Chapter 2 - THE BROTHER I BURIED NINE YEARS AGO
For nine years, I'd visited my brother's grave every Christmas.
I'd stood beside a polished granite headstone bearing his name.
I'd watched my mother place white roses beneath his photograph.
I'd blamed myself for not protecting him.
And now Marcus Bell was telling me the coffin had been a lie.
I stared through the windshield.
"Say that again."
Marcus exhaled.
"Michael survived the explosion."
I felt as though the air had been punched from my lungs.
"Where is he?"
"I don't know."
"You're lying."
"I'm telling you what I know."
I closed my eyes.
"Who else knew?"
Another silence.
"Your father."
I laughed once.
It sounded ugly.
"My father watched me bury an empty coffin?"
"Daniel, there were circumstances—"
"Don't."
My voice turned sharp.
"Don't tell me there were circumstances."
Across the street, Elena pulled a thin blanket around the little girl's shoulders.
Then she turned off the kitchen light.
The old man remained beside the heater.
I watched Elena hesitate before giving him her own sweater.
She was freezing.
And I had followed her home over dinner rolls.
The shame returned so violently that I almost couldn't breathe.
"Who is Elena Martinez?" I asked.
Marcus went quiet.
"Daniel..."
"Answer."
"She was Michael's fiancée."
My heart stopped.
I stared at the building.
Elena.
The woman who cleaned my mansion.
The woman who arranged my coffee station.
The woman I'd barely noticed for three years.
She had once been engaged to my brother.
"Why didn't she tell me?"
Marcus's voice became strained.
"Because she was afraid of what your family would do."
I looked down at my hands.
For the first time in years, I had no answer.
No command.
No threat.
No clever way to make a problem disappear.
Only the unbearable realization that a woman connected to my family had been struggling to feed a child while I ate dinners worth more than her monthly grocery budget.
"Who is the old man?" I asked.
Marcus hesitated.
"His name is Rafael Martinez."
"Her father?"
"No."
"Then who?"
"He worked for your father."
I went still.
Marcus continued.
"He was one of the last men to see Michael before the explosion."
My pulse thundered.
"Why is he living with Elena?"
"Because he knows something."
"What?"
"Something your father spent years making sure nobody discovered."
I looked toward the third-floor window.
The little girl had disappeared into another room.
Elena stood alone beside the sink.
For a moment, she leaned against the counter and covered her face.
Her shoulders shook.
She was crying.
I had never seen Elena cry.
Not when she worked through a fever.
Not when another employee blamed her for breaking a crystal vase.
Not when I corrected her over something so insignificant that I could no longer remember what it was.
But tonight, she was crying because she couldn't afford enough food.
I swallowed.
"Marcus, I'm going upstairs."
"No!"
His voice was suddenly urgent.
"Daniel, don't approach them until we talk."
"Why?"
Another long silence.
Then Marcus whispered, "Because Rafael has spent nine years protecting that little girl from someone."
"Who?"
May you like
Marcus's answer chilled me.
"Your own father."
