Chapter 3 - The Secret Beneath the Boathouse
Wesley read his father’s message fourteen times before sunrise.
THE TRAITOR IS IN OUR BLOOD.
Karen Rourke.
He hated the implication.
He hated the timing.
Most of all, he hated the small, rational part of his mind whispering that his father had rarely written anything without reason.
Delaney found him on the dock shortly after six.
The folded message was in his hand.
“You didn’t sleep.”
“Neither did you.”
“I had someone break into my workplace.”
“You live here.”
“Exactly.”
Wesley looked toward the lake.
“What did your father tell you about Karen?”
Delaney’s face showed genuine confusion.
“Your sister?”
“Yes.”
“Nothing.”
“You’re sure?”
“He mentioned her once.”
Wesley turned.
“What did he say?”
“That she was the reason you might still have a chance.”
That did not sound like betrayal.
“What chance?”
“He didn’t explain.”
Wesley stood.
“Show me the records.”
Delaney hesitated.
“You said the stolen box was bait.”
“It was.”
“Then where are the real ones?”
She looked toward the boathouse.
“Under us.”
The boathouse had been built into a steep section of shoreline.
Below the apartment was a storage level half-hidden by stone.
Delaney took him through a locked equipment room.
Behind old paddles and fishing gear stood a cabinet bolted to the wall.
She moved the cabinet aside.
A narrow metal door appeared.
Wesley stared at it.
“You lived above this for four years?”
“I discovered it three years ago.”
“And didn’t open it?”
“I opened it.”
“Of course you did.”
She gave him a look.
“Wouldn’t you?”
“Yes.”
Inside was a narrow room.
No treasure.
No stacks of cash.
Shelves.
Boxes.
File folders.
Old hard drives.
Photographs.
Ledgers.
Twelve years of secrets.
Wesley stepped inside slowly.
His father’s handwriting appeared everywhere.
So did Elias Pike’s.
Delaney opened one box.
“Your father knew money was disappearing.”
Wesley picked up a ledger.
“He would have killed anyone stealing from him.”
“Unless he couldn’t prove who.”
Wesley flipped through pages.
Transfers.
Companies.
Dates.
Initials.
Millions routed through construction firms that existed only on paper.
He recognized signatures.
Vincent.
Martin.
Raymond.
But two names were missing.
The other men currently controlling Albany.
Dominic Shore and Peter Hale.
“Why only three?”
“My father believed there were more.”
“How many?”
“Five.”
Wesley looked up.
Exactly five.
Delaney opened another folder.
“Your father thought someone was coordinating them.”
“Who?”
“My father never identified that person.”
Wesley’s fingers tightened around the file.
“The traitor in our blood.”
Delaney studied him.
“What was in the letter?”
“Nothing useful.”
“You’re lying.”
“Yes.”
At least he admitted it.
They worked for hours.
One document led to another.
The conspiracy had started earlier than Wesley realized.
Fourteen years ago.
Before his father became sick.
Before Elias disappeared.
Money had been moved from legitimate companies into hidden accounts.
Properties transferred.
Debts manufactured.
Partners quietly bought.
It was not ordinary theft.
It was preparation.
Someone had been dismantling the Rourke organization from inside for more than a decade.
Then Delaney found a file she had never seen.
A sealed blue folder behind the bottom drawer.
Across the front:
K.R.
Wesley took it.
Inside were photographs of Karen.
Leaving law school.
Entering court.
Buying groceries.
Sitting in a café.
His face became stone.
“They watched her.”
Delaney moved closer.
“Your father?”
“No.”
“How do you know?”
“These dates are after his stroke.”
A handwritten note was clipped to one photograph.
She still doesn’t know. Keep it that way.
Wesley felt something cold spread through him.
“What doesn’t she know?”
Delaney did not answer.
He turned another photograph over.
A hospital.
Karen, twenty-three years old, entering through a side door.
On the back:
DNA confirmed.
Wesley stopped.
“Confirmed what?”
Delaney whispered.
“Maybe that’s what your father meant.”
“No.”
But he was no longer certain.
A sound came from upstairs.
Bruno barked.
Wesley shut the folder.
“Stay here.”
“No.”
“Delaney.”
“It’s my house.”
“You just told me it’s mine.”
“You don’t get to use that now.”
Despite everything, Wesley nearly smiled.
They climbed out.
A car was parked beside the estate.
Black sedan.
A man stood on the lawn.
Fifty.
Gray suit.
No tie.
Wesley recognized him immediately.
Martin Voss.
One of the five.
Delaney went pale.
Martin smiled.
“Well.”
His eyes moved from Wesley to Delaney.
“This is interesting.”
