“Do not serve that table unless I point at you. Do not stare at his guards. Do not ask questions. And Claire—”

By 3:00 AM, the house had fallen into a heavy silence.

Audrey was sleeping deeply in her bed, her small hand clutching Claire’s thumb even in her sleep. Claire sat on a chair beside the bed, gently sliding her hand free once the child’s breathing turned rhythmic and slow.

She stepped quietly out into the hallway.

Dominic was waiting for her in his study—a large room lined with leather-bound books, dark mahogany furniture, and three monitors displaying live security feeds of the property.

He had poured two glasses of amber scotch. He pushed one across the desk toward her.

“I don't drink on the job,” Claire said softly, taking a seat across from him.

Dominic didn't press it. He took a slow sip from his glass, his dark eyes reflecting the cool glow of the monitors.

“Talk to me, Claire,” Dominic commanded quietly. “Tell me what she remembers about the day Sarah died.”

Claire rested her forearms on her knees, leaning forward.

“Audrey remembers the morning of the explosion,” Claire began, her voice steady and clear. “She said your wife, Sarah, was taking her to a dentist appointment in the Mercedes. Right before they got into the car, Victor approached Sarah in the garage.”

Dominic’s glass remained frozen near his lips. “Go on.”

“Audrey was sitting in the back seat,” Claire continued. “She saw Victor reach into his jacket and pull out a white envelope. He gave it to Sarah. Sarah opened it, became very angry, and argued with Victor. Victor tried to reach into the car to grab the envelope back, and Sarah slammed the door on his arm.”

Dominic’s eyes flared with realization. “The star-shaped scar on his wrist.”

“Yes,” Claire nodded. “The glass frame of the car window shattered slightly when Sarah slammed it on his arm, cutting his wrist deeply. Two minutes later, Sarah drove out of the gate. Victor didn't follow in his security detail car as he was supposed to. He stayed behind at the gatehouse.”

Claire leaned closer to the desk.

“Three blocks away from the estate, the car exploded.”

Dominic set his glass down so hard the amber liquid sloshed over the rim. He stood up slowly, his hands resting flat on the dark wood of his desk, his breathing heavy and ragged.

“The police investigation concluded it was a magnetic pipe bomb attached to the undercarriage,” Dominic said, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “They blamed the O’Malley syndicate from the South Side. I spent eighteen months tearing the O’Malley organization apart piece by piece in retaliation.”

“And while you were hunting ghosts on the South Side,” Claire said coldly, “the man who actually planted the bomb was managing your finances and consolidating his power in your inner circle.”

Dominic turned toward the wall monitors. On Camera 4, Victor Vance was walking across the courtyard toward the main garage, talking quietly on a encrypted satellite phone.

“Why?” Dominic whispered, his voice laced with venom. “Why would Victor kill Sarah? She had no part in the business.”

“Because of whatever was in that white envelope,” Claire said. “Sarah found out something Victor was doing—something involving your money or your network. She threatened to tell you, and Victor eliminated her before she could reach you.”

Dominic stared at the screen, his fists clenching until his knuckles turned white.

“I will tear him apart with my bare hands,” Dominic growled, stepping toward the door.

“And you will go to prison for the rest of your life, leaving Audrey completely defenseless,” Claire snapped, her voice cutting through his rage like a steel blade.

Dominic stopped at the door. He turned to face her, his eyes wild with fury.

“What do you suggest, waitress?” he demanded.

“Victor is a professional,” Claire said calmly. “He won't leave physical evidence of a three-year-old murder in his room. But if Sarah had that white envelope in the car, where did she put it before the explosion?”

Dominic blinked, his anger momentarily pausing. “The car was incinerated.”

“Not all of it,” Claire said. “When a car bombs explodes from the undercarriage, items in the glove box or side door pockets often survive the initial blast or get thrown into the street. Did the police return Sarah’s personal belongings from the crash site?”

Dominic’s expression changed. A memory sparked behind his dark eyes.

“There was an evidence box,” Dominic whispered. “The police delivered it to our bank vault downtown two weeks after the funeral. I couldn't bear to open it. It has sat in the vault for three years.”