Peter Hale Novels & Stories

He wiped his hands on a piece of cloth, took it, and scowled at the headline teaser shining on the screen of his phone. “Leading Forensic Executive Peter Hale In New York Innovation Summit with Legal Consultant Stephanie Hale.” Martins froze. Forgotten, the towel fell from his fingers and to the ground. “Stephanie,” he muttered, the name sticking on his tongue as if he was trying to clear it from his throat. “My Stephanie.” He stood still for a moment, the hum of the refrigerator loud in the silence, his breath shallow and uneven.He hadn’t seen her name written like that in years, all neat and tidy, public and not afraid.

When Don saw Phelan, his eyes burned with hate. He bellowed—a sound that was somewhere between a yell, a moo, and a really loud belch. “Hey, Phelan,” She then shouted back. “Didn't I kill you already?” He pounded his fist into the dress she wore, and it crumpled like aluminum foil. A few dracaenae threw flaming javelins at her. She knocked them aside. A hellhound lunged, and she sidestepped. She could have stabbed it, but She hesitated. “This is not Mrs. O'Leary”, Don said to himself. This is an untamed wolf. It will kill me and all my friends.

“Selena didn’t come back because she needed a job, Ethan brought her back and she is here to take him back also.” Cam leaned back in his chair, exhaling sharply. “This is serious, Piper. If what you say is true, they could be watching you right now and listening, even.” I nodded. “That’s why I need to find out who C.H. is. That name kept coming up. He’s the one Ethan’s sending the money to.” Cam typed quickly, running the initials through every connection he could think of. Then he stopped. A name blinked on the screen……..Christopher Hale.

The screen changed again. A video feed activated. Jonathan Hale appeared—silver-haired, composed, eyes sharp with the confidence of a man who had never lost. “Ms. Moore,” he said calmly. “Mr. Reed.” Aria straightened. “You murdered my father,” she said, her voice cold. Hale sighed lightly. “No. I approved a necessity.” Damon stepped forward. “You ordered hits,” he said. “Buried cases. Destroyed lives.” Hale’s gaze flicked to him.

“Hello Mr. Whalen. This is Sarah and this is Peter.” “Wonderful to meet you both.” Mr. Whalen swaggered and hooked his thumbs under his suit jacket’s lapels proudly. “I’m Grover Whalen, the president of this fine Fair’s commission. That’s right,” he confirmed when Peter gawked. “How are you enjoying my Fair?”

Draven stood rigid in the hallway, his arm tightened protectively around Belle, eyes fixed on two men at the far end. Diego leaned close to a companion, speaking quietly. The stranger’s face was half-shadowed, but Draven recognized that build, that stance, that cold, calculating aura instantly. Marcus Hale—his cousin’s right-hand man, the one who’d orchestrated data leaks and the attempted takeover of Blackwood Industries months before. The man who was supposed to be in prison.

Dante’s POV I hadn’t expected the biker to be the private investigator Clarissa kept mentioning, and I definitely hadn’t expected him to walk into my office like he owned the place but I loved his confidence. He was the same guy who had dragged her out of an alley the night she’d been followed. When I told Reed about needing someone to protect Classira, he had mentioned him. Now he shook my hand with a grip like iron and said, “Name’s Hale. Let’s catch your ghost.”

A police cruiser pulled up behind him, siren whooping once to get his attention. Jake's heart skipped a beat. He pulled over to the shoulder, hands gripping the wheel tight. 'What did I do?' he wondered, glancing at the cop car. The officer stepped out, a big guy in his late 30s, broad shoulders filling out his uniform shirt. His name tag read 'Officer Hale.' He had a stern face, short dark hair, and a jaw that looked like it could crack nuts. Hale shone his flashlight into Jake's car, making him squint.

I need you to read this. We looked at each other. He kept reading. Out loud, after the first two lines, so I could hear it in real time. Cara Hale was forty-one. She had spent the last fifteen years watching her brother make bad decisions and take no responsibility for them. She had not been in contact with Patrick for three years. She had seen the Priya Nair profile and she had seen Alex's name and she had looked up the Hargreave case. She had done research. Then she had found something.

As her mother passed away, Aria stood in the hallway, numb. At 10:47 AM, Claire Hale was declared deceased. Her written confession, dated, signed, and witnessed by a nurse who attested to Claire’s sound mind at the time of writing, was discovered precisely where she had stated it would be. At midday, Detective Morrison arrived with an arrest warrant for James Hale. They discovered him burning papers in his study. The news was all over the place by nightfall. BILLIONAIRE JAMES HALE ARRESTED FOR 24-YEAR-OLD MURDER