Chapter 4 - The Dead Man Running Albany
Nathaniel Rourke had been dead for twenty-two years.
Wesley remembered the funeral.
He had been twelve.
Rain.
Black umbrellas.
His father standing beside a closed coffin.
His mother holding Wesley’s hand tightly enough to hurt.
Nathaniel had supposedly drowned when his boat overturned on the Hudson.
No body had been recovered.
Wesley had never questioned that.
At twelve, adults told you someone was dead and you believed them.
At thirty-four, after seeing twelve years of hidden records beneath a boathouse, belief felt foolish.
Delaney played Elias Pike’s recording.
The audio crackled.
Then a man’s tired voice filled the hidden room.
“If Wesley ever hears this, it means Arthur failed.”
Wesley closed his eyes.
Arthur.
His father.
“Your mother, Evelyn, discovered the truth first. Nathaniel survived. Arthur knew for a while, but not what he became. Nathaniel built companies under other names. He purchased loyalty quietly. He funded Vincent Calder before Vincent ever met your father.”
Wesley’s jaw tightened.
The recording continued.
“Arthur intended to expose him. Evelyn begged him to leave Albany instead. Arthur refused.”
Static.
“Then Evelyn’s car was forced off the road.”
Delaney looked at Wesley.
He stared at the old recorder.
“She survived,” Elias continued. “I moved her to Mirror Lake. Arthur agreed to fake her death. Only four people knew.”
Wesley whispered, “Who?”
The recording answered.
“Arthur. Evelyn. Me. Karen.”
Wesley froze.
Karen had been eighteen.
His sister knew their mother survived.
The betrayal hit deeper than anything else.
Elias continued.
“Karen was told because Evelyn refused to disappear without seeing her daughter once.”
Wesley gripped the table.
“And me?”
The recording crackled.
“Wesley could not know. Nathaniel watched him too closely. Arthur believed Wesley’s anger would expose everything.”
Wesley almost laughed.
His father had been right.
At twenty, Wesley would have burned Albany to find his mother.
Elias’s voice softened.
“Karen carried the secret because she was asked to protect her brother.”
The recording ended abruptly.
Wesley stood in silence.
Delaney did not touch him.
“Karen lied to me for fourteen years.”
“She protected you.”
“Same result.”
“No.”
He looked at her.
“No?”
Delaney’s expression hardened.
“My father lied to me too. For years. I hated him for it.”
Wesley said nothing.
“Then I got older and realized sometimes people keep secrets because every available choice hurts somebody.”
“You defending Karen?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because you love her, and you’re angry enough to forget that.”
Wesley stared at Delaney.
No one spoke to him that way.
Not anymore.
Perhaps that was why he listened.
That evening, he used an emergency phone hidden in his SUV.
One call.
Untraceable for less than five minutes.
Karen answered on the second ring.
“Hello?”
Wesley said nothing.
“Hello?”
His chest tightened.
“Karen.”
Silence.
Then: “Wes?”
Her voice broke.
“Where are you?”
“Safe.”
“You promised no calls.”
“You knew Mom survived.”
Nothing.
Wesley closed his eyes.
Karen whispered, “Where did you hear that?”
“So it’s true.”
“Wesley—”
“Fourteen years.”
“I was eighteen.”
“You looked me in the face at her funeral.”
“I was eighteen!”
Her voice cracked.
“I had Vincent watching our house. Dad telling me Mom would die if anyone knew. Mom begging me not to tell you because she knew what you’d do.”
Wesley pressed his forehead against the cottage window.
“You could have told me later.”
“I tried.”
“When?”
“After Dad’s stroke. I went to Mirror Lake.”
Wesley stopped.
“She was gone.”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“I don’t know.”
“You knew about the estate?”
“Yes.”
“You knew Elias?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Karen began crying quietly.
“Because Elias told me Nathaniel was still alive.”
Wesley looked toward Delaney’s apartment.
“And you believed him?”
“I saw Nathaniel.”
His blood chilled.
“When?”
“Twelve years ago.”
“Where?”
“Albany.”
“What happened?”
“He came to me after I started law school. He told me if I ever told you about Mom, you’d die.”
Wesley’s hand tightened around the phone.
“He threatened you.”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you tell Dad?”
“I did.”
“And?”
“Dad had another stroke two days later.”
Wesley closed his eyes.
Maybe not coincidence.
Karen continued.
“Wes, listen to me. Vincent is here.”
“I know.”
“How?”
“Doesn’t matter.”
“He keeps asking whether you contacted me.”
“Tell him no.”
“I already have.”
A pause.
“Karen.”
“Yes?”
“Do you know what Mom discovered?”
“No.”
“Do you know where she went?”
“No.”
Another pause.
“But I know who might.”
Wesley straightened.
“Who?”
Karen whispered, “Delaney Pike.”
Wesley looked toward the boathouse.
“She told me she doesn’t know.”
“Then she’s lying.”
