Chapter 4 - My Brother Wanted My Life
Ethan Carter had spent thirty-four years being introduced as my younger brother.
He hated it.
I just hadn't understood how much.
When we were children, I was the one our father took to construction sites.
I attended investor dinners at sixteen.
At twenty-five, I became executive vice president.
At thirty-two, CEO.
Ethan received money, titles, offices, and every privilege a Carter could want.
Except the one thing he wanted most.
Our father's respect.
When Daniel showed me the photograph, my first instinct was denial.
“My brother wouldn't do this.”
Daniel gave me a look I deserved.
“You've said that about several people recently.”
I called Ethan.
No answer.
His assistant said he hadn't arrived at work.
His apartment was empty.
Then the board's forensic accountant found something.
Three shell companies.
North Beacon Advisory.
Horizon Maritime Consulting.
VC Strategic Partners.
The initials struck me.
V.C.
Vanessa Cole.
More than four million dollars had moved through them.
But where had the money gone?
Some funded Vanessa's apartment and lifestyle.
Some disappeared overseas.
And $740,000 had been transferred to an account connected to Ethan.
I drove to my mother's house.
Margaret Carter was seventy-two and still lived in the stone house where Ethan and I grew up.
She opened the door, saw my face, and said, “What did you do now?”
Not hello.
What did you do now?
That was how thoroughly I had destroyed people's expectations of me.
“Is Ethan here?”
“No.”
“Have you spoken to him?”
“This morning.”
“What did he say?”
Her expression changed.
“He asked whether your father ever intended to leave him the company.”
I went cold.
“What did you tell him?”
“The truth.”
Our father had never trusted Ethan with Carter Development.
Not because Ethan was stupid.
Because he was reckless.
At twenty-three, he'd gambled away nearly half a million dollars.
At twenty-seven, he'd secretly borrowed against a family trust.
At thirty, he'd nearly destroyed a development project after taking kickbacks from a subcontractor.
Dad covered it up.
I had known pieces.
Claire knew none of it.
“Mom, Ethan may be stealing from the company.”
She closed her eyes.
“And Vanessa?”
I stared at her.
“How do you know about Vanessa?”
“Claire told me.”
That hurt.
“When?”
“Three weeks ago.”
“What else did she tell you?”
Margaret walked into the sitting room.
“She asked me whether Ethan had access to your father's old authentication system.”
“And?”
“I told her yes.”
My chest tightened.
“Why didn't you call me?”
She turned.
“Because Claire asked me not to.”
“You chose her over your son?”
“No, Marcus.”
My mother's voice became unexpectedly fierce.
“I chose the person behaving like family.”
I had no defense.
She looked toward the framed photograph of my father on the mantel.
“Your wife had just given birth. You were disappearing overnight. She was frightened, exhausted, and trying to protect your child while you were playing billionaire bachelor in Manhattan.”
“I'm not asking you to defend me.”
“Good. Because I won't.”
She handed me an envelope.
“Claire left this.”
Inside was a flash drive.
“She said to give it to Daniel if anything happened to her.”
My hands went numb.
“Anything happened?”
Margaret nodded.
“She was afraid.”
We took the drive straight to investigators.
It contained hundreds of documents.
And one audio recording.
Vanessa's voice.
Then Ethan's.
Claire had accidentally captured them through our home security system.
Vanessa: “He signs whatever I put in front of him.”
Ethan laughed.
“My brother always thought being powerful meant never having to pay attention.”
Then Vanessa said something that made my skin crawl.
“What about the wife?”
Ethan replied, “Claire's smarter than Marcus.”
Silence.
“If she figures it out?”
Another pause.
Then Ethan said:
“That's what the insurance is for.”
Nobody in Daniel's office moved.
I replayed it.
Again.
Again.
“What does that mean?”
Daniel didn't answer.
The police did.
By evening, detectives were involved.
The insurance applications had been created to make me appear responsible.
If something happened to Claire—or Noah—I would look like the obvious suspect.
The cheating husband.
Secret policies.
Financial problems hidden inside his company.
A fortune in benefits.
Ethan wasn't merely stealing.
He was constructing a story.
A story where I went to prison.
And he inherited control of what remained.
My phone rang.
Claire.
I answered instantly.
“Are you safe?”
“Marcus.”
Something in her voice terrified me.
“What happened?”
“Someone found us.”
I stood.
“Where?”
“I moved before they arrived.”
“Claire, please tell the police where you are.”
“I already did.”
I heard Noah fussing.
Then Claire whispered, “There was a note under the door.”
“What did it say?”
She hesitated.
“Bring back what you stole.”
“The flash drive?”
“I think so.”
“Claire, listen to me. None of this matters. Give them anything they want.”
“You think they'll stop?”
I knew the answer.
No.
Then she said, “There is something else on that drive.”
Daniel looked at me.
“What?”
“A recording from the night your father died.”
I stopped breathing.
My father had died of a heart attack in his office four years earlier.
At least, that was what we'd always believed.
“What recording?”
“The security system automatically archived audio when the panic button was activated.”
“Dad activated the panic button?”
“Yes.”
“Who was with him?”
Claire didn't answer immediately.
When she did, her voice was barely audible.
“Ethan.”
The room disappeared around me.
I remembered that night.
Ethan claimed he'd found Dad unconscious.
The ambulance came too late.
We buried William Carter five days later.
I had never questioned the story.
“Claire... what did you hear?”
“Your father accused Ethan of stealing.”
My hand tightened around the phone.
“Then?”
“They argued.”
“And then?”
A long silence.
“Your father said he was changing his will.”
I closed my eyes.
“And Ethan?”
Claire inhaled.
“He said, ‘Then you leave me no choice.’”
The recording ended seconds later.
Not proof of murder.
But enough to reopen questions.
Suddenly someone shouted on Claire's side of the call.
A man's voice.
Then glass shattered.
“Claire?”
She gasped.
“Noah—”
The line went dead.
I shouted her name.
Nothing.
Then my phone buzzed.
May you like
A new message appeared from Claire's number.
If you want your family alive, come alone.
