Chapter 10 - THE BROTHER MY FATHER NEVER TOLD US ABOUT
His name was Samuel Holloway.
And according to my father, he was my uncle.
The uncle I had never heard of.
Lucas was inside with Rachel, thank God.
I stood in my driveway staring at two men who looked like alternate versions of the same life.
Frank was heavier.
Harder.
Samuel was thin, silver-haired, and walked with a cane.
“You’re Virgil.”
Not a question.
I looked at Dad.
“You told me you never met Samuel Reed.”
Frank’s face tightened.
“I lied.”
At least he had stopped decorating it.
“Why?”
Samuel answered.
“Because your father has been pretending I don’t exist since 1997.”
I looked between them.
“What happened in 1997?”
Frank said:
“Not outside.”
I laughed.
“You don’t get to decide where conversations happen anymore.”
Samuel smiled slightly.
“I like him.”
Dad glared.
“You always did.”
That sentence stopped me.
“What does that mean?”
Samuel looked at Frank.
Frank looked away.
Samuel answered:
“I met you when you were four.”
I felt something cold move through me.
“I don’t remember.”
“You weren’t supposed to.”
“Why?”
“Because I was leaving.”
“For where?”
“Prison.”
Silence.
Frank cursed under his breath.
I stared at Samuel.
“For what?”
“Wire fraud.”
My father snapped:
“He stole from our family business.”
Samuel laughed.
“Our father’s business.”
“Same thing.”
“No, Frank. That was always your problem.”
I held up a hand.
“Peterson Tech.”
Both men stopped.
“Why do you own seventeen percent of my company?”
Samuel’s expression changed.
“Because Thomas Peterson gave it to me.”
“No.”
“He did.”
“Why?”
“Because I gave him five million dollars to keep you independent.”
I stared.
“You knew me?”
“I knew of you.”
“Why help me?”
Samuel looked toward Frank.
“Because your father asked me to.”
That hit differently.
I turned to Dad.
Frank looked exhausted.
“You refused my money.”
“So you used his.”
“Yes.”
“Why his?”
“Because I couldn’t move that much without your mother finding out.”
I almost laughed.
“Mom already created Hawthorne.”
“Later.”
“Did she know about Samuel?”
“Yes.”
Another family lie.
Another dinner table full of people pretending a person did not exist.
“What happened to the money Samuel gave Thomas?”
“It funded North Harbor,” Frank said.
“And Samuel received seventeen percent?”
Samuel nodded.
“Not initially.”
“When?”
“After Thomas became sick.”
“Why?”
“Because he wanted someone outside your immediate family to have leverage if Frank ever tried taking control of Peterson Tech.”
I looked at Dad.
Frank exploded.
“I NEVER TRIED TO TAKE HIS COMPANY.”
Samuel laughed.
“Hawthorne.”
“That was repayment.”
“Twenty-two million dollars?”
Dad went silent.
Samuel looked at me.
“Thomas was afraid this would happen.”
“What?”
“That your father’s definition of helping would eventually become ownership.”
I thought about Lucas.
The barbecue.
The burned toys.
The sentence Dad had repeated my entire childhood.
A boy has to stand on his own two feet.
Yet apparently he had secretly been holding up my company for years while telling himself that gave him the right to influence it.
“What does North Harbor want?”
Samuel’s face became serious.
“Nothing from you.”
“You exercised information rights.”
“Yes.”
“Why now?”
“Because someone activated the old revenue agreement.”
My chest tightened.
“The forged one?”
“No.”
Silence.
Miriam had only seen the document Dad and Mom created.
Samuel reached into his coat.
He removed a leather folder.
“The real agreement.”
I opened it.
Thomas Peterson’s signature.
Samuel Holloway’s.
No mine.
Funding agreement.
Five million dollars.
No revenue participation.
No hidden repayment.
But there was one clause.
If any Holloway family-controlled entity attempted to extract unauthorized payments from Peterson Tech, Samuel’s seventeen-percent interest gained temporary protective voting rights.
I looked at Dad.
“Hawthorne triggered this.”
Samuel nodded.
“Three months ago.”
“Why wait?”
“Because I wanted to know who would come clean.”
His eyes moved toward Frank.
“None of them did.”
I closed the folder.
“What happens now?”
“That depends on you.”
“On whether I let you keep seventeen percent?”