After the call ended, Wesley sat alone for nearly an hour.
At sunset, Delaney found him.
“Did you call Karen?”
“Yes.”
“Is she safe?”
“For now.”
Delaney nodded.
Wesley looked at her.
“She says you know where my mother went.”
All color left Delaney’s face.
“I don’t.”
“She says you do.”
“She’s wrong.”
“Delaney.”
“I was sixteen.”
“You remember.”
“Not enough.”
“You knew my mother.”
Delaney looked toward the lake.
“She was kind to me.”
The answer hurt him unexpectedly.
“What was she like?”
Delaney smiled faintly.
“Terrible cook.”
Wesley almost laughed.
“She was.”
“She tried making pancakes once.”
“She burned water.”
“I know.”
They both smiled.
For a moment, Evelyn Rourke was not a secret.
She was simply a woman who ruined breakfast.
Then Delaney’s smile disappeared.
“She gave me something before she vanished.”
Wesley’s eyes sharpened.
“What?”
Delaney walked into the boathouse.
She returned carrying an old wooden jewelry box.
Inside was a silver necklace.
Wesley recognized it immediately.
His mother had worn it every day.
He touched it carefully.
“She left this?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“She said someday you would come.”
His throat tightened.
“What else did she say?”
Delaney hesitated.
“She said you would think she abandoned you.”
Wesley looked away.
“And?”
“She said that would be easier than letting you know the truth.”
“What truth?”
Delaney opened the necklace clasp.
Inside the pendant was not a photograph.
It was a tiny strip of paper.
Coordinates.
Wesley stared.
“You never checked these?”
“My father told me not to.”
“Why?”
“He said if I ever went there, someone would follow.”
Wesley entered the coordinates into an offline map.
The location was seventy miles west.
A tiny town near the Pennsylvania border.
No major roads.
No obvious connection.
“We go tomorrow.”
“No.”
“Delaney.”
“My father died because of this.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I saw his car afterward.”
Wesley stopped.
“You said you were there.”
“I was.”
“Tell me.”
Delaney sat on the edge of the dock.
Twelve years of silence came apart slowly.
“The night my father disappeared, he woke me at two in the morning. We drove from Mirror Lake toward Albany.”
“With my mother?”
“No. She had already left.”
“Where?”
“He wouldn’t say.”
“What happened?”
“A truck followed us.”
Wesley listened.
“My father pulled over near an old quarry. He gave me a backpack and told me to run into the woods.”
“You were sixteen.”
“Yes.”
“And he stayed?”
“Yes.”
“What happened?”
“I heard cars.”
Her voice trembled.
“Men shouting.”
“Did you see them?”
“One.”
“Who?”
She looked at Wesley.
“Vincent Calder.”
Wesley’s expression hardened.
“He took my father.”
“Alive?”
“Yes.”
“You saw it?”
“Yes.”
“Then why tell everyone he died?”
“Because three days later, somebody mailed me his watch.”
Wesley stared.
Delaney’s eyes filled.
“There was blood on the strap.”
Wesley said nothing.
“And a note.”
“What did it say?”
She looked toward him.
“Forget Mirror Lake.”
Wesley’s anger became very quiet.
“Do you still have it?”
“Yes.”
She retrieved the watch.
Wesley examined it.
Old leather strap.
Cracked face.
Initials engraved behind the casing.
E.P.
Then Wesley saw something Delaney had missed.
He pressed the casing.
It opened.
Inside was a tiny storage chip.
Delaney stared.
“My father put that there?”
Wesley removed it.
“Looks like it.”
They found an old laptop in the hidden room.
The chip contained one file.
A photograph.
Elias Pike.
Alive.
The timestamp was seven years after his supposed death.
Delaney covered her mouth.
Wesley stared at the background.
A hospital room.
Beside Elias stood a woman.
Older.
Silver beginning in her hair.
But unmistakable.
Evelyn Rourke.
Wesley’s mother.
Alive.
Seven years ago.
Delaney started crying.
“My father survived.”
Wesley barely heard her.
There was something else in the photograph.
On the wall behind Evelyn was a hospital logo.
Saint Matthew’s Recovery Center.
Wesley knew the name.
It was not in Pennsylvania.
It was outside Albany.
Less than twenty miles from Karen’s townhouse.
His mother had not escaped across the country.
She had been living near him.
The entire time.
Then Delaney zoomed in on the image.
A third person was reflected in the hospital window.
A man taking the photograph.
Wesley recognized the face.
Vincent Calder.
The man who had supposedly hunted Evelyn.
The man now standing beside Karen.
And suddenly Wesley understood something terrible.
Maybe Vincent was not working for Nathaniel.
Maybe he had been protecting Evelyn from someone even closer.
Before Wesley could speak, Delaney whispered:
“Look at the date.”
He did.
The photograph had been taken on the same day Wesley’s father died.
And beneath it was a single embedded message.
May you like
ARTHUR WAS MURDERED. KAREN IS NEXT.
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