Chapter 14 - The Brother
Ethan had not spoken to his younger brother, Mason, in eleven months.
Mason had moved to Denver after a bitter fight with Margaret over money. At least, that was the family version.
Now Ethan called him from the mansion.
Mason answered on the sixth ring.
“What?”
“Where were you the night Dad died?”
Silence.
Then, “Who told you?”
Ethan’s face went rigid.
“Come home.”
“No.”
“Mason.”
“You don’t understand.”
“Then make me understand.”
Mason breathed into the phone.
“Mom called me that night. Dad had found Grant’s money trail. They were screaming. Grant shoved Dad into a table.”
Emily closed her eyes.
“Was Dad alive when you left?” Ethan asked.
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because Mom said Grant would destroy all of us. She said the company would collapse, employees would lose jobs, our name would be dragged through court for years.”
“You believed her?”
“I was twenty-six and terrified.”
“What happened in the car?”
“I wasn’t in it.”
“Lena saw four people leave.”
“I left in my own car.”
Ethan paced.
“Why did Dad’s car crash on County Nine?”
“I don’t know.”
Emily heard something in Mason’s voice. Not ignorance.
Fear.
“Mason,” she said. “Margaret attacked me yesterday.”
He went quiet.
“She slapped me while I’m pregnant. She forged a paternity test to make Ethan think the baby isn’t his. Grant sent people after a nurse.”
“Jesus.”
“If you know something, now is the time.”
Mason whispered, “There’s a storage unit.”
Ethan stopped pacing.
“Where?”
“Southside Storage. Unit 418. Dad rented it under my name because he didn’t trust Grant.”
“What’s in it?”
“I never opened it.”
Ruiz was already writing.
Mason continued, “Ethan, listen to me. Mom knows about the unit now.”
“How?”
“She called me this morning.”
Emily looked at the clock.
“When?”
“About an hour ago.”
Ruiz grabbed her radio.
They drove to Southside Storage with lights and sirens.
Unit 418 was open when they arrived.
The lock had been cut.
Inside, every box was gone.
Except one.
A baby-blue file folder lay in the center of the concrete floor.
May you like
On top, in Margaret’s handwriting, were four words.
EMILY, THIS IS YOUR FAULT.
