Jonas Callow was a man who understood the value of silence.
His gallery was tucked into the oldest part of Evermare—a glass-and-stone relic filled with soft lighting and whispered reverence. The kind of place that looked like it belonged in a city. The kind of man who'd made his fortune turning secrets into investment pieces.
He didn't expect Elena and Rowan to show up unannounced.
Nor did he expect Luca.
The gallery lights flickered slightly as the three of them stepped into the grand space, footsteps echoing like ghost stories.
"Jonas," Elena said, her voice calm, almost cold.
He looked up from a framed seascape, his smile practiced and warm. "Elena Hartley. I heard you were back in town. How's the old bluff house holding up?"
Rowan's jaw tightened. "We need to talk. Now."
Jonas's eyes flicked between them—too quick, too sharp. "What's this about?"
Luca stepped forward, holding Matthew's sketchbook.
"This belonged to my father."
Jonas's face twitched. Just for a second. Then he chuckled softly, all smoothness and syrup.
"That's a bold accusation, Luca."
"It's not an accusation," Elena said. "It's the truth. And we know what you did."
Jonas exhaled slowly. "I don't know what story you've all put together, but let's be rational. Emotional. Understandable. But misguided."
Rowan's voice came out like ice. "We know you were there the night Matthew died. And we know you didn't want him to leave town with Margaret. Because he was going to take everything."
Jonas's smile faded.
"There's nothing left to take," he said, his voice low now. Dangerous.
"You took the painting," Elena snapped. "You paid off whoever handled Luca's adoption. You buried my grandmother's name in gallery contracts and legal noise. You turned her love into your profit."
Silence.
Then Jonas said softly, "And what are you going to do with your little theory, Miss Hartley? Tell the press? There's no evidence. No witnesses."
Rowan stepped closer, placing something on the gallery table.
A recorder.
Still blinking.
Still recording.
Jonas paled.
"Now there's evidence," Rowan said.
---
The confrontation didn't end in violence.
But it did end in truth.
Within a week, Jonas Callow's empire began to crack: quiet investigations reopened, buyers returned stolen paintings, and the Evermare town council launched a formal inquiry into the gallery's finances.
Jonas didn't return to the gallery.
He left town quietly.
Just like he had fifteen years ago—except this time, the ghosts followed him.
---
A week later, Rowan stood on the dock with Elena at sunset.
"I never thought I'd see it," he murmured.
"See what?"
He looked at her.
"This. Peace."
She smiled faintly. "It looks good on you."
He took her hand. "I don't know where this goes, Elena. But I know it doesn't go anywhere without you."
She leaned her head against his shoulder. "Then we're already home."
---
Farther down the beach, Luca stood with his sketchpad open, charcoal in hand, finally drawing his father's face from memory.
And the sea, at long last, was quiet.
---