Chapter 7 - THE OTHER CHILD
My father didn't want to tell me.
I could see it.
He sat at the conference table staring at Daniel Ross's email as though the words might rearrange themselves if he waited long enough.
I stood across from him.
"What did Blake do?"
Dad rubbed both hands over his face.
"Ethan."
"No."
I pointed at the screen.
"Another child?"
Mom stared at him.
"Charles?"
He looked at her.
"You didn't know."
It wasn't a question.
Mom slowly sat.
"Know what?"
Dad closed his eyes.
"Blake was nineteen."
My stomach tightened.
"What happened?"
"There was a company picnic."
I remembered.
Caldwell used to hold summer picnics at a recreation park outside Columbus.
Barbecue.
Softball.
Children running everywhere.
I had stopped going by then.
I was twenty-three.
Newly married to Rebecca.
Trying to put distance between myself and my family.
Dad continued.
"One of the warehouse supervisors brought his family. His son was twelve."
Mom whispered, "The Bell family?"
Dad nodded.
I knew the name.
Martin Bell had worked at Caldwell for years.
"What happened to his son?"
Dad looked at me.
"Blake and some friends were drinking near the lake."
My hands curled.
"They took the boy out on one of the rental boats."
"Why?"
"Blake was showing off."
Of course.
Dad's voice dropped.
"The boy couldn't swim well."
I felt sick.
"Blake pushed him in."
Mom gasped.
"He what?"
"He said it was a joke."
The phrase hit me like a physical blow.
I saw June.
Again.
Face-first into a castle cake.
Blood.
Frosting.
It was a joke.
I forced myself to ask.
"What happened?"
"The boy panicked. Blake jumped in after him. They pulled him out."
"Was he okay?"
"Physically."
That word.
Physically.
Meaning no.
Dad continued.
"He spent two nights in the hospital. He had aspirated water."
My mother stood.
"You never told me."
"I handled it."
I stared at him.
"Handled it?"
"The family received compensation."
"How much did you pay them?"
Dad looked ashamed.
"Two hundred thousand."
I laughed.
It sounded ugly.
"You paid them to disappear."
"No."
"What would you call it?"
"They were going to sue."
"They should have."
"I was protecting the company."
"You were protecting Blake."
Dad slammed one hand on the table.
"I was trying to protect my son!"
The words echoed.
I stepped closer.
"And Martin Bell's son?"
Dad's face fell.
I lowered my voice.
"Who protected him?"
Nobody answered.
There it was.
The pattern.
Blake did something cruel.
Dad protected Blake.
Mom kept quiet.
Everyone moved on.
Until the next person got hurt.
And the next.
And the next.
I suddenly understood that June's birthday hadn't been an isolated moment.
It had been the moment I stopped participating.
"What's the boy's name?"
Dad stared at me.
"Michael."
"Where is he now?"
"I don't know."
"Find out."
"Ethan."
"Find out."
Sarah was already typing.
Two hours later, she had him.
Michael Bell.
Thirty-two years old.
High school counselor.
Living in Indiana.
Married.
Two children.
He agreed to speak with us after Sarah explained why.
We drove that afternoon.
I left June with Melissa and two security officers.
She hated that.
"I can protect myself."
"I know."
"You clearly don't."
She rolled her eyes.
"You're doing the Dad thing."
"What Dad thing?"
"The thing where you say you trust me but assign enough security to protect a president."
"Presidents get more."
"That isn't comforting."
I kissed her forehead.
"Text me."
"I always do."
Then her expression changed.
"Are you seeing someone Uncle Blake hurt?"
I looked at her.
"How'd you know?"
"You have the face."
"What face?"
"The one you make when you're angry but trying not to scare me."
Apparently I had a face.
"Yes."
"Was it a kid?"
I hesitated.
June understood immediately.
"What did he do?"
"I'll tell you when I get home."
She nodded.
Then said something that stayed with me all the way to Indiana.
"Don't make them tell you more than they want to."
I looked at my fifteen-year-old daughter.
She shrugged.
"People did that to me after the cake. Everybody wanted to know exactly how much it hurt."
I swallowed.
"You're smarter than me."
"Obviously."
That made me laugh.
Michael Bell met us in a small coffee shop.
I recognized his father in him.
Same square jaw.
Same dark hair.
He shook my hand.
"You're Ethan."
"Yes."