Wesley stepped in front of her.
“You shouldn’t be here.”
“Neither should you.”
“How did you find me?”
Martin’s smile widened.
“You really believed an online rental reservation could hide Wesley Rourke?”
Wesley said nothing.
Martin looked at the estate.
“I always wondered who ended up with this place.”
“You knew it?”
“I knew your father had something near Mirror Lake.”
Delaney’s hand tightened around Bruno’s collar.
Martin noticed.
“Elias Pike’s daughter.”
Wesley looked sharply at him.
“You know her.”
“Everybody looked for Elias.”
“He’s dead.”
Delaney’s voice cracked.
Martin gave her a sympathetic expression that did not reach his eyes.
“So I heard.”
Wesley moved closer.
“You’re violating the agreement.”
“Am I?”
“You threatened Karen if I returned.”
“You didn’t return.”
“Then leave.”
Martin’s smile disappeared.
“The agreement changed.”
“According to whom?”
“Vincent.”
“Vincent isn’t here.”
“No. He’s in Albany with your sister.”
Wesley’s body went still.
“What?”
Martin removed his phone.
On the screen was a photograph.
Karen leaving a restaurant.
Vincent Calder beside her.
Smiling.
Wesley’s heart pounded once.
Hard.
“If he touches her—”
Martin lifted his hand.
“Relax. Karen doesn’t know there’s a war. Vincent intends to keep it that way.”
“Why?”
“Because we need ninety days.”
“For what?”
Martin’s eyes moved toward the boathouse.
“To find what Elias Pike stole.”
“He stole nothing.”
Martin looked at Delaney.
“She told you that?”
Wesley did not answer.
Martin laughed quietly.
“You’ve known her a week.”
“I’ve known you twenty years.”
“And?”
Wesley stepped closer.
“And I trust her more.”
That shocked Delaney almost as much as Martin.
Martin’s expression hardened.
“Careful.”
“Leave.”
“You don’t know what she has.”
“Neither do you.”
“That’s why I’m here.”
Wesley’s voice dropped.
“No. You’re here because you’re afraid.”
Martin’s jaw flexed.
“Of a maid?”
“Of a dead accountant.”
The two men stared at each other.
Finally Martin walked toward his car.
Before getting inside, he turned.
“You should ask her what happened the night Elias died.”
Delaney stopped breathing.
Wesley noticed.
Martin smiled.
“There.”
He pointed toward Delaney.
“That face.”
Wesley looked at her.
“What does he mean?”
Martin opened the car door.
“Ask your maid why her father’s body was never found.”
The sedan drove away.
For several seconds, only the lake moved.
Wesley turned toward Delaney.
“You told me he was dead.”
“He is.”
“How do you know?”
She looked toward the boathouse.
“Because I was there.”
“Where?”
“The night he disappeared.”
Wesley waited.
Tears filled her eyes.
“My father didn’t run from Albany alone.”
“Who went with him?”
Delaney wiped her face.
“Your mother.”
Wesley stared at her.
His mother had died fourteen years earlier.
A car accident.
That was what everyone believed.
“What did you say?”
Delaney’s voice broke.
“Your mother survived the crash, Wesley.”
The world seemed to tilt.
“No.”
“My father got her out.”
“No.”
“He brought her here.”
Wesley took a step backward.
“Don’t.”
“She lived at Mirror Lake for eleven months.”
“My mother died.”
“No.”
“I buried her.”
“You buried an empty coffin.”
Wesley’s face went white.
Delaney reached toward him.
He pulled away.
“Where is she?”
Delaney closed her eyes.
“I don’t know.”
“You just said—”
“She vanished the same night my father did.”
Wesley stared at the lake.
Everything he had believed for fourteen years began cracking open.
His father’s warning.
Karen’s photographs.
The DNA note.
The hidden estate.
His mother.
Delaney spoke softly.
“There’s something else.”
Wesley slowly looked at her.
“My father left one recording.”
“Where?”
“In the room downstairs.”
“What does it say?”
Delaney’s voice trembled.
“I never understood it.”
“Tell me.”
She swallowed.
“He says your mother discovered who was stealing from your family.”
Wesley waited.
“And?”
“She discovered the person running everything wasn’t one of your father’s men.”
“Who was it?”
Delaney looked at him.
“Someone your family would never suspect.”
Wesley’s patience broke.
“Who?”
Delaney whispered the answer.
“Your uncle.”
Wesley stopped.
He had only one uncle.
A man who had supposedly died twenty-two years ago.
A man whose death had made Wesley’s father head of the family.
Nathaniel Rourke.
Delaney’s next words were worse.
May you like
“My father believed Nathaniel never died.”
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