Chapter 3 - THE BROTHER BURIED UNDER THE WRONG NAME
Julian Parker had been buried as Adrian.
That was the first truth.
The second was worse.
His family had told everyone Julian was working overseas.
I remembered asking Adrian why his brother had not come to the funeral.
Colleen had said:
“He can’t get back in time.”
I had believed her.
Of course I had.
People do not usually assume entire families are staging funerals.
Rebecca stood near the window.
“Why keep Adrian alive secret from Meredith?”
Colleen looked at me.
“Because we didn’t know who ordered the hit.”
“So?”
“You were close to him.”
I laughed.
“You thought I tried to kill him?”
“No.”
“Then what?”
“We thought someone near you might be watching.”
My anger returned.
“So you let me believe he died.”
“Yes.”
“For three months.”
“Yes.”
“And while I was collapsing, he was doing what?”
Colleen looked toward the door.
“Preparing to disappear permanently.”
I stared.
“What changed?”
“Rebecca.”
Rebecca flinched.
“Me?”
“Your father.”
The room went quiet.
Rebecca’s father, Senator Warren Langley, was one of the most powerful men in New England.
Colleen continued.
“Adrian believed Senator Langley could protect him politically and financially while he rebuilt.”
Rebecca’s expression turned cold.
“So this marriage is protection.”
“No.”
“Then why rush it?”
Colleen hesitated.
That answer mattered.
Rebecca saw it too.
“Why?”
“He needs access to Langley Security.”
My head turned.
The Langley family owned a private intelligence company used by banks, politicians, and international firms.
Adrian was not marrying only Rebecca.
He was marrying infrastructure.
Rebecca sank into a chair.
“Oh my God.”
I almost felt sorry for her.
Then a voice came from outside the door.
“Mom?”
Adrian.
All three of us froze.
He knocked once.
“Rebecca?”
She looked at me.
I could see the question in her eyes.
What now?
I whispered:
“Open it.”
She did.
Adrian stepped inside.
His smile lasted less than one second.
Then he saw me.
Every drop of color vanished from his face.
“Meredith.”
For three months, I had imagined hearing that voice again in dreams.
I thought I would collapse.
I did not.
I stood perfectly still.
He closed the door.
“How did you—”
“I’m the florist.”
His eyes moved to my badge.
A ridiculous little rectangle had done what grief could not.
It brought me to him.
“Meredith, listen.”
“No.”
“Please.”
“You lost the right to ask me for anything while I was standing over your brother’s grave calling it yours.”
He looked wounded.
Good.
Rebecca crossed her arms.
“Apparently I died too.”
Adrian closed his eyes.
“Rebecca—”
“You told me Meredith was dead.”
“I had to explain why no one could contact her.”
I laughed.
“That sentence somehow keeps getting worse.”
Then Adrian looked toward his mother.
“What did you tell them?”
“The truth.”
His face changed.
“All of it?”
“No.”
There it was.
More.
I stepped closer.
“What else?”
Adrian looked at me.
For the first time, I saw something beyond guilt.
Fear.
“Meredith, the man who ordered the car bomb knows you’re here.”
My anger disappeared.
“How?”
He held up his phone.
A photograph had just been sent.
Me walking into the wedding venue that morning.
Time stamped two hours earlier.
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THE DEAD FIANCÉE ISN’T DEAD AFTER ALL.