“No.”
Samuel smiled faintly.
“Thomas left instructions.”
“What instructions?”
“If you protected Derek, I was supposed to seek control.”
My stomach tightened.
“And because I didn’t?”
“I return the shares.”
I stared.
“All seventeen percent?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because Thomas believed Peterson Tech should belong to the people actually building it.”
That sounded like him.
Too much like him.
“Then transfer them.”
Samuel did not move.
“What?”
“There’s one condition.”
Of course.
“What condition?”
“You have to meet Thomas.”
My heartbeat stopped.
I looked at Dad.
Frank stared at the ground.
I looked back at Samuel.
“Thomas died.”
“No.”
“I attended his funeral.”
“So did I.”
“His daughter—”
“Knew.”
My skin prickled.
“Why fake his death?”
Samuel leaned against the cane.
“Because someone tried to kill him.”
The driveway went silent.
“Who?”
He looked toward Frank.
Dad snapped:
“Don’t.”
Samuel’s expression hardened.
“Twenty-six years of protecting you is enough.”
I stared at my father.
“Dad?”
Frank looked suddenly old.
“Thomas thought I did it.”
“Did what?”
Samuel answered.
“Sabotaged his car.”
“No.”
Frank shook his head.
“I didn’t.”
Samuel continued:
“Thomas disappeared because he believed the person trying to kill him wanted Peterson Tech.”
My chest tightened.
“That was ten years ago.”
“Yes.”
“Who would want a company that was almost failing?”
Samuel smiled sadly.
“Someone who knew what it would become.”
My phone buzzed.
Miriam.
I answered.
“What?”
Her voice was tense.
“Virgil, we found something else in Jenna’s files.”
“What?”
“An incorporation document.”
“For what?”
“Hawthorne Strategic Services.”
“I know Mom created it.”
“No.”
Silence.
“The version your mother filed nine years ago was a reactivation.”
My stomach dropped.
“Reactivation of what?”
“Hawthorne existed before Peterson Tech.”
“How long before?”
“Twenty-three years.”
I looked at Samuel.
His face changed.
Miriam continued:
“And Frank and Carol weren’t the original owners.”
“Who was?”
“One shareholder.”
“Name.”
She said it.
Thomas Peterson.
Samuel closed his eyes.
My father whispered:
“Oh, no.”
I stared at them.
“What?”
Samuel opened his eyes.
“Then Thomas lied to me too.”
The night suddenly felt colder.
“About what?”
“Hawthorne.”
He looked at my father.
“Thomas told me he dissolved it before Peterson Tech was created.”
My phone buzzed again.
A new email.
Unknown sender.
Subject:
YOU FINALLY LOOKED.
One attachment.
A photograph.
Thomas Peterson.
Older.
Alive.
Standing beside a Peterson Tech sign.
Timestamped three days earlier.
I stopped breathing.
Beneath the photograph was a message.
VIRGIL -
DEREK WAS NEVER THE PROBLEM.
FRANK WAS NEVER THE PROBLEM.
HAWTHORNE WAS BUILT TO FIND THE PERSON INSIDE YOUR COMPANY WHO BETRAYED ME.
I looked toward the house where my six-year-old son was laughing with his aunt, unaware that finding a USB drive had just cracked open a secret older than Peterson Tech itself.
Another message arrived.
YOU HAVE FORTY-EIGHT HOURS BEFORE THEY KNOW I’M ALIVE.
Then a final attachment appeared.
A list of seven Peterson Tech executives.
Six names had been crossed out.
One remained.
I stared at it.
Miriam Sloan.
My general counsel.
The woman standing at the center of every investigation I had authorized.
My phone rang immediately.
Miriam.
I watched her name flash across the screen.
Samuel whispered:
“Don’t answer.”
Dad stepped closer.
“What did Thomas send you?”
I said nothing.
The phone kept ringing.
Then it stopped.
A text from Miriam appeared.
VIRGIL, I KNOW YOU’RE WITH SAMUEL.
My blood went cold.
Another:
DO NOT LET HIM TAKE YOU TO THOMAS.
And then:
THOMAS PETERSON DIDN’T FAKE HIS DEATH BECAUSE SOMEONE TRIED TO KILL HIM.
May you like
One final message appeared.
HE FAKED IT BECAUSE WE FOUND OUT WHAT HE DID.
