Chapter 9 - My Father Finally Told the Truth
They found Alden the next morning.
Alive.
Barely.
A truck driver spotted him walking along Route 40 outside Baltimore at dawn.
He had a fractured rib, a concussion, and cuts on both hands.
But no gunshot wounds.
No life-threatening injuries.
Griffin and I entered his hospital room together.
The irony was not lost on me.
Twenty-one years earlier, our father had divided us.
Now his crimes had placed us on the same side of his bed.
He opened his eyes.
“Maren.”
“You look terrible.”
He almost smiled.
“Still compassionate.”
“Where is Easton?”
“Gone.”
“What happened?”
“He wanted the originals.”
“Charles has them.”
“I know.”
“Did you tell Easton that?”
“No.”
Griffin stepped forward.
“Did you kill Mom?”
Our father closed his eyes.
“No.”
“Then why did you pay her doctor?”
He looked toward the window.
“Maren found that too?”
“The FBI did.”
Alden breathed slowly.
“Your mother was ill.”
Griffin’s voice rose.
“She had an aneurysm.”
“She had headaches for months.”
I frowned.
“No one told me.”
“You weren’t there.”
The words landed badly.
My father knew it immediately.
“You made sure of that,” I said.
His eyes lowered.
“Yes.”
It was the first clean admission I had ever heard from him.
No excuse.
No qualification.
“Yes.”
He continued.
“Lenora wanted to confess everything in 2015.”
“Harbor?”
“Yes.”
“She contacted DOJ.”
“I begged her not to.”
“Why?”
“Because Griffin had become CEO.”
My brother turned away.
Alden looked at him.
“I thought an investigation would destroy you.”
“You keep calling destruction protection,” I said.
His face tightened.
“I know.”
That surprised me.
“What happened to Mother?”
“She collapsed before the DOJ meeting.”
“Natural?”
“Yes.”
“Then the payment?”
“I bribed the physician to seal her medical files.”
“Why?”
“Because blood work showed sedatives.”
Griffin froze.
“Sedatives?”
Alden nodded.
“She had been prescribed none.”
My heartbeat slowed.
“Who gave them to her?”
“I didn’t know.”
“Did you investigate?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“Rusk found evidence someone had entered the house the previous night.”
I stared at him.
“Why didn’t you call police?”
“Because I knew what they would uncover if they started looking.”
There it was.
Cowardice disguised as control.
Again.
“You protected Harbor instead of Mother.”
A tear appeared in one of my father’s eyes.
I had never seen him cry.
Not once.
“Yes.”
Griffin sat heavily.
Alden whispered, “I have regretted that every day.”
I felt anger rise.
“Regret did not bring her justice.”
“No.”
“Regret didn’t bring me home.”
“No.”
“Regret didn’t stop you from insulting me at the wedding.”
He looked at me.
“I didn’t know how to see you.”
“What does that mean?”
He swallowed.
“When Evelyn saluted you, I realized the story I had told myself for twenty-one years was dead.”
“What story?”
“That you had failed.”
His voice broke.
“I needed you to fail.”
Griffin looked at him with disgust.
“Why?”
“Because if Maren succeeded without me, then I had thrown away my daughter for nothing.”
The room went silent.
It was the ugliest honest thing my father had ever said.
And somehow the most human.
I did not forgive him.
But I understood him.
Daniel entered.
“Sorry.”
His expression told me the news was serious.
“We’ve identified the person who accessed Lenora Rowe’s private residence the night before her death.”
My father sat upright.
“Who?”
“Thomas Rusk.”
Alden closed his eyes.
Griffin cursed.
Daniel continued.
“Rusk has agreed to cooperate.”
“Against whom?”
“Easton Bell.”
My father looked stunned.
Daniel opened a file.
“Rusk claims Easton ordered him to drug Lenora so she would miss her DOJ appointment.”
I felt cold all over.
“Did he intend to kill her?”
“Rusk says no.”
“That doesn’t matter.”
“No.”
Daniel continued.
“According to him, Easton has spent twenty years removing anyone who could prove Harbor existed.”
Peter Vale.
My mother.
Charles Mercer.
Now my father.
“And Rusk?”
“He says he followed orders until Peter Vale died.”
“Why stop then?”
“Because Easton blamed him and planned to eliminate him next.”
Griffin laughed bitterly.
“Loyalty among criminals.”
Daniel looked toward me.
“Rusk gave us something useful.”
“What?”
“A location.”
“Easton?”
“Not exactly.”
He placed a photograph on the table.
A massive container ship.
BELL MERIDIAN STAR.
“Easton is scheduled to board this vessel tomorrow night in Halifax.”
“Destination?”
“Rotterdam.”
My father stared at the ship.
“He’s running.”
Daniel shook his head.
“No.”
He tapped the manifest.
“He’s carrying something.”
“What?”
“Four sealed containers registered as medical technology.”
I already knew before Daniel said it.
Guidance systems.
Again.
May you like
Project Harbor had never ended.
It had simply evolved.
