PART 3
This one showed the body from farther away. The face was partially covered, but the clothes were visible.
A black jacket.
Dark jeans.
Expensive watch.
Brandon stared at the watch.
“That’s mine.”
My stomach dropped.
Frank nodded. “Exactly.”
Brandon reached for the photograph, but his injured hand trembled too badly to hold it.
“I lost that watch three weeks ago,” he whispered. “Victoria told me I must have left it at the office.”
Frank looked directly at him.
“She didn’t lose it.”
The room went silent.
I felt something cold move through me.
“Then whose body is it?”
Frank hesitated.
“The doctor believes the man was killed somewhere else and transported to the clinic. But there is something stranger.”
“What?”
“The fingerprints.”
Brandon looked up.
“They don’t belong to you.”
“Of course they don’t,” Brandon said bitterly. “I’m alive.”
Frank shook his head.
“They don’t belong to Marcus either.”
That stopped everyone.
I looked at Frank.
“Then who is he?”
“We don’t know.”
He opened the envelope again and removed a folded document.
“The clinic ran a preliminary identification. The man had identification papers in your son’s name.”
Brandon stared at the document.
“Someone wanted everyone to believe I was dead.”
“Not just dead,” Frank said. “They wanted everyone to believe you died in a very specific way.”
I felt my heart pounding.
“Why?”
Frank looked at me.
“Because whoever planned this needed your son legally dead before someone discovered he was alive.”
Brandon slowly sat back down.
Then he looked at the laptop.
At the video of Victoria.
At the gray folder.
And finally at me.
“Mom,” he said quietly, “what did Dad know?”
I couldn’t answer.
Because suddenly, I was beginning to understand.
Arthur hadn’t simply left me a thumb drive.
He had left me a warning.
And maybe he had known that one day Brandon would need it.
I reopened the video.
Victoria was still standing in the penthouse kitchen, speaking into her phone.
“When Brandon dies, his mother won’t be an issue. The old woman doesn’t even realize the core company is still registered under her name.”
We replayed the sentence.
Again.
And again.
Then Brandon leaned forward.
“Stop.”
I paused the video.
“What?”
“Play it again, but listen to what she says before that.”
I rewound.
Victoria’s voice filled the kitchen.
“We don’t need the entire company. We only need the controlling shares.”
Brandon froze.
I looked at him.
“What does that mean?”
He didn’t answer immediately.
Then he said, “It means Victoria doesn’t own my company.”
Frank frowned.
“Then who does?”
Brandon slowly turned toward me.
“You do.”
I laughed once because the idea sounded absurd.
“Me?”
“Yes.”
He pulled the gray folder toward himself.
“Mom, remember when I started the company?”
“Of course.”
“I couldn’t get financing.”
“You were twenty-four.”
“I know.”
“You were stubborn.”
“I know.”
“And broke.”
He smiled faintly.
“I was extremely broke.”
For the first time since he arrived at my house, there was something almost normal in his expression.
Then it disappeared.
“You co-signed everything.”
“I remember.”
“No. Mom, you didn’t just co-sign it.”
He opened the folder.
“You were listed as the original holding trustee.”
I stared at the documents.
The words blurred.
“I don’t understand.”
“Neither did Victoria.”
Brandon pointed to one page.
“Dad helped me structure the company through a family holding agreement. You were supposed to hold the controlling shares until I reached a certain age.”
“But you’re forty-one.”
“I know.”
“So why are they still in my name?”
“Because Dad never transferred them.”
I looked at the signature at the bottom.
Arthur’s.
My husband’s handwriting.
My fingers began to shake.
“He knew.”
Brandon nodded.
“He knew exactly what Victoria was trying to do.”
Frank stepped closer.
“And that’s why they tried to kill him.”
“No,” Brandon said.
He looked at me.
“That’s why they tried to kill both of us.”
Suddenly the phone rang.
All three of us froze.
It was Victoria.
Brandon reached for the phone.
I stopped him.
“No.”
He looked at me.
“Mom—”
“She thinks you’re dead.”
He understood immediately.
I answered.
“Hello?”
Victoria’s voice came through.
“Mrs. Eleanor?”
“Yes.”
“I just wanted to make sure you’re all right.”
I stared at Brandon.
He was standing perfectly still.
“I’m managing.”
“I know this must be difficult.”
“Yes.”
She sighed.
“I’m sorry about everything.”
I almost laughed.
“You don’t have to apologize.”
“Oh, but I do.”
There was something different in her voice.
Not grief.
Fear.
“Mrs. Eleanor, there has been a complication.”
My fingers tightened around the phone.
“What kind of complication?”
“The hospital made an administrative mistake.”
“What mistake?”
“They’re saying the body may not be Brandon.”
I widened my eyes deliberately.
“Oh my God.”
Across the table, Brandon raised one finger.
Keep her talking.
Victoria continued.
“They are trying to delay the cremation.”
“That sounds terrible.”
“Yes.”
