Chapter 10: Greenfield Cemetery

**Chapter Ten: Greenfield Cemetery**

Jane stood outside the mansion gate, her hoodie pulled up, phone clutched in her shaking hand. It was five minutes to midnight.

She hadn't told Carlo.

Something told her he would never let her go if he knew.

The streets were quiet. The city slept.

Only the moon watched her now.

She got into the cab she had called and whispered, "Greenfield Cemetery, please. And… don't wait."

The driver glanced at her in the mirror but said nothing. The ride was silent, eerie. As the cemetery gates came into view, Jane felt her stomach tighten.

She paid and got out.

The iron gates loomed before her, half-open as if someone was expecting her.

Gravel crunched under her shoes as she stepped inside. Rows of tombstones stretched before her like silent witnesses.

She walked slowly, heart racing with every step.

Then she saw him.

The man from the hallway.

He stood beneath a large tree, face still in shadows. But she recognized the coat. The stance.

Jane forced herself forward. "You. Who are you?"

He didn't move. "You came alone," he said finally, voice low and rough.

"I want answers," Jane said, standing her ground. "Why do you have my father's photo?"

There was a pause. Then he reached into his coat and tossed a brown envelope onto the ground in front of her.

She bent and picked it up.

Her fingers trembled as she opened it.

Inside were old letters. Documents. A photo—her father shaking hands with a man she recognized from Carlo's office portrait. Carlo's father.

"What is this?" she whispered.

"They were partners," the man said. "Until someone wanted your father out of the way."

Jane's heart dropped. "You're saying he was murdered?"

The man didn't answer.

"I need more than this," she said. "Names. Proof."

He stepped forward slightly, just enough for moonlight to touch his scarred jaw. "Your father tried to expose something. Something tied to Evelyn and Maxwell. He never got the chance."

Jane's mind raced. "Why are you helping me?"

"Because he saved my life once," the man said quietly. "And because his enemies are still out there."

She looked down at the papers again. One letter was signed—**E. Clarson.**

Her breath caught.

Evelyn Clarson.

"I don't understand—what did she have to do with any of this?"

"She's not who you think she is," the man said. "And neither is Maxwell."

Jane looked up quickly. "Wait—do you know what happened to my father?"

The man's eyes met hers. "Yes. And I can prove it."

Jane stepped closer. "Then tell me."

He opened his mouth to speak—then suddenly froze.

A red dot appeared on his chest.

"No—!" Jane screamed.

A gunshot cracked through the cemetery.

The man dropped to the ground.

Jane fell to her knees beside him. "No, no, no—stay with me!"

His hand gripped hers, weak and bloody. He pushed something small into her palm.

"A key…" he rasped. "Locker… 72… Grand Central…"

His eyes rolled back.

Jane screamed his name—but she didn't even know it.

Footsteps echoed behind her.

She turned.

Someone was watching from the shadows.

And this time, **they weren't alone**.

**To Be Continued…**