"I've heard about you."
"From Daniel Ross?"
He nodded.
That surprised me.
"You know Daniel?"
"He contacted me four months ago."
We sat.
I didn't start with questions.
I told him why I was there.
I told him about June.
Not every detail.
Just enough.
Michael listened without interrupting.
When I finished, his jaw tightened.
"He still says that?"
"What?"
"It was a joke."
I nodded.
Michael looked through the window.
"For years I thought maybe I remembered it wrong."
I knew that feeling.
"When everybody around you acts like something wasn't serious, you start questioning yourself."
"Exactly."
He rubbed his palms together.
"I hated swimming after that."
"I'm sorry."
"I couldn't even sit near a pool until I was twenty-four."
He gave a faint laugh.
"My wife finally convinced me to take lessons."
He paused.
"Now both my kids swim better than I do."
I smiled.
"That's good."
"Yeah."
Silence.
Then Michael said, "Your father came to the hospital."
I didn't expect that.
"He did?"
"Once."
"What happened?"
"He told my parents Blake was devastated."
I closed my eyes.
Of course.
"He said Blake had made a terrible mistake and would live with it forever."
Michael looked at me.
"Did he?"
"No."
"That's what I figured."
He took a breath.
"Daniel asked whether there were other incidents."
"Were there?"
Michael nodded.
My stomach dropped.
"Blake had a reputation."
"For what?"
"Humiliating people."
He counted on his fingers.
"Making younger employees do things. Hazing interns. Dangerous pranks. Putting hot sauce in someone's inhaler case."
"What?"
"He didn't actually put it in the inhaler. Just covered the mouthpiece."
I stared.
"That's insane."
"Everybody laughed."
"Who stopped him?"
Michael looked at me.
"Nobody."
The word hurt.
Nobody.
The same answer.
Always.
I asked about Daniel.
Michael's face tightened.
"He found me because he was tracing an old settlement payment."
"Did he say what he found?"
"Not at first."
"Later?"
Michael looked around the coffee shop.
Then lowered his voice.
"He said Blake was using the same lawyer and private accounts your father used years ago."
"For what?"
"Settlements."
My skin went cold.
"Plural?"
Michael nodded.
"Daniel found six."
I stopped breathing for half a second.
"Six what?"
"Incidents."
I leaned forward.
"Children?"
"No. Not all."
He swallowed.
"Employees. An intern. A contractor."
"What kind of incidents?"
"Assaults. Harassment. Reckless stuff. One drunk-driving crash that got buried."
I sat back.
Thirty-two million dollars stolen.
Safety reports deleted.
Threats.
Now this.
Blake wasn't an irresponsible executive.
He had spent his adult life believing consequences were something our father could purchase away.
My phone rang.
Sarah.
I answered.
"We found another connection," she said.
"What?"
"The man who attacked Daniel Ross."
"You know who?"
"Not exactly. But St. Louis police recovered traffic footage."
"And?"
"The vehicle used to leave the garage was rented under a Caldwell vendor account."
I looked at Michael.
"Redmont?"
"No."
"Who?"
She paused.
"Executive Protection Services."
I frowned.
"I don't know that name."
"You should."
"Why?"
"Because the company has paid them for twelve years."
"For what?"
"Security."
I thought of Blake.
Then Dad.
"Whose security?"
"Charles Caldwell's."
I closed my eyes.
My father's own protection contractor might have been connected to Daniel's assault.
I ended the call.
Michael watched me.
"Bad?"
"Getting worse."
On the drive home, Dad called.
I didn't answer the first time.
He called again.
Then a third.
Finally I picked up.
"What?"
"Where are you?"
"Driving."
"Ethan, you need to come to the hospital."
My heart stopped.
"June?"
"No."
I almost sagged with relief.
Then guilt hit because whoever it was still mattered.
"Who?"
"Blake."
I gripped the steering wheel.
"What happened?"
"He was found unconscious in the Caldwell parking garage."
I stared ahead.
"Is he alive?"
"Yes."
"What happened?"
"We don't know."
Dad's voice cracked.
"But someone beat him badly."
For all my anger toward Blake, the news didn't satisfy me.
It scared me.
Because men who hurt people for information rarely stopped after one target.
Daniel Ross had been attacked.
Now Blake.
May you like
Someone was cleaning up loose ends.
And my daughter was still being watched.