Her breathing became uneven.
“I need you to do something for me.”
“What?”
“Destroy the documents Brandon left with you.”
My heart stopped.
She knew.
She knew about the folder.
I looked at Brandon.
His expression hardened.
“Which documents?” I asked.
“Don’t pretend you don’t know.”
Her voice had become ice.
“The gray folder.”
I swallowed.
“What if I already destroyed it?”
Silence.
Then Victoria whispered:
“Don’t lie to me.”
I could hear the fear now.
Real fear.
“Why are you so worried about a folder?”
“Because your son was a sentimental man.”
She stopped.
Then corrected herself.
“Was.”
I looked at Brandon.
He mouthed, keep going.
I said, “Victoria, I’m confused.”
“You should be.”
Her voice suddenly became frighteningly calm.
“You should also be very careful tonight.”
“Why?”
“Because if Brandon’s body isn’t at the clinic, then somebody knows he’s alive.”
I held my breath.
“And if somebody knows that,” she continued, “they will come looking for him.”
The line went dead.
Nobody spoke.
Then Frank whispered:
“She knows.”
Brandon nodded.
“She doesn’t know where I am.”
“She knows you’re alive.”
“Yes.”
I looked toward the windows.
My little suburban house had never felt so exposed.
Every passing car suddenly looked suspicious.
Every shadow seemed to move.
Then there was another sound.
A vehicle pulling into my driveway.
Frank immediately went to the window.
His face changed.
“What?”
He didn’t answer.
Brandon stood.
“Frank?”
Frank turned around.
“There are two black SUVs outside.”
My heart sank.
“Police?”
Frank shook his head.
“No markings.”
Brandon’s eyes narrowed.
“Lock the doors.”
I ran toward the back door.
Frank checked the front.
Brandon grabbed the laptop and the folder.
Then the headlights outside switched off.
The house went dark.
A man’s silhouette appeared behind the glass.
Three knocks came against the front door.
Slow.
Deliberate.
Knock.
Knock.
Knock.
Nobody moved.
Then a voice came through the door.
“Mrs. Eleanor?”
I recognized it.
It was Victoria’s attorney.
And beside him stood two men I had never seen before.
The attorney smiled through the glass.
“We need to talk about your son’s estate.”
Brandon looked at me.
I looked back at him.
Neither of us believed for one second that they had come for paperwork.
They had come to finish the job.
PART 4
The knock came again.
Three times.
Slow.
Patient.
Almost polite.
That was what frightened me most.
A desperate man bangs on a door.
An angry man kicks it.
But a man who knows he has all night simply knocks.
Brandon stood behind the kitchen wall, one hand pressed against his injured ribs. His breathing was shallow, but his eyes were clear.
Frank whispered, “Don’t open it.”
“I wasn’t planning to.”
The attorney outside knocked again.
“Mrs. Eleanor, I understand this is difficult. We’re here to make sure everything concerning Brandon’s estate is handled properly.”
I looked at the gray folder sitting on the table.
Then at my son.
Then at the front door.
“They think I’m alone,” I whispered.
Brandon nodded.
“Let them.”
Frank moved toward the hallway.
“I’ll check the back.”
“No,” Brandon said. “Stay here.”
Frank frowned.
“Boss—”
“If they came expecting me to be dead, they’re going to make mistakes when they think they’re dealing with my mother.”
I stared at my son.
The little boy who used to hide behind my skirt whenever thunder shook the windows was gone.
In his place stood a wounded man who had finally realized that the people closest to him had been planning his funeral while he was still alive.
I took a deep breath.
Then I walked toward the front door.
“Mom,” Brandon whispered.
I turned.
“What?”
“Whatever happens, don’t give them anything.”
I smiled.
“Brandon.”
“Yes?”
“You’ve forgotten who raised you.”
For the first time that night, he smiled.
I opened the door’s inner latch but left the security chain in place.
The attorney stood on the porch.
His name was Daniel Cross.
I had met him twice before.
Both times, he had been charming.
Both times, Victoria had been beside him.
Now he stood alone.
Behind him were the two strangers.
“Mrs. Eleanor,” Daniel said warmly. “I’m terribly sorry to disturb you.”
“You already did.”
His smile tightened.
“I understand.”
“What do you want?”
“Some documents.”
“It’s late.”
“I know.”
“You can come back tomorrow.”
“I’d rather not.”
He looked past me.
His eyes moved toward the kitchen.
I immediately stepped farther into the doorway, blocking his view.
“Do you have a warrant?”
He blinked.
“No.”
“Then you can’t search my home.”
“I’m not here to search.”
“Good.”
I began closing the door.
His hand stopped it.
“Mrs. Eleanor.”
My heart jumped.
His voice had changed.
“I strongly recommend that you cooperate.”
I stared at his hand.
Then at his face.
“You’re threatening me?”
“Absolutely not.”
He smiled.
“I’m warning you.”
“About what?”
“Your son.”
My stomach tightened.