Chapter 5 - THE FIRE ETHAN NEVER TALKED ABOUT
“I didn’t let him burn.”
Ethan’s voice cracked.
It was the first time in six years I had ever heard that sound from him.
Not anger.
Not frustration.
Fear.
We sat in Daniel’s living room while rain streaked the windows.
Ethan held the photograph.
“Tell me.”
His eyes closed briefly.
“Our father owed money.”
“To whom?”
“Everyone.”
Ethan told us about the night Michael supposedly died.
Their father had been moving stolen construction equipment through a warehouse outside Knoxville. Michael, nineteen, had become involved.
Ethan had driven there to pull him out.
Then the warehouse caught fire.
“I went inside,” Ethan said.
His hands trembled.
“I found Michael near the loading bay. He was hurt. Dad was screaming that the roof was coming down.”
“What happened?”
“Michael told me he could walk. Dad dragged me outside.”
Ethan stared at nothing.
“Then the building exploded.”
I felt sick.
“Did you go back?”
“I tried.”
His voice became rough.
“Firefighters stopped me.”
“And afterward?”
“My father told police Michael had died inside. They found remains.”
“Not Michael’s.”
“Apparently not.”
I watched Ethan realize that nine years of grief might have been manufactured.
His father had lied.
But why?
Daniel looked at the photograph.
“If Michael survived, someone helped him disappear.”
Ethan nodded.
“My father.”
My phone vibrated.
Unknown number.
A text.
COME ALONE IF YOU WANT THE TRUTH.
Below it was an address.
An abandoned textile mill outside Gastonia.
Ethan saw it.
“No.”
“I wasn’t planning to go alone.”
“You’re not going at all.”
I looked at him.
“You don’t get to order me anymore.”
“Claire, you’re pregnant.”
“And still capable of making decisions.”
He looked away, jaw flexing.
Then he surprised me.
“You’re right.”
Daniel and I both stared.
Ethan gave a humorless laugh.
“I’m apparently learning late.”
We went with private security.
The mill was empty except for one chair beneath a hanging work light.
On the chair sat a man.
Thin.
Scarred along one side of his face.
Alive.
Ethan stopped breathing.
The man lifted his head.
“Hello, big brother.”
Michael Mercer stood.
Ethan didn’t move.
Nine years disappeared from his face.
“Michael?”
Michael smiled bitterly.
“You look disappointed.”
Ethan crossed the room in three strides and grabbed him.
Not violently.
He hugged him.
Michael remained rigid.
Then shoved him away.
“You don’t get to do that.”
“I thought you were dead.”
“You were supposed to.”
“Why?”
Michael looked at me.
His expression softened slightly when he noticed my stomach.
“So that’s Claire.”
“How do you know me?” I asked.
He laughed.
“Everyone knows Claire.”
Ethan stepped between us.
“What do you mean?”
Michael pulled an envelope from his jacket.
“Dad didn’t hide me because he loved me.”
He tossed it onto a table.
“He hid me because I knew what he had done.”
Ethan opened the envelope.
Old contracts.
Bank records.
Photographs.
Then he found one document that made him stop.
“What is this?”
Michael looked directly at me.
“Proof your husband’s company was never the real target.”
I stepped closer.
“Then what was?”
Michael’s gaze dropped toward my stomach.
“Your father’s trust.”
My blood ran cold.
“Why?”
Michael’s answer was almost a whisper.
“Because Claire, your father didn’t leave you forty-nine percent.”
May you like
He looked at Ethan.
“He left her fifty-one.”
