Chapter 5 - MIDNIGHT AT PIER 19
The police refused to let Lena go.
Lena refused to listen.
“That’s my brother.”
Detective Maria Alvarez stood in the Brooks kitchen.
“And whoever took him expects you to behave emotionally.”
“He’s sixteen.”
“Which is exactly why you need to let us handle this.”
“What if they see police?”
“We know how to approach a hostage situation.”
“And if they kill him before you get close?”
Alvarez did not answer quickly enough.
Lena turned away.
Adrian stood near the window, staring at the rain.
He understood both sides.
That was the problem.
Finally, he said, “We give them what they think they want.”
Alvarez frowned.
“No.”
“Copies.”
“They may check.”
“Then originals with trackers.”
Lena looked at him.
Alvarez shook her head.
“This isn’t one of your business negotiations.”
“No. In business negotiations nobody kidnaps sixteen-year-olds.”
Margaret was taken to a secure location with Diane, who had been found unconscious in the apartment building’s laundry room.
She had been struck from behind but suffered no serious injury.
Noah was still missing.
At 11:42 p.m., Lena arrived at Pier 19 carrying Daniel’s red toolbox.
She wore a wire.
Police tactical units were positioned several blocks away.
Adrian was supposed to remain in the command vehicle.
He didn’t.
Lena discovered that when he stepped from the darkness beside an abandoned warehouse.
“What are you doing?”
“Coming with you.”
“No.”
“That’s interesting, because everyone said the same thing to you.”
“This is different.”
“Why?”
“They want me.”
“They want the evidence.”
She glared at him.
“If something happens—”
“It happens to both of us.”
“Adrian.”
“Lena.”
For one ridiculous second, in the middle of a hostage exchange, she wanted to smile.
Instead, she whispered, “You are incredibly annoying.”
“I’ve been told.”
They entered the warehouse.
A single work light illuminated the center.
Noah sat in a chair.
His wrists were tied.
Tape covered his mouth.
Lena moved forward.
A man emerged from behind him.
Not Richard.
Not anyone Lena recognized.
“Stop.”
She stopped.
“Toolbox.”
“Let my brother go.”
“Toolbox first.”
Adrian studied the man.
Professional posture.
No visible panic.
Probably hired.
“Where’s Whitmore?” Adrian asked.
The man smiled.
“Which one?”
Adrian’s eyes sharpened.
Then Celeste stepped from the shadows.
Lena stared.
Celeste wore jeans, boots and a dark coat.
Without the gown, diamonds and ballroom lights, she looked younger.
And far more dangerous.
“You kidnapped a child?” Adrian said.
Celeste rolled her eyes.
“Please. I didn’t kidnap anyone.”
Noah made an angry sound behind the tape.
“You’re standing beside him.”
“My father arranged this.”
Lena’s grip tightened around the toolbox.
“Then let Noah go.”
“I can’t.”
Adrian stared at Celeste.
“Why are you here?”
For the first time, something like fear appeared in her eyes.
“Because my father thinks I’m helping him.”
“And you’re not?”
Celeste laughed bitterly.
“You really never knew me, did you?”
Adrian’s voice was cold.
“I learned enough at the party.”
“You learned the part everyone wanted to see.”
“You hit Lena.”
“Yes.”
Celeste looked at Lena.
“And I deserve everything that happens to me for that.”
Lena had not expected those words.
Celeste continued.
“But you think that makes me the worst person in my family?”
She looked toward the hired man.
“My father has spent thirty years making sure nobody discovers what he did.”
The man’s expression changed.
“Ms. Whitmore.”
Celeste ignored him.
“He ordered Daniel Brooks followed in 2003.”
Lena went rigid.
“He knew your father had another copy of the Richmond files.”
“Did he kill him?”
Celeste looked at her.
“I don’t know.”
“Did he?”
“I said I don’t know!”
The hired man reached beneath his jacket.
Adrian moved immediately.
“Gun!”
Everything happened at once.
Celeste screamed.
Adrian slammed Lena behind a steel pillar.
A gunshot exploded through the warehouse.
Police flooded through side entrances.
The hired man fired again.
Then Noah kicked the chair backward, striking him in the knees.
The gun skidded across the concrete.
Lena ran.
“Noah!”
She reached her brother and ripped away the tape.
“Ow!”
“You’re complaining?”
“It took skin!”
She threw her arms around him.
Police tackled the gunman.
Adrian grabbed Celeste before she could run.
She did not fight.
Instead, she whispered something.
“His name is Victor Hale.”
“What?”
“The man who killed Daniel.”
Lena heard.
She turned.
“Who?”
Celeste looked at her.
“Victor Hale. He worked security for Whitmore Industrial.”
“Where is he?”
“I don’t know.”
“Why didn’t you tell the police?”
“My father would know it came from me.”
“You threatened my brother.”
Celeste shook her head.
“No.”
“You called Margaret.”
“No.”
Margaret had assumed it was Celeste because the caller had identified herself that way.
Lena stared at her.
“Then who?”
Celeste’s expression changed.
“My father has voice software. He’s used it before.”
Adrian looked disgusted.
“How long have you known?”
“About the threats? Two days. About Daniel? Since I was seventeen.”
“And you still let your father arrange our marriage.”
Celeste laughed.
“Arrange?”
She looked almost sad.
“You really thought we met by accident at that fundraiser?”
Adrian said nothing.
“My father picked you before I ever spoke to you.”
The police separated them.
Noah was taken to an ambulance.
Lena stayed beside him.
“You okay?”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re never leaving the apartment again.”
“Cool. Can I quit school?”
“No.”
“Then your policy has flaws.”
She laughed despite herself.
Then she started crying.
Noah hugged her.
Across the pier, Adrian watched.
Something shifted inside him.
It wasn’t pity.
It wasn’t responsibility.
It was something warmer and much more dangerous.
Lena looked up and caught his eyes.
For several seconds, neither looked away.
Then Detective Alvarez approached.
“We found something.”
She held up the hired man’s phone.
“There are messages from Richard Whitmore’s office.”
“Enough to arrest him?” Adrian asked.
“Enough for a warrant.”
By sunrise, federal agents and local police were entering Whitmore Capital’s Manhattan offices.
Richard Whitmore was gone.
His private jet had never left the airport.
His passport remained at home.
His car was found beneath the Brooklyn Bridge.
Inside was blood.
Not enough to prove he was dead.
But enough to raise a question nobody had expected.
If Richard Whitmore was running—
who had he been running from?
Three days later, police found Victor Hale.
Dead.
A gunshot wound to the chest.
In his pocket was a photograph of Thomas Mercer.
May you like
And written across Thomas’s face in black ink were three words:
HE STARTED EVERYTHING.
