Chapter 15
I stopped beside it.
“I’m not riding in a helicopter.”
“I didn’t bring one,” Dominic said.
“Good.”
He opened the rear door, but I didn’t get in.
“Before we go,” I said, “I need you to promise me something.”
His expression became attentive.
“If the notebook contains anything difficult, you won’t decide what I can handle.”
“I won’t.”
“You won’t hide pages, destroy evidence, or tell me that you’re doing it for my protection.”
“I won’t.”
“And if you remember something else—anything else—you tell me immediately.”
His gaze held mine.
“I promise.”
I believed that he meant it.
I wasn’t yet sure I believed he could keep it.
But for the first time, those were two different things.
Vanessa slid into the car.
I followed, and Dominic sat opposite us rather than beside me.
The choice was small, but I noticed it.
He was giving me space.
The King mansion stood behind iron gates on the north side of the city, dark except for a few lights burning along the first floor.
It looked different in the early morning.
Less imposing.
More tired.
Maybe I was simply seeing it without the protection of three years’ worth of assumptions.
Dominic led us through the entrance and toward the study.
His father’s room had remained mostly untouched since his death.
The furniture was heavy, the bookshelves lined with dark leather volumes, and the air carried the faint scent of paper and cedar.
Vanessa crossed to the far wall.
“The cabinet is behind these shelves,” she said.
She pressed her palm against a section of wood.
A narrow panel released with a quiet click, revealing a shallow compartment built into the wall.
I stared at it.
“Your father kept secrets very efficiently,” I said.
“He kept everything efficiently,” Dominic replied.
“Including people.”
The words contained no anger, only an old weariness.
Inside the cabinet was an empty space where the notebook had been, a stack of property documents, and a metal box.
Dominic lifted the box and set it on the desk.
The lid wasn’t locked.
Inside were receipts, folded letters, and a leather wallet.
My breath caught.
I knew that wallet.
I had seen it in photographs.
Brown leather, a small crease at the corner, my father’s initials stamped inside.
I reached for it, but stopped before touching it.
“Where did you get this?”
“I didn’t,” Dominic said.
“It was here.”
My fingers trembled as I picked it up.