THE LIE THAT WORE A RING - Chapter 41: Chapter 41
You are reading THE LIE THAT WORE A RING, Chapter 41: Chapter 41. Read more chapters of THE LIE THAT WORE A RING.
The greatest threats aren’t those who scream in rage—but those who smile while they erase you.
The rain poured down like a warning that morning.
Inside the Carter estate, the once-serene halls were thick with tension. Ava, Nicholas, and Ethan sat in the study, maps and notes spread out over the coffee table. Each of them had been marked by truth, betrayal, and grief—but now, something greater loomed.
A storm decades in the making.
The return of Craven Hall wasn’t just a threat.
It was a declaration.
Nicholas read the decrypted file from the journal’s final section. It mapped a network of names, offshore accounts, coded auctions, and what Isabelle had called “ghost buyers”—operatives who used art as both currency and camouflage.
All roads pointed to one figure:
The Broker.
The puppet master behind the entire Craven network.
That afternoon, Elise walked into the room, soaked from her silent meeting with Jonas Wells. Her hair clung to her face, but her eyes burned with fire.
“I know who the Broker is,” she said.
Nicholas turned sharply. “You’re sure?”
She nodded. “I followed Jonas to his last contact. I couldn’t get close, but I overheard enough. The Broker isn’t some faceless man overseas…”
She paused, her throat tightening.
“It’s someone from your inner circle, Nicholas. Someone who’s been watching you for years.”
Nicholas froze. “Who?”
Elise swallowed. “Vincent Hale.”
Ava’s heart skipped.
Vincent—Nicholas’s longtime business advisor. A trusted friend. Practically family. He was at every Carter Foundation gala. Every major investment. He had even delivered Isabelle’s eulogy.
Nicholas reeled. “No. That’s not possible.”
Ethan spoke for the first time. “What if that’s why he’s always been so close? So loyal?”
“He had access to everything,” Elise said. “Including Isabelle’s travel documents. He knew when she tried to disappear.”
Nicholas stood, rage building behind his calm. “Then we confront him.”
Vincent Hale lived in a penthouse overlooking Central Park, the kind of place where silence was wealth’s language. Nicholas didn’t call ahead. He brought Elise, Ava, and Ethan with him—he needed them to see it.
Vincent greeted them at the door with his usual calm warmth. “Nicholas! This is a surprise.”
“Is it?” Nicholas asked coldly, stepping inside. “Or were you expecting us after your name came up in my wife’s journal?”
Vincent’s smile faltered just a little.
“That’s a heavy accusation.”
“No denial,” Ava cut in.
Vincent closed the door slowly and turned.
He didn’t pretend anymore.
“You were always too smart,” he said quietly. “But not smart enough.”
Nicholas stepped forward, fury in his voice. “You stood beside me at Isabelle’s funeral.”
Vincent nodded. “Because I cared about her. And I warned her. But she wanted out. And no one walks away from Craven Hall.”
Elise moved protectively in front of the kids.
“What now?” Ava asked. “Are you going to try to erase us too?”
Vincent’s eyes softened.
“I’m not here to kill anyone. I’m here to finish the painting.”
He walked to his office, opened a hidden panel, and revealed a second canvas—one that mirrored Crimson Veil.
But this one… was unfinished.
Only the right side was painted—brush strokes wild, red streaks like blood tears.
“The truth wasn’t meant to be told in one image,” Vincent said. “There were two. Yours was part one. This is part two.”
Nicholas stepped closer, his voice low. “Why show us this?”
Vincent turned, his face unreadable.
“Because Isabelle didn’t just betray Craven Hall… she betrayed me. And I loved her too.”
The silence that followed was suffocating.
Then Ava whispered, “You loved her…?”
Vincent nodded. “And she chose you.”
He set down a box on the table. “But now it’s your burden to carry.”
Inside the box were files. Real names. Government officials. Buyers. Sellers. Art transactions worth billions.
Vincent gave one final look to Nicholas.
“Burn it all. Or publish it and start a war that will never end.”
He turned back to the window, hands clasped behind his back.
“You won’t hear from me again.”
That night, Nicholas and the children sat in the study, the files between them, the unfinished painting resting against the far wall.
“What do we do?” Ethan asked.
