Chapter 4 - THE PRICE OF A WEAKNESS
The photograph contained almost nothing useful.
A chair.
Concrete.
Margaret.
A newspaper.
But Paige noticed the wall.
“Zoom in.”
Leo enlarged the image.
A faded blue stripe crossed the concrete behind Margaret.
Paige pointed.
“I've seen that.”
Arthur looked at her.
“Where?”
“Your property files.”
She ran to her desk and searched through archived inspection photographs.
Gallagher Freight owned seventeen warehouses.
Only one had blue safety stripes painted at exactly that height.
Warehouse Twelve.
It had been abandoned for eight years.
Arthur looked at Leo.
“Get everyone ready.”
“No.”
Paige's voice stopped him.
“They said alone.”
“They expect me to ignore that.”
“They also expect you to come armed.”
Arthur looked at her.
Paige continued.
“So don't behave the way they expect.”
Twenty-five minutes later, Arthur drove toward Warehouse Twelve without an escort visible behind him.
Leo's teams followed at a distance.
Paige was supposed to remain at headquarters.
She did not.
Arthur discovered her crouched behind the rear seats halfway across the river.
He nearly drove into a concrete divider.
“What the hell are you doing?”
“Apparently destroying your blood pressure.”
“Get out.”
“We're on an expressway.”
“I'll stop.”
“And waste time?”
Arthur swore.
Paige climbed into the passenger seat.
“My mother is in that warehouse.”
“And that's precisely why you shouldn't be.”
“You don't get to decide that.”
“I absolutely do.”
“No. You're my employer, not my owner.”
Arthur gripped the steering wheel.
“Paige, these men kill people.”
“So do yours.”
Silence.
“That was unfair,” she said.
“No. It wasn't.”
They drove another mile.
Then Arthur said quietly, “I don't want you becoming part of this.”
Paige looked out at the rain.
“I became part of it the second somebody photographed me.”
Warehouse Twelve stood beside the river like a dead animal.
Arthur entered through the loading bay.
Paige followed despite his glare.
Margaret sat beneath a hanging industrial light.
Vincent Rourke stood beside her.
He was sixty-two, silver-haired and elegant.
Arthur had known him since childhood.
“Arthur.”
“Release her.”
Rourke smiled.
“You always did skip the pleasantries.”
Margaret looked up.
Her eyes found Arthur.
“Thomas?”
Arthur's jaw tightened.
Rourke laughed softly.
“Memory is cruel, isn't it?”
Paige stepped forward.
“Mom.”
Margaret began crying.
Rourke raised one hand.
A man appeared behind Margaret.
Arthur stopped moving.
“What do you want?”
“Something your father hid twenty years ago.”
Arthur stared at him.
“The ledger?”
Rourke's smile disappeared.
“So she remembered.”
Paige understood.
Her mother had not merely witnessed the theft.
She had evidence.
Rourke walked toward Arthur.
“Your father discovered Patrick and me moving money through his company. He threatened to expose us.”
“You killed him.”
“Patrick did.”
Arthur's face changed.
“And then Patrick raised me.”
“He was supposed to control you.”
Rourke laughed.
“Instead, the idiot loved you.”
Arthur looked as if he had been struck.
That explained Patrick's tears.
The knife.
The betrayal.
Maybe Patrick had spent years torn between guilt and affection until Rourke ordered him to finish what he had begun.
“What does my mother have?” Paige asked.
Rourke looked at her.
“A key.”
Margaret suddenly whispered, “Blue bird.”
Paige turned.
“What?”
“Your blue bird.”
A childhood memory surfaced.
Paige had owned a ceramic bluebird music box.
Her mother had kept it for decades.
It was now inside Paige's apartment.
Rourke saw recognition.
“There it is.”
Arthur saw it too.
“You're not getting it.”
Rourke smiled.
“I think I am.”
Then gunfire erupted outside.
Leo.
Arthur moved instantly.
He knocked the nearest man aside and reached Margaret.
Paige dropped behind a steel container.
The lights shattered.
Darkness swallowed the warehouse.
Someone grabbed Paige from behind.
She screamed.
Arthur heard it.
Every instinct told him to go toward the threat.
Then a gunshot cracked.
Arthur stumbled.
“Arthur!”
Paige broke free and ran toward him.
Blood spread across his shirt.
She caught him before he hit the floor.
His eyes widened as her hands pressed against his chest.
Touch.
Pressure.
Blood.
For one horrible second he was twenty-three again.
Patrick.
Knife.
Kitchen floor.
Arthur's hand closed around Paige's wrist.
She froze.
“Arthur.”
His breathing became ragged.
“Look at me.”
He did.
“It's me.”
The panic slowly loosened.
“You're safe.”
Another shot rang out.
Arthur pulled Paige down, shielding her with his body.
Leo's men flooded the warehouse seconds later.
Rourke escaped through the river entrance.
Margaret was rescued.
Arthur was taken to the hospital.
The bullet had passed through his shoulder.
At sunrise, Paige sat beside his bed.
Arthur opened his eyes.
She was asleep with her head resting near his hand.
He looked at her for a long time.
Then, very carefully, Arthur moved his fingers.
He touched her hair.
Paige woke.
Neither spoke.
Arthur withdrew his hand.
“Sorry.”
Paige blinked.
“Did Arthur Gallagher just apologize for touching someone?”
“Don't spread it around.”
She smiled.
Then remembered.
“The bluebird.”
Arthur's expression sharpened.
They went to Paige's apartment under heavy security that afternoon.
The ceramic bird still sat inside a cardboard box labeled CHILDHOOD.
Paige opened the base.
Something rattled.
She removed a tiny brass key.
Arthur stared at it.
Attached was a metal tag.
G.F.H. — 317.
Gallagher Freight & Harbor.
Locker 317.
But when Arthur checked company records, there was no Locker 317.
There had not been one for eighteen years.
Then Leo found the original building plans.
Locker 317 had existed in the old freight terminal owned by Arthur's father.
The building was scheduled for demolition.
The following morning.
Arthur looked at Paige.
Rourke had not kidnapped Margaret merely to find a key.
May you like
He was destroying whatever the key opened.
And they had less than twelve hours to reach it first.
