Chapter 8 - The River House
I wanted to dismiss the letter.
That was my first instinct.
People talk about objectivity as if it's natural.
It isn't.
Objectivity is work.
My father distrusted Declan.
I trusted Declan.
Those two facts collided inside me so violently I could barely think.
Declan handed the letter back.
“You should keep it.”
I stared at him.
“That's all?”
“What do you want me to say?”
“Something.”
“Your father was right to be cautious.”
“You aren't angry?”
“At a dead man for protecting his daughter?”
His jaw tightened.
“No.”
That answer made trusting him easier.
Which made me suspicious of myself for feeling it.
Elena watched both of us.
“We need to move.”
“Why?” Declan asked.
“Because my father contacted me twenty minutes ago.”
“Sheldon?”
“Yes.”
“Where is he?”
“River house.”
Declan frowned.
“What river house?”
Elena looked surprised.
“You really don't know?”
“No.”
“Daniel owns a house near Fox River.”
Forty miles west.
Sheldon was there.
Daniel was there.
And according to Elena, both were willing to meet us.
“That sounds like a trap,” I said.
“It might be.”
“Comforting.”
Elena handed Declan a piece of paper.
“No security convoy.”
“No.”
“Two guards maximum.”
“No.”
“Then don't come.”
Declan looked at her.
She didn't blink.
I liked her more every minute.
We left with one vehicle.
Declan drove.
That surprised me.
“You have people for this.”
“I know how to drive.”
“Rich people occasionally forget.”
“You're very talkative for someone with cracked ribs.”
“Pain medication.”
“Clearly.”
Elena sat behind us.
Nobody followed.
At least nobody we could see.
The city disappeared gradually.
Buildings became neighborhoods.
Neighborhoods became stretches of bare September fields.
The river house sat behind trees near a quiet road.
Simple structure.
Nothing luxurious.
Daniel opened the door before we knocked.
Declan stopped.
The brothers stared at each other.
Seventeen years fit inside that silence.
Daniel looked older than the garage video.
Gray at his temples.
Scar near his chin.
Otherwise, unmistakably a Morrow.
“Declan.”
Declan said nothing.
Daniel's eyes moved to me.
“How's the leg?”
“Broken.”
“Sorry.”
“Your warning arrived about eighteen years too late.”
“Fair.”
“Did you put my phone inside my coat?”
“Yes.”
“Did you drive me to the penthouse?”
“Yes.”
“Why don't I remember?”
“You were unconscious most of the trip.”
“Why didn't you take me to a hospital?”
“Because two hospitals had people waiting.”
I stared.
“What?”
“They were watching emergency rooms.”
Declan's expression sharpened.
“For her?”
“For anyone connected to the stolen phone.”
Daniel stepped aside.
“Come in.”
Sheldon Farris sat at the kitchen table.
No restraints.
No injuries.
He looked exhausted.
When he saw me, guilt crossed his face.
Real guilt.
“Gemma.”
“You owe me a leg.”
He closed his eyes.
“I know.”
“You hired men to steal from me.”
“Yes.”
“Excellent start.”
“I told them not to touch you.”
“Very considerate.”
“They weren't the men who attacked you.”
“I've heard.”
He looked at Declan.
“I was trying to keep the device away from the network.”
“What network?” Declan asked.
Daniel answered.
“The organization your father created.”
Declan's jaw tightened.
“Patrick lost control of it.”
“Eventually.”
“Who controls it now?”
Daniel walked toward the window.
“We call him Atlas.”
I stared.
“Dramatic.”
“We didn't choose the name.”
“Who is he?”
“We don't know.”
“How do you investigate someone for eighteen years without learning his name?”
Daniel turned.
“Because Atlas isn't necessarily one person.”
That was worse.
He explained.
Patrick Morrow had built an influence network in the late nineties.
Officials.
Lawyers.
Police officers.
Contractors.
Business executives.
Most didn't know about one another.
Patrick used them to solve problems.
Then someone began using the same network independently.
At first, Patrick assumed Sheldon was responsible.
Thomas Cole proved he wasn't.
“Your father realized the payments formed patterns,” Daniel told me. “Not theft. Commands.”
“What kind?”
“A contract awarded here. An inspection ignored there. A witness changing testimony.”
I looked at Declan.
His expression had become stone.
“Patrick tried dismantling it,” Daniel continued.
“And?”
“People died.”
Silence.
“He stopped.”
“So my father?”
Daniel looked at me.
“Thomas refused to stop.”
My throat tightened.
“Was his heart attack natural?”
Nobody answered.
That was answer enough.
I looked at Sheldon.
“You knew?”
“Not until later.”
“When?”
“Years.”
“You let my mother believe—”
“I had no proof.”
“You had enough to suspect.”
“Yes.”
I wanted to hate him.
Maybe I did.
But hatred was becoming complicated.
“Why disappear?” Declan asked Daniel.
“Patrick accused me.”
“Sheldon accused you.”
“No.”
Declan frowned.
Daniel looked at Sheldon.
“Tell him.”
Sheldon rubbed his face.
“Patrick ordered me to create evidence against Daniel.”
Declan froze.
“You framed him.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because Patrick believed someone would kill Daniel if Atlas thought he was still investigating.”
I understood.
“He erased him.”
Daniel nodded.
“Your father made me look like a thief and forced me out.”
Declan stepped toward him.
“And you let me believe it.”
“I needed you to believe it.”
“For seventeen years?”
“If you knew, Atlas would know.”
“How?”
Daniel looked directly at his brother.
“Because someone within your inner circle reports everything you do.”
The room became silent.
Declan's security.
His executives.
His lawyers.
Someone close.
“How close?” he asked.
Daniel glanced toward me.
“Close enough to know about Gemma's audit within twelve hours of her starting.”
My stomach sank.
Only a handful of people had known.
“Who?”
“We narrowed it to three.”
Daniel placed three photographs on the table.
Sheldon.
A security executive named Marcus Vale.
And—
I stopped.
The third photograph showed a woman.
Elegant.
Blonde.
Forty-five.
Declan stared at it.
“No.”
I recognized her.
Everyone in Chicago society did.
Victoria Morrow.
Declan's aunt.
Patrick's younger sister.
Chairwoman of the Morrow Foundation.
One of the most respected philanthropists in the city.
Daniel pointed to the image.
“She has access to everything.”
Declan shook his head.
“Victoria raised us.”
“She raised you.”
“Us.”
Daniel's expression darkened.
“No, Declan.”
“What?”
“She helped Patrick erase me.”
Declan stepped back.
“She told you I was dead.”
Silence.
I looked between them.
“Declan thought you were dead?”
Daniel nodded.
“For the first six years.”
My stomach twisted.
The family story was uglier than I'd imagined.
Then a vehicle approached outside.
Daniel turned sharply.
Nobody was expected.
He checked the window.
His face changed.
“Back room. Now.”
Declan stood.
“Who is it?”
Daniel looked at him.
“Victoria.”
May you like
And somehow Declan's aunt had found the secret house within forty minutes of our arrival.
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