Chapter 8 - THE APARTMENT THAT NEVER EMPTIED
Piermont Street had changed.
The building had not.
It stood between a coffee shop and a luxury fitness studio in the South End, its brick facade restored, its black shutters freshly painted.
Renick parked across the street.
Belle looked up at the third floor.
“You’re sure?”
“Yes.”
“She lived here?”
“For eleven months.”
“And after she disappeared?”
“I bought the building.”
Belle turned.
“Of course you did.”
He ignored that.
“Apartment 3B has remained sealed.”
“For eight years?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Renick looked at the windows.
“Because I was angry.”
Belle waited.
He added, “And because I couldn’t throw anything away.”
That admission surprised her.
They entered with two guards.
The landlord was apparently a Kavanaugh company.
No one questioned them.
The third-floor hallway smelled of dust and old wood.
Renick stopped outside 3B.
Belle handed him the brass key.
“You do it.”
He stared at it.
Then unlocked the door.
The apartment inside looked frozen.
Furniture under sheets.
Bookshelves.
A piano.
An umbrella leaning near the entrance.
Renick stepped in slowly.
Belle stayed behind him.
The air smelled stale.
A framed photograph sat facedown on a table.
Renick picked it up.
Bianca Arlen was beautiful.
Dark curls.
Wide brown eyes.
She stood beside Renick on a beach.
He looked younger.
Less guarded.
Belle glanced at him.
He turned the frame over.
“Where would she hide something?”
“I don’t know.”
“You loved her.”
“I said I was engaged to her.”
“That’s not an answer.”
Renick looked at the piano.
“She played badly.”
Belle followed his gaze.
“What?”
“She insisted on learning.”
He walked over.
“She could never remember the left pedal.”
Belle noticed three worn keys.
B.
A.
And C.
She frowned.
“B.A.”
Renick looked at her.
Bianca Arlen.
Belle pressed B, then A.
Nothing.
Micah would have noticed something else, she thought.
What?
She looked beneath the keyboard.
A small brass keyhole.
Renick inserted the second key.
A compartment opened under the bench.
Inside was a leather folder.
No ledger.
A birth certificate.
Renick lifted it.
His hands began shaking.
Belle read over his shoulder.
Female child.
Born February 14.
Mother: Bianca Elise Arlen.
Father: Renick Cormac Kavanaugh.
Name: Isla Rose Arlen.
Belle looked at him.
“You have a daughter.”
Renick sat down.
He stared at the paper.
For once, the most feared man in Boston looked completely defenseless.
“Eight years old,” Belle whispered.
He nodded.
Older than Brinley by two years.
Beneath the birth certificate lay another cassette.
They found the recorder in the same compartment.
Bianca’s voice came through.
“Renick, if Owen got this to you, then I was wrong about one thing.”
Renick closed his eyes.
“I thought I could fix it alone.”
Static.
“I never stole from your father.”
Belle watched Renick’s jaw tighten.
“Declan did.”
The tape continued.
“He was moving money through Vale Shipping and using Patrick’s accounts as cover.”
Renick stood.
Callum Vale.
His late wife’s brother.
The name Belle had heard earlier.
Bianca’s voice trembled.
“Cormac discovered some of it. Declan told him I was responsible. Your father believed him because I had access to every ledger.”
Renick whispered, “No.”
“By the time Owen proved the transfers were false, I was pregnant.”
Bianca inhaled shakily.
“I left because Declan threatened the baby.”
Belle’s hand covered her mouth.
“He said if I told you, you would die first.”
Renick stared at the recorder.
“And I believed him because someone had already tried to kill you on the Providence road.”
Renick looked up sharply.
Belle saw recognition.
“You remember.”
“My brakes failed.”
Bianca continued.
“Owen helped me disappear.”
Belle froze.
“Owen knew.”
Renick looked at her.
The recording played on.
“He arranged documents. A doctor. A safe place.”
“Where?” Renick whispered.
Then the tape clicked.
Nothing.
Belle shook the player.
“No.”
Renick took it.
The tape had ended.
He turned the cassette over.
Side B.
He flipped it.
Bianca’s voice returned.
“If Isla ever comes looking for you, tell her I never wanted to take her father away.”
Renick stopped breathing.
“She has your eyes.”
Belle looked at him.
“Gray?”
“Yes.”
Bianca laughed softly on the tape.
“She has your stubborn mouth too.”
Then her voice changed.
“Owen thinks Cormac may be willing to listen. We are going to meet him tomorrow.”
Belle knew what tomorrow was.
The night Owen died.
Bianca continued.
“If we fail, Owen says Sully will get the ledger to someone safe.”
Renick’s eyes darkened.
“He didn’t.”
Belle looked at him.
“Maybe he couldn’t.”
“He admitted he betrayed Owen.”
“And then Declan nearly killed him tonight.”
Renick did not reply.
The tape continued.
“Renick, there is one more thing.”
A pause.
“Declan is not working alone.”
Footsteps sounded in the apartment hallway.
One guard turned.
Too late.
The door exploded inward.
Smoke filled the room.
Belle dropped.
Renick grabbed her.
A shot cracked.
One guard fell.
Another fired back.
Belle crawled behind the piano.
Someone entered through the smoke.
Not Declan.
A woman.
Blond.
Elegant.
Maeve.
Belle stared.
Renick raised his gun.
His sister raised hers.
“Don’t,” Maeve said.
Renick’s face became stone.
“Maeve.”
She kicked the fallen attacker’s weapon away.
“I’m helping you.”
Then three more masked men rushed from the hallway behind her.
Maeve turned and fired.
Chaos erupted.
When it ended, two attackers were down.
One escaped through the rear fire stairs.
Maeve lowered her gun.
Belle’s ears rang.
Renick walked toward his sister.
“What are you doing here?”
Maeve looked at Bianca’s birth certificate in his hand.
Her face softened.
“You found Isla.”
Renick froze.
Belle’s head snapped toward her.
“You knew.”
Maeve looked at her brother.
“For three years.”
Renick’s voice was terrifyingly quiet.
“You knew my daughter was alive?”
Maeve swallowed.
“Yes.”
“Where is she?”
“I don’t know now.”
Renick stepped closer.
“Now?”
Maeve closed her eyes.
“She was living in Maine.”
“When?”
“Until six months ago.”
“What happened six months ago?”
Maeve looked at Belle.
May you like
Then back at him.
“She disappeared.”
