Lucy let out a soft woof from her spot by the door as if sensing the shift in energy. Sam reached down to give her a quick scratch behind the ears. “Let’s go.”
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
Sam left Kevin at the station to submit the paint analysis request and headed to confront Beryl. He’d already decided that Kevin’s presence would only make Beryl clam up. This was a conversation best handled alone.
By now, Beryl would be home. Her towering brick house loomed in the distance as he turned onto her driveway. Lights spilled onto the manicured lawn, every bulb precisely placed. The house was as calculated as its owner—intimidating, unyielding.
Sam parked and glanced at Lucy in the back seat. Her ears perked up, and she let out a low, restless whine.
“Not this time, girl,” he said, closing the door behind him. He almost smiled at the dramatic huffshe gave in reply. But this wasn’t a moment for smiles. Beryl Thorne required every ounce of focus he had.
The brass knocker had barely sounded before the door swung open. Beryl stood there, tall and immaculately dressed, the epitome of grace under fire. Except her eyes—sharp and calculating—betrayed the irritation she didn’t bother to mask.
“Chief Mason,” she said coolly. “What brings you to my door at this hour? Trouble in paradise?”
Sam didn’t answer, stepping inside uninvited. The icy gust of winter air followed him in. “We need to talk.”
Beryl shut the door, her gaze narrowing. “And here I thought you knew how to use a phone.”
Sam didn’t rise to the bait. Instead, he scanned the pristine foyer, taking in the marble floors and glittering chandeliers. Everything about the place screamed untouchable wealth. But everyone had something to lose. Even Beryl Thorne.
She led him into a sitting room that felt more like a museum exhibit than a living space. Sam caught sight of a decanter of whiskey on a tray.
Beryl poured herself a whiskey, neat, and left the second glass empty. Message received.
She swirled the amber liquid in her glass. “So, why are you here?”
Sam pulled out his phone, swiping to the photo of the younger Beryl they’d found in the box. He held it up, watching her face carefully. Her reaction was subtle, but it was there—a quick tightening of her jaw, a flicker of her eyes toward the screen. Then it was gone, buried under her trademark calm.
“Where’d you find that?” she asked, her tone dismissive, but there was a faint edge to it.
“You tell me,” Sam said. “It’s you, isn’t it? Younger, sure, but still you.”
Beryl’s lips curved into a faint, amused smile. “And what exactly do you think that proves?”
Sam took a step closer, his voice dropping. “I think it proves you’re not just the long-suffering wife who picked up the pieces of your husband’s empire. You were in the thick of it all along. Whatever game you and Lucas were playing, it didn’t end with his conviction, did it?”
Beryl took her time, lifting her glass and sipping her whiskey. When she finally spoke, her voice was like silk wrapped around steel. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Sam didn’t need to. He just had to make her think he did. “What I do know is that you’ve been holding something over my head for years. You think that givesyou the upper hand.” He held up the phone again, his voice hard. “This changes that.”
For the first time, the mask slipped. Her knuckles whitened around the glass, just for a moment. Then she recovered, her tone icy. “If you think a photograph is going to scare me, you’re more naive than I thought.”
“This isn’t just a photograph,” Sam pressed. “This is proof of what you’ve been up to. You want to keep that skeleton in the closet? Fine. But if you try to use what you have on me, I’ll make sure this sees the light of day.”
Beryl’s eyes narrowed, and for the first time, she seemed truly unnerved. “You’re bluffing.”
“Am I?” Sam asked, his tone flat. “You want to test me?”
The room felt colder, the weight of the standoff pressing down like a physical force. Beryl set her glass down with deliberate precision, her poker face cracking enough to show her unease.
“Fine. So it’s checkmate then?” she asked, her voice quieter now, almost resigned. “Is that all you came for?”
“No, there’s something else. Garvin McDaniels,” Sam said. “What happened to him? What’s so important about that land?”
Beryl turned to the window, one hand gripping the curtain. “How would I know?”
“Because I think you’re behind it. You and your friends at Convale.”