Page 31 of Her Last Secret

“What’s that?” Jack asked, engrossed in his own line of research. From what she could gather, he was looking at the criminal database, looking up anyone and everyone who had worked on or behind a stage with Emily and Sarah.

“Nothing. Just thinking out loud.”

She continued to search and started to fear she’d gone down a rabbit hole that would lead to a dead end. But then she paused as a thread in the narrative caught her attention—a series of scathing reviews not of the plays but of the theater's management. The Grandiose Theatre, once the crown jewel among local stages, was now tarnished by accusations of mismanagement. The words of former employees and aggrieved patrons painted a grim picture. There were rumors and whispers of unreported impropriety linked to one name: Vincent Hale.

It was a name she’d seen in a few playbills, usually under the Thank You and Acknowledgments sections. Curious, she launched a new search, her fingers a blur across the keys. Gossip blogs, theater message boards, social media accounts—anything that might lead her towards Vincent Hale's less publicized activities. An off-hand comment about his wandering hands here, a veiled reference to late-night “rehearsals” there; the pattern emerged like a stain spreading across fabric. Two people on a Reddit thread centered around the local theater scene described him as “a predator, but the worst kind…the kind you don’t even know is a predator until after you’ve been bitten.”

Rachel's pulse quickened; this was no longer just about financial woes. It was about power, fear, and the silence brought by both.

She could find no police reports on Hale, meaning no one had ever actually pressed charges. But the whispers were there, spread out online. And if they were to be believed, the subtext was clear. Vincent Hale had made a habit of exploiting his position, and those who dared to speak up were swiftly reminded of their place. Rachel wondered if Emily and Sarah may have been ensnared in this web of predation. Could their talent and ambition have made them targets? Had they known too much, seen too much?

She knew for a fact that his name had been in playbills where the names of Emily Ross and Sarah Jennings had also been present but, again, it had never been in any position of importance—always a name relegated to the parts people usually only skimmed.

Rachel snapped her laptop shut, a decisive click that marked the end of her digital deep dive. She swiveled in her chair to face Jack, who leaned against the doorframe, his arms crossed over his chest, eyes questioning.

“I take it you’ve got something?”

"Vincent Hale," she declared, her voice steady with newfound purpose. She walked him through what she'd found, and even though she prefaced it with Hale not having a police record, Jack looked through the database anyway. Rachel didn't mind; there was no harm in double-checking with a second set of eyes.

When she was done, Jack straightened up, his brows knitting together as he absorbed the weight of her words. "You think he's managed to sort of stay in the background, using those financial troubles almost as a sort of camouflage?" he asked, already knowing the answer from the steel in Rachel's gaze.

“Could be. I mean, the pattern is there—financial trouble, desperate measures, and a silent history of manipulating young actresses."

"Yeah, that does sound like our guy. I say we find him and pay him a visit.” Even as he said this, he grabbed an address from the database, discovering that Vincent Hale lived just outside of Richmond, in the Brandermill area.

As they headed for the elevators, Rachel paused for a moment. She felt the tension coil tighter around her as she thought of Paige at home. Rachel pulled out her phone, already feeling guilty. She dialed the landline for their house, hoping Paige would understand…hoping that she could somehow correct herself and show Paige that even when she was away, home was the most important thing—that Paige was always on her mind and despite how it looked from the outside, she was a priority.

Carson answered again, a tactic he’d used when he had assisted before. The thought was that if anyone with intentions of harassing Paige or even Rachel (or, at the time when he’d first worked with them, Grandma Tate) heard a man’s stern voice answering the phone, they’d turn away.

After a brief string of chit-chat, he handed the phone over to Paige. “Hey, Mommy.”

"Hey, Paige, I'm sorry it's so late, but I just wanted to say goodnight. And I’m sorry I missed dinner.”

“That’s okay. We got pizza. Hawaiian.”

“With pineapple?”

“Yeah, it was delicious!”

In the background, she could hear Carson pipe up. “It’s a culinary abomination is what it is!”

Rachel and Paige chuckled at this before Rachel got to the hard part. “I’m sorry, sweetie, but I’m going to be a while. But if you feel uncomfortable there without me, just tell me and I’ll drop this. You know that, don’t you?”

“Yeah, I know. But I’m fine, Mommy. Me and Agent Carson are going to watch some TV for a while and then I’ll go to bed.”

“Paige…I’m sorry…”

She felt the need to cry but did her best to swallow it down. That was the absolute last thing Paige needed to hear.

“It’s okay, Mommy. Really. I know you’ve missed this. I know you need to do it.”

God, was she really only ten? How the hell had she gotten so smart? So wise.

“I love you, Paige.”

“I know you do. I love you, too. Be safe!”

“You, too. Goodnight.”

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