Nicholas exhaled slowly. “The truth always demands a price. We just need to decide who pays it.”
The rain poured down like a warning that morning.
Inside the Carter estate, the once-serene halls were thick with tension. Ava, Nicholas, and Ethan sat in the study, maps and notes spread out over the coffee table. Each of them had been marked by truth, betrayal, and grief—but now, something greater loomed.
A storm decades in the making.
The return of Craven Hall wasn’t just a threat.
It was a declaration.
Nicholas read the decrypted file from the journal’s final section. It mapped a network of names, offshore accounts, coded auctions, and what Isabelle had called “ghost buyers”—operatives who used art as both currency and camouflage.
All roads pointed to one figure:
The Broker.
The puppet master behind the entire Craven network.
That afternoon, Elise walked into the room, soaked from her silent meeting with Jonas Wells. Her hair clung to her face, but her eyes burned with fire.
“I know who the Broker is,” she said.
Nicholas turned sharply. “You’re sure?”
She nodded. “I followed Jonas to his last contact. I couldn’t get close, but I overheard enough. The Broker isn’t some faceless man overseas…”
She paused, her throat tightening.
“It’s someone from your inner circle, Nicholas. Someone who’s been watching you for years.”
Nicholas froze. “Who?”
Elise swallowed. “Vincent Hale.”
Ava’s heart skipped.
Vincent—Nicholas’s longtime business advisor. A trusted friend. Practically family. He was at every Carter Foundation gala. Every major investment. He had even delivered Isabelle’s eulogy.
Nicholas reeled. “No. That’s not possible.”
Ethan spoke for the first time. “What if that’s why he’s always been so close? So loyal?”
“He had access to everything,” Elise said. “Including Isabelle’s travel documents. He knew when she tried to disappear.”
Nicholas stood, rage building behind his calm. “Then we confront him.”
Vincent Hale lived in a penthouse overlooking Central Park, the kind of place where silence was wealth’s language. Nicholas didn’t call ahead. He brought Elise, Ava, and Ethan with him—he needed them to see it.
Vincent greeted them at the door with his usual calm warmth. “Nicholas! This is a surprise.”
“Is it?” Nicholas asked coldly, stepping inside. “Or were you expecting us after your name came up in my wife’s journal?”
Vincent’s smile faltered just a little.
“That’s a heavy accusation.”
“No denial,” Ava cut in.
Vincent closed the door slowly and turned.
He didn’t pretend anymore.
“You were always too smart,” he said quietly. “But not smart enough.”
Nicholas stepped forward, fury in his voice. “You stood beside me at Isabelle’s funeral.”
Vincent nodded. “Because I cared about her. And I warned her. But she wanted out. And no one walks away from Craven Hall.”
Elise moved protectively in front of the kids.
“What now?” Ava asked. “Are you going to try to erase us too?”
Vincent’s eyes softened.
“I’m not here to kill anyone. I’m here to finish the painting.”
He walked to his office, opened a hidden panel, and revealed a second canvas—one that mirrored Crimson Veil.
But this one… was unfinished.
Only the right side was painted—brush strokes wild, red streaks like blood tears.
“The truth wasn’t meant to be told in one image,” Vincent said. “There were two. Yours was part one. This is part two.”
Nicholas stepped closer, his voice low. “Why show us this?”
Vincent turned, his face unreadable.
“Because Isabelle didn’t just betray Craven Hall… she betrayed me. And I loved her too.”
The silence that followed was suffocating.
Then Ava whispered, “You loved her…?”
Vincent nodded. “And she chose you.”
He set down a box on the table. “But now it’s your burden to carry.”
Inside the box were files. Real names. Government officials. Buyers. Sellers. Art transactions worth billions.
Vincent gave one final look to Nicholas.
“Burn it all. Or publish it and start a war that will never end.”
He turned back to the window, hands clasped behind his back.
“You won’t hear from me again.”
That night, Nicholas and the children sat in the study, the files between them, the unfinished painting resting against the far wall.
“What do we do?” Ethan asked.
Nicholas exhaled slowly. “The truth always demands a price. We just need to decide who pays it.”
End of THE LIE THAT WORE A RING Chapter 41. Continue reading Chapter 42 or return to THE LIE THAT WORE A RING book page.