Chapter 3 - Phase Two
Claire Delaney closed the office door.
Martha held the file against her chest.
For several seconds, neither woman moved.
Then Claire sighed.
"You really should have left when you had the chance."
Martha's heart pounded.
"What is Phase Two?"
Claire glanced at the folder.
"Something I hoped we'd never need."
"You're drugging Maxwell."
"Put the file down."
"No."
"Martha."
"No."
Claire stepped closer.
Martha backed toward the desk.
"Does Maxwell know you're here?" Claire asked.
Martha said nothing.
"That's what I thought."
"You hired me because Mercer wanted me here."
Claire's expression shifted.
"So you've met Samuel."
Martha realized immediately that she had said too much.
Claire smiled.
"Thank you."
"For what?"
"For answering a question we've been asking for fourteen months."
Martha stared.
"You couldn't find him."
"No."
"And now you know he's nearby."
Claire reached for her phone.
Martha lunged.
She knocked the phone from Claire's hand and ran.
"Martha!"
She sprinted into the hallway.
Footsteps followed.
Martha reached Maxwell's elevator and pressed the button.
Too slow.
She took the stairs.
Third floor.
Maxwell's door.
She burst inside.
He was awake.
"What happened?"
"We have to leave."
He saw the folder.
His expression changed.
Martha explained quickly.
Maxwell immediately called his security chief.
No answer.
Again.
Nothing.
"That's not good," he muttered.
Lights throughout the house went out.
Darkness.
Martha's breath caught.
"Phase Two," she whispered.
Emergency lights activated.
Maxwell rolled toward a wall panel.
He pressed his thumb against a hidden scanner.
A section of bookcase opened.
Martha stared.
"Seriously?"
"My grandfather was paranoid."
"For once I'm grateful."
They entered a private elevator.
"Where does this go?"
"Garage."
The elevator descended.
Maxwell's phone rang.
Victor Rourke.
He answered.
"Maxwell."
His uncle sounded almost gentle.
"You're making this harder than necessary."
Maxwell's expression turned cold.
"What did you do?"
"What your father should have done years ago. Protected the family from you."
"By keeping me in a wheelchair?"
Silence.
That was confirmation enough.
Victor continued.
"You were going to destroy everything."
"Meaning the criminal operations."
"Meaning generations of work."
Maxwell looked at Martha.
She realized something.
Maxwell had not simply been the heir to the Rourke empire.
He had been trying to change it.
"You were shutting them down," she whispered.
Victor heard.
"So Martha is with you."
Maxwell disconnected.
The elevator doors opened.
An SUV waited.
But so did Maxwell's security chief, Owen.
Maxwell stiffened.
Owen walked toward them.
Then handed Maxwell the keys.
"Get out of here."
Maxwell stared.
"You're still with me?"
"Always."
They escaped through a service tunnel beneath the property.
For three days, Maxwell disappeared from Providence.
Publicly, his representatives announced he was receiving private medical treatment.
Privately, he and Martha stayed at Rebecca's rehabilitation facility.
The therapy began.
It was brutal.
Maxwell hated every second.
Martha refused to let him quit.
"Again."
"I've done it twenty times."
"Twenty-one sounds better."
"I could fire you."
"I'm not technically employed anymore."
"Then I could annoy you."
"You already do."
Slowly, his body responded.
First toes.
Then ankle.
Then knee.
Two weeks later, supported between parallel bars, Maxwell lifted himself from the wheelchair.
His arms shook.
Martha stood beside him.
"Don't look down."
"I'm standing."
"Almost."
"I'm standing."
"Then prove it."
He straightened.
For five seconds, Maxwell Rourke stood on his own legs.
Then they buckled.
Martha caught him with Rebecca's help.
Maxwell laughed.
Not because it was funny.
Because something stolen from him was returning.
That evening Martha found him staring outside.
"You did it."
"For five seconds."
"Five more than yesterday."
He looked at her.
"Why are you still here?"
The question surprised her.
"Because someone has to keep you unbearable."
