I turned away, staring out over Manhattan.
All those years, I thought I had inherited a company.
Maybe I had inherited a war.
“Why Claire?” I asked.
“Because she had the boys,” Holt said. “And because bloodline matters to men like your father. He didn’t want you distracted by them, but he also didn’t want them outside his control forever.”
I looked back at him.
“What does that mean?”
Holt hesitated.
Then Margaret’s phone rang.
She answered, listened for three seconds, and her expression collapsed.
“Alex.”
It was the first time she had used my first name at work in years.
I knew before she said it.
“They found a house,” she whispered. “Long Island. Blue door. Near the water.”
My chest tightened.
“And Claire?”
Margaret’s eyes shone.
“No body.”
I closed my eyes.
Thank God.
Then she added, “But there was blood.”
The word hung in the room.
Behind the conference room door, one of the boys laughed again, innocent and bright.
I turned to Holt.
“Get a car.”
“Already downstairs.”
“I’m coming.”
“You need to stay with the boys.”
“I said I’m coming.”
Holt didn’t argue.
Before leaving, I went into the conference room.
Lucas had cookie crumbs on his chin. Noah was drawing on a notepad, his small tongue caught between his teeth in concentration.
When they saw me, they both straightened.
I crouched between them.
“I need to go find your mother.”
Lucas’s face tightened. “She said you shouldn’t.”
“I know.”
Noah grabbed my hand. “The bad men hurt people.”
“I know that too.”
“Then don’t go,” he whispered.
I looked at his hand wrapped around mine.