor drowning out whatever he said next. I didn't look back. I peeled out of the driveway, the tires screaming on the wet pavement.

As I drove, my hand went to my coat pocket, feeling the heavy, vintage key to the Harbor wing. I thought it was time to confirm my suspicions. So, I drove to the Hartford Harbor property felt like a descent into a world I wasn't supposed to see. The rain turned into a downpour, blurring the neon signs of the city until they were just bleeding streaks of light. I kept one hand on the steering wheel and the other gripping the key in my pocket.

The Harbor wing was separated from the main hotel by a long, stone bridge. I killed the headlights and sat in the dark for a moment. My heart was thumping against my ribs so hard it hurt.

I shouldn't be here alone. I should be at home, mourning my grandmother with a glass of wine and a locked door.

But the text message and the key wouldn't let me rest. It’s like even though I didn’t want to be here, I needed to be.

I stepped out of the car, the wind whipping my hair across my face. I walked to the heavy service door near the loading docks. My hands shook as I slotted the vintage key into the lock. I expected it to be rusted shut, but the tumblers moved with a sickeningly smooth.

Someone had been using these locks recently. I turned on my phone’s flashlight to have a better look as I moved deeper into the wing, my footsteps echoing. I reached a door marked 4B. I pushed the curtain aside and stepped in.

It was packed tight with clothes. I stepped closer, expecting to see old uniforms or discarded bedsheets. Instead, the light of my phone hit the shimmer from expensive gowns and dresses. I checked the tags. None of them were larger than a size 4.

The tags were still attached. These weren't discarded clothes; they were a wardrobe.

Then a paper fell from the pocket of a beaded gold dress. I picked it up. It was a Hartford Hotel guest card, printed on a cream-colored cardstock we only used for VIPs.

Event: The Midnight Gala. Location: Hartford Hotel. Date: June 13th.

My blood turned to ice. June 13th was two weeks ago.

But this gala didn't exist. At least I don’t remember it. I wasn’t consulted for anything by the hotel this month. I was a lead consultant for the Hartford empire. Nobody informed me of any gala of such.

My suspicion turned to fear when I heard a floorboard creaked in the hallway outside.

I froze, killing the light on my phone. I heard the sound of leather soles on concrete. Someone was out there. And they weren't trying to be quiet.

I pressed my back against the cold wall, my hand instinctively reaching for the heavy brass key in my pocket as if it could protect me.

The footsteps stopped right outside the curtain.