"I'm serious."
"So am I."
"You could walk away."
Martha became quiet.
"I walked away from nursing."
"That wasn't what happened."
"It felt like it."
Maxwell studied her.
"You made one mistake."
"One mistake can ruin someone's life."
"Did yours?"
She looked at him.
"For a while."
Maxwell reached for her hand.
"You noticed my foot when everyone else ignored it."
His thumb rested gently against her fingers.
"Maybe you're better at helping people than you think."
Martha's eyes burned.
She pulled her hand away before the moment became something neither of them was prepared to name.
The next morning, Mercer arrived.
He had news.
"I found the original crash report."
Maxwell wheeled closer.
"And?"
"The brake line was cut."
Martha stared.
"So it was deliberate."
"Yes."
"But there's more."
Mercer placed photographs on the table.
Daniel Rourke's car.
The road.
A damaged guardrail.
Then another photograph.
A man standing near the accident scene.
Adrian Vale.
Timestamp:
Twenty-three minutes before the crash.
Maxwell's face hardened.
"He was there."
Mercer nodded.
"We can prove it."
"Then we go to the police."
"Not yet."
"Why?"
"Because Victor has people everywhere."
Mercer produced another document.
"This is bigger than your paralysis."
It showed shipping manifests.
Containers.
Payments.
Offshore accounts.
Victor had been using Rourke terminals for illegal shipments without Maxwell's approval.
Daniel discovered it.
That explained everything.
"Daniel was the target," Maxwell said.
Mercer shook his head.
"No."
Maxwell looked up.
"Then who?"
"You."
Martha felt cold.
Mercer continued.
"Daniel wasn't supposed to be driving."
Maxwell stared.
The night of the accident, Maxwell had planned to drive himself.
Daniel took the wheel at the last minute because Maxwell had been drinking at dinner.
Victor could not have known.
The sabotage was intended for Maxwell.
"But why keep me alive afterward?" Maxwell asked.
"Because once you survived, your disability became more useful than your death."
Maxwell closed his eyes.
His brother had died in a trap meant for him.
Martha sat beside him.
For once, Maxwell did not hide the grief.
He covered his face.
Martha placed her hand on his shoulder.
Minutes passed.
Finally he looked at Mercer.
"We end this."
The plan was simple.
Make Victor believe Maxwell remained helpless.
Return to Rourke House.
Collect evidence.
Expose everything.
Three weeks later, Maxwell returned publicly.
He remained in his wheelchair.
Only Martha knew that morning he had walked twelve steps with a cane.
Claire had disappeared.
Victor greeted Maxwell at the mansion.
"My boy."
Maxwell smiled.
"Uncle."
Martha stood behind the wheelchair.
Victor barely acknowledged her.
That was his mistake.
Over the next week, Martha quietly copied documents while Maxwell played the role of defeated nephew.
Then one night she found a locked drawer in Victor's temporary office.
Inside was a phone.
She opened it using a passcode Maxwell had guessed from family records.
Messages appeared.
Vale.
Claire.
Shipping managers.
Then Daniel.
Martha froze.
Messages dated after Daniel's death.
Impossible.
She opened one.
You promised my brother would survive.
Another response:
He did. Stick to the agreement.
Martha's pulse thundered.
She ran to Maxwell.
"Look."
He read the messages.
His face went white.
"That's Daniel's number."
"Could someone else have it?"
"No."
Another message had been sent eleven months after the crash.
Maxwell stared.
Then the phone received a new message.
They both watched it appear.
VICTOR KNOWS MAXWELL IS RECOVERING. GET MARTHA OUT TONIGHT.
Martha looked at Maxwell.
"Who sent that?"
Before he could answer, another message appeared.
This one contained a photograph.
A man standing beside a window.
Older.
Bearded.
Alive.
Maxwell dropped the phone.
Martha whispered, "Is that—"
"Daniel."
Maxwell stared at the brother he had buried fourteen months earlier.
May you like
Daniel Rourke was alive.
---
