Chapter 5 - MY BROTHER’S EMPTY CHAIR
Claire did not go into active labor.
That was the only good thing that happened over the next twelve hours.
Dr. Foster stabilized her enough for us to move her without an ambulance. Michael arranged a private medical transport under a false name to a small hospital outside Grand Rapids where a physician he trusted could admit her without connecting anything to Carter Holdings.
I rode beside Claire.
She slept for most of the drive.
Her hand remained near mine on the blanket between us.
I never touched it.
Not until the vehicle hit a patch of ice and she instinctively grabbed my fingers.
She woke immediately.
For a second, neither of us moved.
Then she released me.
“Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize.”
Her eyes closed again.
I stared at my hand for the rest of the drive.
The hospital managed to slow the contractions.
Ella’s heartbeat remained strong.
The doctor believed Claire could carry her longer if she stayed under strict monitoring and avoided stress.
I nearly laughed at the last part.
Avoid stress.
My brother had just sent armed men to kill her.
My dead father had murdered her father.
My mistress had helped hand Andrew the keys to our bedroom.
And Claire was lying in a hospital under an assumed name wondering whether her daughter would be born ten weeks early.
I could remove myself.
That was the only source of stress I controlled.
So after she was settled into a private room, I stood near the door.
“I’m going back to Chicago.”
Claire looked at me.
“To kill him?”
“No.”
The answer surprised both of us.
“What are you going to do?”
“Find out who else he bought.”
She searched my face.
“Daniel, if you start a war—”
“I won’t.”
“You say that now.”
“I know.”
A nurse entered to check the monitor.
I waited until she left.
“Claire, I need something from you.”
Her expression became guarded.
“What?”
“Permission.”
Her eyebrows lifted.
“Andrew is going to assume I bring you back to one of my properties. I want Michael to keep two people nearby. Not inside. Not unless you agree.”
“Who?”
“Michael chooses them.”
“That isn’t a name.”
“No.”
She almost rolled her eyes.
I deserved that.
“People who have never worked directly for Andrew,” I continued. “They won’t approach you. They’ll stay outside the hospital and watch for him.”
Claire was quiet.
Then nodded.
“Two.”
“Two.”
“No tracking my phone.”
“Okay.”
“No changing my medical records.”
“Okay.”
“No contacting the doctor unless there is an emergency.”
“Okay.”
She stared at me.
“Who are you?”
I looked at the floor.
“Someone learning too late.”
Her face softened for a moment.
Then she turned toward the window.
“Go.”
I did.
Andrew was waiting for me at my mother’s house.
That was the part I did not expect.
Evelyn Carter still lived in the mansion in Lake Forest where my brother and I grew up.
Our father died in its library.
My mother had refused to change his chair afterward.
Every Sunday, she hosted dinner at seven.
Andrew never missed it.
Neither did I unless business took me out of town.
That Sunday, at exactly 6:58, I walked through the dining-room doors.
My mother was already seated.
Andrew’s chair was empty.
She looked at me.
“You’re late.”
I checked my watch.
“By your clock.”
“It is still your father’s clock.”
“He’s dead.”
Her mouth tightened.
At seventy-one, Evelyn Carter still possessed the ability to make powerful men feel twelve years old.
Her silver hair was pinned behind her head.
Diamonds hung from her ears.
No one looking at her would imagine she once authorized a payment to cover the murder of a young father in a warehouse fire.
“Where is Andrew?” I asked.
“Apparently working.”
“Since when?”
She set down her wineglass.
“What happened?”
“Why assume something happened?”
“Because you haven’t sat down.”
I pulled out Andrew’s chair instead of mine.
My mother’s eyes sharpened.
I placed a folder on his plate.
The Bennett Transport records.
Her face went completely still.
Thirty-two years disappeared from the room.
She did not ask what the papers were.
That told me enough.
“How long have you known?” I asked.
She looked at the folder.
“Where did you get that?”
“Wrong question.”
“Daniel.”
“How long?”
Her shoulders lowered slightly.
“Your father handled business differently then.”
I laughed.
The sound was ugly.
“He murdered a man.”
“Keep your voice down.”
“Why? Afraid Patrick might hear us?”
“Your brother could arrive.”
“Andrew already knows.”
That changed her.
“How?”
“The same way he knows about the succession trust.”
Her fingers tightened around the tablecloth.
