Chapter 9 - GAVIN’S FATHER
Gavin Roarke did not deny knowing his father had worked for Patrick.
He denied knowing what he had done.
“My father died when I was nineteen.”
Declan stood across from him.
“You never told me he worked for Patrick.”
“I knew he drove for him sometimes.”
“Sometimes?”
“I was a kid.”
“You’ve been my security chief for eleven years.”
“And I have never betrayed you.”
Declan’s voice became dangerously quiet.
“That is exactly what a traitor would say.”
Gavin flinched.
I stepped between them before either man did something stupid.
“Stop.”
Declan looked at me.
I ignored him.
“Gavin, what was your father’s name?”
“Michael Roarke.”
Vincent heard from the next room.
“Michael tried to stop it.”
Everyone froze.
Gavin turned.
Vincent repeated:
“He tried to stop Patrick.”
The story changed.
Michael Roarke had originally helped move medication through the private medical network Patrick controlled.
He discovered Eleanor was being slowly poisoned.
When he tried to warn Vincent, Patrick threatened Gavin.
Michael stayed silent.
Then after Eleanor died, guilt consumed him.
He collected evidence.
Patrick discovered it.
Months later, Michael died in what police called a drunk-driving accident.
Gavin stared at Vincent.
“My father didn’t drink.”
“No,” Vincent whispered.
“He didn’t.”
For the first time since I met him, Gavin looked lost.
Then angry.
Not loud.
Worse.
Focused.
“Where is Patrick?”
Declan answered.
“We don’t know.”
“I’ll find him.”
“No.”
Gavin stared.
“No?”
Declan stepped closer.
“You don’t hunt him alone.”
Something passed between the two men.
Years of loyalty.
Suspicion.
Grief.
Then Gavin nodded.
Together.
That afternoon, Savannah’s brother Eli helped unlock the next clue.
Victor Calloway had forced him to manage old financial archives.
One payment repeated monthly.
A marina outside Milwaukee.
Property held through a trust.
Patrick’s escape route.
Declan wanted to go immediately.
Federal agents were notified.
For once, he allowed them to lead.
I noticed.
He noticed me noticing.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“That means something.”
“It means you’re learning.”
His mouth twitched.
“Dangerous accusation.”
Before the operation began, Declan walked me onto the terrace.
Lake Michigan stretched gray beneath winter clouds.
“Amelia.”
“Yes?”
“If I don’t come back—”
“No.”
“You need to hear this.”
“I said no.”
“I have paperwork prepared.”
I stared.
“Of course you do.”
“Everything legitimate I own goes into a trust for the child.”
“I don’t want your money.”
“It isn’t about what you want.”
My eyes narrowed.
He stopped.
Then corrected himself.
“It is meant to protect the baby, if you choose to accept it.”
Better.
“What about me?”
“The studio property is yours.”
“What studio property?”
His expression betrayed him.
“Declan.”
“I purchased the building after you disappeared.”
“You what?”
“The landlord was selling.”
“You bought my building?”
“Yes.”
“Without telling me?”
“You were missing.”
“That does not improve the answer.”
“I was worried someone would use it to find you.”
“So you bought an entire Chicago building?”
“Yes.”
“You are clinically incapable of normal gestures.”
He almost smiled.
Then I became serious.
“Come back.”
His eyes held mine.
“I intend to.”
“No revenge.”
Silence.
“Promise me.”
His jaw worked.
Then:
“I promise.”
He kissed my forehead.
Not my mouth.
He did not assume.
That mattered.
Hours later, the marina operation began.
Patrick was there.
So was the missing original ledger.
But when agents entered the warehouse, Patrick triggered explosives.
Fire ripped through the building.
Declan and Gavin escaped.
Patrick did not.
At least that was the initial report.
No body was found.
Only blood.
A burned coat.
And the original ledger.
Then one page inside revealed a secret none of us expected.
Patrick had not ordered the hit on Declan’s father.
Vincent himself had arranged the shooting.
His own attempted murder.
May you like
His own fake death.
And Patrick had merely taken advantage of it.
