Chapter 6 - MY BROTHER'S TWENTY-YEAR REVENGE
Matthew looked older than the man I remembered.
But there was no mistaking him.
The same eyes.
The same crooked smile.
The same small scar above his left eyebrow from when we were boys.
I had spent twenty years mourning him.
Now he stood ten feet away.
Alive.
And he looked at me like I was the one who had died.
“You look surprised,” he said.
I finally found my voice.
“You're dead.”
He laughed.
“That's what Father wanted you to believe.”
I stared at Florence.
She looked terrified.
“Did he fake your death?”
Matthew smiled.
“Our father arranged everything.”
“Why?”
“Because he chose you.”
The words sounded absurd.
“Our father loved you,” Matthew continued.
“He believed you were more responsible.”
“He left me the company.”
“He left you everything.”
Matthew's expression hardened.
“And that was the problem.”
I shook my head.
“You could have talked to me.”
“I did.”
“When?”
“After the funeral.”
I remembered nothing.
Matthew stepped closer.
“You were already sitting in Father's office.”
I frowned.
“I don't remember.”
“You were signing documents.”
“I was grieving.”
“You were accepting my inheritance.”
“I didn't know you were alive.”
“I know.”
His voice became colder.
“That was the point.”
Florence stepped between us.
“Matthew, stop.”
He turned toward her.
“Stay out of this.”
“She was your daughter.”
His face changed.
For the first time, I saw pain.
“Yes.”
I looked at Florence.
She lowered her head.
“My mother told me you were dead.”
Matthew nodded.
“I was.”
“Then why use her?”
“Because she was loyal.”
Florence whispered,
“I was seventeen when he first told me about you.”
I stared.
“He trained me.”
“For what?”
“To become someone you would trust.”
My stomach turned.
All those memories.
The coffee.
The soup.
The gifts.
The gentle smiles.
The patience.
Everything had been calculated.
“Did you ever love me?”
Florence looked at me.
Tears rolled down her face.
“Yes.”
That answer hurt more than I expected.
Matthew laughed.
“Don't be sentimental.”
Florence turned toward him.
“You promised he wouldn't be hurt.”
“I promised nothing.”
Then Grant's voice echoed through the station.
“Police! Drop your weapons!”
Matthew turned.
Florence froze.
Grant and several officers emerged from the shadows.
Matthew smiled.
“You really thought I wouldn't notice?”
He pulled out a gun.
I moved instinctively.
Florence stepped in front of me.
The shot echoed.
Florence fell.
“Florence!”
Everything happened at once.
Officers rushed forward.
Matthew ran.
Grant chased him.
I dropped beside Florence.
Blood spread across her coat.
She looked at me.
“I didn't want you to die.”
“Stay with me.”
“I was trying to stop him.”
“Don't talk.”
She smiled faintly.
“You always hated hospitals.”
I pressed my hand against the wound.
“Save your strength.”
The ambulance arrived minutes later.
Florence survived.
The bullet had struck her shoulder.
Matthew escaped.
For the next forty-eight hours, Chicago police searched everywhere.
Then they found Rebecca.
She was alive.
Thomas had abandoned her at a warehouse after learning Matthew had been exposed.
Rebecca was injured but safe.
And she had something important.
A handwritten journal.
Matthew's.
The journal explained everything.
Our father had discovered that Matthew was stealing from the company.
He planned to report him.
Matthew disappeared before he could.
Then he created a false identity.
For years, he built a network of shell companies.
When he learned I had inherited the company, he decided to take it back.
Florence was his daughter.
Thomas was his financial accomplice.
The marriage plan had been created because Matthew believed the easiest way to control me was through trust.
But there was one final revelation.
My father had not known Matthew survived.
The signature authorizing the fraud had been forged.
Matthew had spent twenty years blaming the wrong person.
He had built his entire revenge around a lie.
I visited Florence in the hospital.
She looked small in the bed.
Nothing like the confident woman who had walked down the aisle that morning.
“I don't expect forgiveness,” she said.
“I don't know if I can forgive you.”
She nodded.
“I understand.”
“You lied to me.”
“Yes.”
“You manipulated my family.”
“Yes.”
“You were going to take everything.”
“Yes.”
I sat down.
“But you saved my life.”
She looked at me.
“I couldn't let him kill you.”
“Why?”
She cried quietly.
“Because somewhere along the way, you became my family too.”
I didn't know what to say.
Before I left, she handed me an envelope.
“This is everything I have on Matthew.”
I took it.
“Why give it to me?”
“Because I want to end this.”
Outside the hospital, Detective Grant approached.
“We found Matthew.”
My heart stopped.
“Where?”
“He called us.”
“Why?”
“He wants to surrender.”
I stared at Grant.
“Where?”
“The Prescott family cemetery.”
I knew immediately which grave he meant.
My father's.
I drove there with Grant.
Matthew was standing beside our father's tombstone.
He had no weapon.
He looked exhausted.
He raised his hands.
“I surrender.”
Grant arrested him.
As the handcuffs closed around his wrists, Matthew looked at me.
“I spent twenty years thinking you stole my life.”
I said nothing.
He looked toward our father's grave.
“Turns out I gave it away.”
Then he was taken away.
I stood alone beside the grave.
For twenty years, I had believed my family had been destroyed by death.
Now I understood.
May you like
Sometimes families are destroyed by secrets.
And sometimes those secrets survive longer than the people who created them.