“You found that too.”
“Claire did.”
My mother closed her eyes.
“She was never supposed to see those documents.”
“Neither was I?”
“Patrick made me promise.”
“Patrick has been dead for eight years.”
“And somehow he is still destroying us.”
I leaned forward.
“No. You helped him.”
She looked at me.
For the first time, I saw fear in my mother’s eyes.
“I did not know Patrick intended to kill Thomas Bennett.”
“But you signed the payment afterward.”
“I signed hundreds of documents.”
“Don’t.”
My voice dropped.
“Do not insult me with the same kind of lie I used on my wife.”
That landed.
My mother looked away.
“I knew after the fire.”
“And you covered it up.”
“Yes.”
The word barely existed.
I sat back.
“Claire was nine.”
“I know.”
“She married into this family without knowing her father died so ours could become richer.”
“I know.”
“She is carrying your granddaughter.”
My mother’s head snapped toward me.
“Where is she?”
“Safe.”
“Daniel—”
“Andrew altered her medication.”
Silence.
My mother stared.
“No.”
“I have video.”
“No.”
“I have bank records.”
“He wouldn’t.”
“He already did.”
Evelyn pushed back from the table.
“He loves you.”
“He hates me.”
“You are brothers.”
“I used to believe those sentences meant the same thing.”
She stood.
“Where is Andrew?”
“I was hoping you could tell me.”
She reached for her phone.
I took it.
“Daniel.”
“You don’t call him.”
“He may be in danger.”
“He is the danger.”
“He is my son.”
“And Ella is your granddaughter.”
My mother went still.
I had never spoken my daughter’s name to her.
“Ella?”
“That’s what Claire named her.”
Her eyes filled.
For a second, I hated that she was allowed to feel tenderness.
Then I remembered Claire saying rage was easier than guilt.
“What does the trust mean to Andrew?” I asked.
My mother sat down slowly.
“Everything.”
“Explain.”
She looked toward our father’s empty chair.
“Patrick never trusted Andrew.”
“I noticed.”
“He believed your brother was impulsive. Resentful. Too hungry to prove himself.”
“So he gave me control.”
“Yes.”
“And gave my child the future.”
She nodded.
“Patrick thought a child would force you to leave the violent parts of the business behind.”
I almost laughed.
“My father planned morality through inheritance?”
“He had his contradictions.”
“He had victims.”
She flinched.
Good.
“Why didn’t Andrew know about the trust?”
“He wasn’t supposed to.”
“But he learned.”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“About a year ago.”
“Before Claire was pregnant.”
My mother nodded.
“He came to me furious. He said Patrick had humiliated him from the grave.”
“What did you tell him?”
“That the clause might never matter.”
I understood.
“Because Claire and I had been trying for years.”
“Yes.”
Then Claire got pregnant.
Everything changed.
My phone buzzed.
Michael.
I answered.
“What?”
His voice was tight.
“You need to leave.”
I stood instantly.
“Why?”
“Your mother’s house is compromised.”
I looked toward the windows.
“How?”
“Andrew transferred twelve men off normal rotation this afternoon. Three vehicles just left one of his properties heading north.”
My mother heard.
“Daniel?”
I ended the call.
“Where’s the basement exit?”
She stared at me.
“You haven’t used it since you were fifteen.”
“Where?”
“Wine cellar.”
The lights went out.
My mother gasped.
I drew my weapon.
Outside, an engine roared through the front gates.
Then another.
My mother whispered, “Andrew would never attack this house.”
The first explosion shattered every window on the east side.
I pushed her to the floor.
The dining-room chandelier crashed across the table.
Glass sprayed over Andrew’s empty chair.
Men shouted outside.
Gunfire followed.
My mother crawled toward me.
“That’s my son.”
I looked at her.
“So am I.”
Another blast shook the walls.
She finally understood.
Andrew was not choosing between his mother and brother.
He had already chosen himself.
We moved toward the wine cellar.
Halfway there, my mother stopped.
“My safe.”
“No.”
“There’s something in it.”
“Leave it.”
“It can stop him.”
I turned.
“What?”
She looked me directly in the eyes.
“Your father kept a second will.”
May you like
Gunfire tore through the hallway.
And somewhere beneath the sound of bullets ripping apart the house where we had grown up, I realized Patrick Carter had left more ghosts behind than any of us understood.
