Chapter 5 - THE BROTHER’S SECRET
We found Alexander behind the church cemetery.
He was alive.
Barely.
The bullet had entered below his collarbone. Dominic’s doctor stabilized him before the ambulance even reached the highway.
Alexander woke the following afternoon at Blackthorne.
Dominic stood beside his bed.
I remained near the door.
“You have thirty seconds,” Dominic said.
Alexander blinked.
“Good afternoon to you too.”
“You met Julian Cross six months ago.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Alexander looked at me.
Then back at his brother.
“Because I’ve been trying to destroy him.”
Dominic laughed without humor.
“Try again.”
Alexander slowly explained.
Six months earlier, he had discovered unexplained transfers from a Mercer-controlled shipping subsidiary.
He traced them to a shell company once connected to Julian.
Instead of telling Dominic, Alexander investigated alone.
“Why?”
“Because every time something threatens this family, you solve it with soldiers.”
“They’re effective.”
“They also tend to shoot people.”
Dominic folded his arms.
“Continue.”
Julian had contacted Alexander after realizing he was investigating.
He offered a deal.
Information in exchange for access.
Alexander pretended to cooperate.
“The cuff link?”
“Mine. He stole it during our second meeting.”
“So he planted it.”
“Yes.”
I stepped closer.
“What does he really want?”
Alexander looked at me.
“You.”
“Why?”
“Because Nathaniel Vale didn’t just discover financial crimes.”
He hesitated.
“He created an insurance policy.”
My father had hidden evidence in pieces.
The USB contained the financial records.
But another piece existed.
A handwritten ledger identifying the original founders of Julian’s network.
One founder remained active.
Someone powerful enough to erase investigations, manipulate federal cases, and make witnesses disappear.
“Who?”
“I don’t know.”
“But Julian does.”
“Yes.”
“And he thinks I know where the ledger is.”
Alexander nodded.
I laughed bitterly.
“I don’t.”
“Maybe not consciously.”
That word bothered me.
“What does that mean?”
Alexander reached for water.
“Your father sent you something before he died.”
“No.”
“A package.”
I stopped breathing.
Then I remembered.
Three days before the motel fire, Dad mailed me a birthday gift.
An old children’s book.
The Secret Garden.
I hadn’t understood why.
I had been twenty-three.
Too old for childhood books.
I left it in my apartment when federal agents moved me.
“Where is that apartment now?” Dominic asked.
“Baltimore.”
“Building?”
“Demolished seven years ago.”
Alexander shook his head.
“Your possessions were placed in federal evidence storage.”
That evening, Dominic made one phone call.
By midnight, we had an inventory.
The book existed.
It was stored in a federal evidence warehouse in Maryland.
But retrieving it legally would expose my identity.
Dominic looked at me.
“I know someone.”
“Of course you do.”
“I know many questionable people.”
“That might be the most honest thing you’ve ever said.”
His mouth almost smiled.
Twenty-four hours later, the book arrived at Blackthorne.
I stared at it for a long time.
My father had written my name inside.
For Nellie. Some doors only open when you remember where you came from. Love, Dad.
I cried before I could stop myself.
Dominic quietly left the room.
That mattered.
He didn’t try to comfort me.
He gave me privacy.
When I finally opened the book, nothing appeared unusual.
Then I remembered the music box.
Numbers.
Pages.
My father had circled seemingly random words throughout the novel.
I copied them.
Dominic watched.
ROSE. GLASS. MOTHER. GARDEN. HOME.
Mother.
My mother had died when I was eleven.
She was buried in Virginia.
Suddenly I knew.
“The cemetery.”
Dominic stood.
Three hours later, we reached my mother’s grave.
I hadn’t visited in eight years.
Seeing her name broke something inside me.
MARGARET VALE
1974–2005
I knelt.
“I’m sorry, Mom.”
Dominic remained twenty feet away.
I appreciated that too.
At the base of the headstone was a carved rose.
Behind it, hidden beneath weathered stone, my fingers found a metal compartment.
Inside was a key.
Not a ledger.
A bank key.
The number engraved on it belonged to a private vault company in Manhattan.
We returned to New York.
The vault opened the next morning.
Inside sat a sealed envelope.
I recognized Dad’s handwriting.
Eleanor,
If you are reading this, I failed. Trust Vincent Mercer. If Vincent is gone, trust the son who hates what his father became.
Dominic stopped reading.
“My father knew me.”
I looked at him.
The letter continued.
The ledger is not here. That would be too easy. The key opens the place where your mother taught you not to be afraid.
I knew that place.
Our old summer cabin in the Catskills.
Dad had sold it after Mom died.
Or so I believed.
Dominic and I drove there alone.
The cabin still stood.
Dust covered everything.
My childhood bedroom remained almost untouched.
I found the ledger beneath a loose floorboard.
Black leather.
My father’s handwriting.
Hundreds of names.
Then Dominic pointed.
“Eleanor.”
One name had been underlined.
THOMAS HALE.
I knew that name.
Everyone in America did.
Senator Thomas Hale had built a national reputation on fighting organized crime.
He was also the man who had personally praised the federal investigation into my father’s death.
And according to Nathaniel Vale’s ledger, he had financed Julian Cross for seventeen years.
My phone rang.
Unknown number.
I answered.
Julian’s voice filled the room.
“Congratulations.”
My blood froze.
“How did you get this number?”
“I’ve always known where you were, Eleanor.”
That made no sense.
“Then why wait eight years?”
“Because you hadn’t found the ledger yet.”
I looked at Dominic.
Julian laughed softly.
“You were never hiding from me.”
My grip tightened.
“You were finding it for me.”
Then a red laser dot appeared on Dominic’s chest.
“DOWN!”
May you like
I hit him.
The cabin window exploded.
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