Chapter 3 - THE MAN WHO WAS SUPPOSED TO BE DEADMy father had been dead for twenty-three years.
I knew because I had stood beside his grave when I was seven.
I remembered my mother's hand crushing mine as rain soaked the shoulders of her black coat. I remembered the closed casket. I remembered asking why Daddy couldn't wake up.
So when a stranger stood on a Boston sidewalk claiming otherwise, my first reaction wasn't fear.
It was anger.
“You have the wrong person.”
“No.”
Daniel shifted slightly, blocking more of me.
The stranger looked at him.
“Brooks.”
“Leave.”
“I only need thirty seconds.”
“You've had five.”
The stranger's amusement vanished.
Two men appeared behind us.
I hadn't seen them leave the restaurant.
Daniel's security.
Suddenly the ordinary sidewalk felt like a chessboard.
The stranger looked at me.
“Ask your mother about Nathan Carter.”
“My father's name was Michael.”
His expression told me everything before he spoke.
“No. Michael Carter was the name he used after Boston.”
My heart hammered.
“Who are you?”
“Evan Shaw.”
Daniel's jaw tightened.
Apparently that name meant something.
“Go,” Daniel ordered.
Evan slipped the photograph into his coat.
“Ask her, Emily.”
Then he crossed the street and climbed into the SUV.
It disappeared.
I turned toward Daniel.
“Who was that?”
“Someone you don't want knowing your name.”
“He already knows it.”
Daniel didn't answer.
“Who is he?”
“A broker.”
“For what?”
“Information.”
I stared at him.
“And you know him because?”
A pause.
“Because some rumors about me aren't entirely fiction.”
There it was.
No charming smile.
No teasing.
Just the truth.
Or part of it.
I stepped backward.
Daniel noticed.
“You should go home.”
“That's your solution?”
“For tonight.”
“No. A stranger just told me my dead father is alive, and you apparently know the stranger.”
“I know of him.”
“That distinction isn't helping.”
Daniel looked toward the road.
“Emily, if Shaw approached you publicly, he wanted me to see him do it.”
“Why?”
“I don't know.”
“Then why are you so calm?”
“Because panic doesn't improve information.”
I almost laughed at the absurdity.
“That's a very mafia-boss thing to say.”
“Probably.”
I called my mother.
She answered on the fourth ring.
“Sweetheart?”
“Mom, who is Nathan Carter?”
Silence.
Not confusion.
Silence.
My knees nearly gave out.
Daniel caught my elbow.
I pulled away.
“Mom?”
“Where did you hear that name?”
The street seemed to tilt.
“Who is he?”
Another silence.
Then my mother whispered, “Come home.”
“I am coming home.”
“No, Emily. My home.”
She lived ninety minutes away in Portsmouth.
“Why?”
“Because I need to tell you something.”
My voice cracked.
“Is Dad alive?”
My mother started crying.
That was answer enough.
I ended the call.
Daniel said nothing.
“Twenty-three years.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don't.”
He nodded.
I looked toward the street.
“I need my car.”
“You came by rideshare.”
I frowned.
“How do you know?”
“My security watched you arrive.”
“That is deeply unsettling.”
“Tonight, you'll appreciate it.”
“I can get another ride.”
“I'll take you.”
“No.”
“Emily.”
“I met you forty minutes ago.”
“Forty-seven.”
“This is not helping.”
His expression softened.
“I won't force you into my car. But Shaw knows where you work, what you look like, and probably where you live. Until we understand why, don't travel alone.”
That was terrifying because it made sense.
Eventually, I agreed.
Daniel's car was less theatrical than expected.
Black sedan.
Clean interior.
No hidden arsenal that I could see.
I sat beside him while another man drove.
Halfway to Portsmouth, Daniel's phone buzzed.
He read the message.
His face changed.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“That's clearly something.”
He turned the screen toward me.
A photograph showed Maple Street Books.
Taken tonight.
My stomach dropped.
A message beneath it read:
THE GIRL DESERVES THE TRUTH.
“Who sent that?”
“Unknown number.”
“Is someone threatening me?”
“I don't know yet.”
Daniel made two calls.
He never raised his voice.
Within minutes, someone was checking the bookstore and my apartment.
I watched him.
“Why are you helping me?”
His answer came immediately.
“Because this began at my table.”
“That doesn't make me your responsibility.”
“No.”
His gaze shifted toward me.
“It doesn't.”
Yet he kept helping.
My mother's porch light was on when we arrived.
She opened the door before I reached it.
Helen Carter looked smaller than she had yesterday.
She saw Daniel.
Fear crossed her face.
“Who is that?”
“Daniel Brooks.”
Her face went white.
Not recognition from newspapers.
Recognition.
Daniel saw it too.
“You know me?” he asked.
My mother whispered, “I know your family.”
Everything inside me stopped.
We entered.
Mom locked the door.
Then she went upstairs and returned carrying an old wooden box.
Inside were photographs, newspaper clippings, and a man's silver watch.
She handed me a photograph.
My father stood beside a younger man.
Behind them was Boston Harbor.
On the back:
Nathan Carter & Thomas Brooks — 1999.
Daniel took the picture.
“My father.”
I looked at him.
Our fathers had known each other.
Mom sat down.
“Your father wasn't Michael Carter when I met him. His name was Nathan. He worked with Thomas Brooks.”
“What kind of work?”
She looked at Daniel.
Daniel answered.
“Smuggling.”
My stomach turned.
Mom continued.
“Nathan tried to leave. He discovered money was disappearing from shipments. Millions. He believed someone inside the organization was stealing from Thomas.”
“What happened?”
“He collected proof.”
Daniel stared at her.
“What proof?”
“A ledger.”
His expression sharpened.
“Where is it?”
“I don't know.”
I looked between them.
“And Dad?”
Mom began crying.
“Someone tried to kill him. We staged his funeral. He disappeared so whoever wanted him dead would believe they succeeded.”
My throat tightened.
“And he left us?”
“He thought he was protecting you.”
“For twenty-three years?”
“He contacted me twice.”
I stood.
“You let me believe he was dead.”
“I was trying to keep you alive.”
Before I could answer, headlights swept across the curtains.
Daniel moved instantly.
“Stay away from the windows.”
His driver entered from the kitchen.
“Daniel.”
“What?”
“Three vehicles.”
Mom whispered, “No.”
Daniel looked at her.
“You were followed?”
“I don't know.”
Then someone knocked.
Three slow knocks.
Mom stared at the door.
I could barely breathe.
Another knock.
Then a man's voice came through the wood.
“Helen.”
My mother's hand flew to her mouth.
I looked at her.
“You know him?”
Tears filled her eyes.
She nodded.
May you like
And whispered two words that changed my entire life.
“Your father.”
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