Chapter 6 - The Brother My Father Feared
Thomas claimed the voice belonged to a dead man.
Victor Sloane.
For thirty years, Victor had served as Charles Whitmore’s closest business partner.
He helped expand Whitmore Infrastructure from a regional contractor into a national corporation.
Then, twenty years ago, Charles forced him out.
“Why?”
I asked.
Thomas looked toward Edward.
“Fraud.”
Victor had allegedly diverted millions through shell companies.
Charles discovered it.
Rather than prosecute publicly and destroy the company’s reputation, he arranged a private settlement.
Victor lost his shares.
His board seat.
Everything.
Three years later came Claire’s kidnapping attempt.
“Did police investigate him?”
Edward asked.
Thomas nodded.
“They couldn’t find him.”
“Where was he?”
“Argentina, supposedly.”
Claire looked skeptical.
“Victor died six years ago.”
Thomas shook his head.
“That’s what we were told.”
The conversation was interrupted by security.
The USB contained hidden metadata.
It had been created recently.
The old footage was copied from an archived surveillance recording.
Someone with access to historic Whitmore security files had assembled it.
That narrowed the suspects considerably.
Edward’s company maintained the archive.
Only seven people had administrator access.
Thomas was one.
Claire another.
Edward a third.
The remaining four were security executives.
For the next week, federal investigators interviewed employees.
Jamie and I remained at the estate.
Our normal life disappeared.
No school.
No library.
No lunch routine.
Nothing.
The irony wasn’t lost on me.
Edward had lied to preserve normality.
His lies had finally destroyed it.
One afternoon, Jamie found me sitting by the lake.
“Mom?”
“Yeah?”
“Are you divorcing Dad?”
Children can ask terrifying questions with astonishing calm.
“I don’t know.”
He sat beside me.
“I don’t want you to.”
“I know.”
“But I’m mad at him too.”
“I know.”
Jamie threw a pebble.
“He should’ve told us.”
“Yes.”
“But he didn’t cheat.”
“No.”
“That would’ve been worse.”
I almost smiled.
“Different.”
Jamie frowned.
“Claire says Dad used to be fun.”
“He is fun.”
“No, rich fun.”
I laughed.
“What does that mean?”
“She showed me pictures of him racing cars.”
Of course.
“And flying helicopters.”
I closed my eyes.
“Wonderful.”
“Can Dad fly a helicopter?”
Apparently.
“Yes.”
Jamie grinned.
Then his expression became serious again.
“Do you still love him?”
That question hurt more.
“Yes.”
I answered immediately.
Because whatever else was false, that wasn’t.
“I’m angry because I love him.”
Jamie nodded.
“I think Dad is scared you’ll leave.”
“He should be.”
That evening Edward knocked on my bedroom door.
“Can we talk?”
I let him in.
He carried the blue lunchbox.
I almost laughed.
“What are you doing?”
“Something I should’ve done years ago.”
He opened it.
Inside were my notes.
Not all of them.
A dozen.
He placed them on the bed.
“This one was the morning Jamie was born.”
The note said:
Come home early. I think today might be the day.
I smiled despite myself.
“You came home in twenty minutes.”
“I abandoned a board vote.”
I looked up.
“What?”
“Claire covered for me.”
He unfolded another.
Happy anniversary. Twelve years ago today you asked if I wanted half your fries. Best decision I ever made.
Edward swallowed.
“I read these every morning.”
“Then why throw away the food?”
“On ordinary days I didn’t.”
I frowned.
“What?”
“The days Jamie saw me were board and security days. I couldn’t take outside food into secure floors.”
“So most mornings you ate it?”
“Yes.”
I stared.
“That would’ve been useful information.”
“I know.”
I almost told him not to say it.
Instead I laughed weakly.
He continued.
“I never pretended the lunches meant nothing.”
“You pretended everything else.”
“Yes.”
We sat in silence.
Then Edward said, “I’ll sign whatever you want.”
“What?”
“Postnuptial agreement. Assets. Custody assurances. Anything.”
“You think this is about money?”
“No.”
“Then why offer it?”
“Because I have spent twelve years controlling the information in your life.”
His eyes met mine.
“I don’t want to control the choices you make with the truth.”
That was the first thing he had said that sounded like genuine understanding.
Before I could answer, his phone rang.
Claire.
He answered.
His face changed immediately.
“What happened?”
A pause.
“When?”
He stood.
“We’re coming.”
“What?”
I asked.
Edward looked at me.
“Thomas disappeared.”
Investigators had gone to his Manhattan apartment for a second interview.
The apartment was empty.
His phone had been left behind.
His passport was gone.
And in his safe, agents found seventeen-year-old photographs of Claire…
May you like
Edward…
and Lily.
