Chapter 3 - The Brother I Thought Was Dead
I had attended Ethan Jenkins's funeral on a rainy Friday in February.
I remembered the folded American flag beside his photograph.
My mother's trembling hands.
The closed coffin.
And the police officer who told us Ethan had died during a robbery outside Philadelphia.
Now his face was staring back at me from Caroline Hayes's photograph.
Older.
Harder.
But unmistakably my brother.
I gripped the edge of the table.
"Where did you get this?"
Caroline studied my expression.
"Richard sent it yesterday."
I looked closer.
Ethan wore a gray coat.
His right hand rested against the back of Daniel's chair.
The silver scar across his thumb was visible.
He'd gotten that scar when we were children, trying to fix my bicycle.
I couldn't breathe.
Arthur noticed.
"Khloe?"
I slowly lowered the photograph.
"That man is my brother."
Caroline frowned.
"Your brother?"
I nodded.
"He's supposed to be dead."
For several seconds, nobody spoke.
Then Arthur pulled out a chair.
"Sit down."
I almost laughed.
I'd spent three months pretending to be a waitress while investigating a billionaire's hidden financial crimes.
I'd survived endless hours, rude customers, and Richard Croft's humiliation.
But a photograph of my brother had brought me to my knees.
Arthur sat opposite me.
"Khloe, look at me."
I raised my eyes.
"Are you certain?"
"Yes."
He nodded.
"Then we need to establish whether the photograph is genuine and find out where it was taken."
I swallowed.
Ethan had been thirty when he disappeared.
He was brilliant.
Stubborn.
And incapable of walking past someone who needed help.
He worked as a compliance analyst for a regional bank.
He'd once told me that the greatest financial crimes weren't committed with guns.
They were committed with signatures.
Three weeks later, he was dead.
Or so I'd believed.
Caroline wiped her eyes.
"Khloe, there's something else."
I looked up.
"Tell me."
"Ethan has been working with Richard for years."
My chest tightened.
"What?"
"He's the person who manages Blackbird."
I stared at her.
That was impossible.
My brother had spent his career fighting financial corruption.
He would never willingly run an operation that destroyed workers' retirement accounts.
"You're mistaken."
Caroline shook her head.
"I've seen him at Richard's private office."
I looked toward the photograph.
Ethan's expression was cold.
Almost unrecognizable.
Arthur leaned forward.
"Caroline, do you know where Daniel is being held?"
She hesitated.
"The warehouse may have been moved. I know only the old address."
I nodded.
"We'll give the information to investigators."
Then Caroline reached for my hand.
Her fingers were freezing.
"Khloe, please listen."
I looked at her.
"Your brother isn't the man Richard trusts most."
My heart pounded.
"Then who is?"
Caroline's voice dropped.
"Richard doesn't trust Ethan."
She swallowed.
"He's terrified of him."
Before I could ask why, my phone vibrated.
An unknown number.
A message appeared.
Stop investigating Blackbird.
Then another.
You already buried your brother once.
May you like
The final message contained a photograph of my mother's front porch.
Taken less than ten minutes earlier.
