The Heir They Humiliated

CHAPTER 13

I didn’t wait for the morning to break before tearing into the files. If the game had changed, I needed to know the board better than anyone else.

I sat in the dim light of my office, the screens casting a harsh, artificial glow over my face, while Davis fed me every scrap of data he could scrape from the digital ether regarding the name "Sloane."

The dossier was a  saddening graveyard of ambition that pricked my chest slightly. 

Sloane hadn't just been any ordinary detective; he had been the best investigator the Kingston PD had ever produced. He’d spent ten years climbing the ranks until he stumbled onto a case adjacent to the Council of Five—the shadowy cabal that effectively pulled the strings of this entire region. 

He didn't just get pushed out. No, no…he was systematically dismantled. A fabricated charge of planted evidence had effectively ended his career, stripped him of his badge, and left him a social pariah.

I read the report twice, letting the details settle into my marrow. There was a sickening familiarity to the narrative that sparked something in me.

 A man who held the truth, a system designed to protect the guilty, and a fall from grace that left him with nothing but a grudge. He was me, twenty years down the line, if I didn’t have the Van Alen resources to back me up.

"He was the only one who saw the truth," I whispered, stunned momentarily.

"And now he’s on Julian’s payroll," Helen said flatly, standing by the door with her arms crossed. Her expression was guarded, her posture tense. "If he’s been this broken, he’s likely for sale to the highest bidder. Julian is paying for his silence and his blade."

"I don't think he's for sale, Helen" I said, a sudden, sharp intuition striking me. "I think he's just…hungry."

On pure instinct, I reached out. Before Helen could protest, I dialed the number Davis had unearthed. The ringing tone felt like a countdown. On the fourth ring, the line clicked open. There was no "hello," just the sound of a man exhaling smoke into a mouthpiece.

"You’re early, Mr. Vane," a voice rasped. It was a low, gravelly sound, the voice of a man who hadn't spoken much in years.

"I’m not Vane," I said, my voice steady, refusing to glance at Helen’s furious face. "I’m the man whom you aim to turn into a crime scene at the wedding."

A cold pause. Then, a low, humorless chuckle. "The Van Alen heir. I heard the old man died, but I didn't think the replacement would have the nerve to reach out to me directly. You’re playing with fire, kid." He drawled.

"I’m not playing," I countered. "I’m hiring. Julian Vane is a placeholder for the people who ruined your career. I have the leverage to bring them down. You can be the dog on his leash, or you can be the wolf that leads the pack home."

There was a silence that made my blood pump for a few seconds. Then his voice came again.

"What’s in it for you?"

"The same thing you want," I said, staring at the screen. "Justice for the people who think they’re above it."

The line went silent for a long moment. I could hear the city traffic in the background of his call, the hum of a life lived in the shadows. Finally, he spoke: 

"I’ll consider it. But if I find out you’re just another vulture in a tailored suit, I’ll be the one to ensure the Van Alen line ends."

He hung up before I could reply.

I set the phone down, my heart hammering against my ribs. Helen was across the room, her face tight with unconcealed frustration.

"That was incredibly reckless," she said, her voice sharp. "You just reached out to a man who might be a double agent. You’ve compromised our position, tipped our hand, and handed him a motive to report back to Julian the moment we’re vulnerable."

"Or I’ve turned Julian’s surveillance into my own," I shot back, standing up. "He was a detective, Helen. He knows how to track, how to observe, and how to stay hidden. Julian hired him to watch the wedding—I’m hiring him to watch Julian."

"You don't know that!" she snapped, stepping closer. "You’re projecting your own desire for justice onto a man who has lost everything. He’s a wild card, Carter. You’re gambling the entire Dynasty on a grudge!"

"And you’re gambling our safety on caution!" I retorted feistily. "Since when does a Van Alen hide in the shadows when they have the power to command the light?"

"Since the moment they started being hunted!" she shouted.

We stood there, the air between us crackling with the kind of tension that didn't dissipate. It was our first real argument, a clash of ideology that went deeper than just this one man. She saw the risk; I saw the opportunity. Neither of us would back down.

 I stormed off to the guest suite, and for the first time since our night in New York, we slept on opposite sides of the hallway, the distance between us feeling like a canyon.

I didn't sleep. I lay there in the dark, watching the ceiling, wondering if I had truly made the most brilliant move of my life or the most catastrophic.

Twenty seconds after Sloane’s final "yes" echoed in my head, my burner phone buzzed. It was a different number, one I didn't recognize. I tapped the screen, expecting a taunt from Julian, but the voice on the other end was distorted, clinical, and completely alien.

"Sloane just made a call before he called you back," the voice said, the tone flat. "You should find out who."

The line went dead before I could even draw a breath.

I scrambled out of bed, my mind racing. Sloane hadn't just accepted the deal; he had checked the board. I grabbed my robe and walked back into the living room, my pulse rumbling erratically. 

Helen was already there, still awake, staring at the wall with a hollow expression. She looked up as I entered, her eyes tracing the panic on my face.

"What now?" she asked, her voice weary and her eyes as sharp as an eagle’s.

I turned the screen toward her, my hands trembling slightly. "We have a problem," I whispered. "Someone is watching the watcher."

She looked at the screen, her composure shattering for the second time that day. The realization hit us both with the force of a wrecking ball: we weren't just playing a game of chess against Julian. 

We were sitting at a table with players who had been watching us for a long, long time. And if Sloane had called someone else, it meant the entire wedding was a trap not just for me, but for anyone foolish enough to believe they could change the outcome.

"He's not a double agent, Carter," Helen said, her voice dropping to a whisper as the reality sank in. "He's a triple. And you have just invited him into the bloody house."