Chapter 6 - The Brother Chase Never KnewThe bullet missed Evelyn by less than three inches.
It entered through the front window.
Crossed the room.
Buried itself in the bookshelf behind her.
Chase hit the floor.
Maya dragged Evelyn down.
Security shouted outside.
Another shot cracked through the darkness.
Then silence.
For several seconds Maya heard nothing but breathing.
Her own.
Evelyn’s.
Rachel crying somewhere near the sofa.
“Chase?”
“I’m here.”
“Daniel?”
“Yes.”
“Rachel?”
“I’m okay.”
Emergency lights flickered on.
Chase crawled toward his mother.
“Are you hit?”
“No.”
Maya checked anyway.
No blood.
Outside, tires screamed.
Security ran toward the road.
Chase grabbed his phone.
“Police. Now.”
This time Daniel did not object.
Forty minutes later Evelyn’s home was filled with officers.
The bullet was recovered.
The shooter was gone.
And Rachel Mercer finally said the name.
“Adam Vale.”
Chase looked at her.
“My brother’s name is Adam Vale?”
“Half brother.”
“Where is he?”
“I’m not telling you.”
“Someone just shot at us.”
“Which is exactly why I’m not telling you.”
“He may be in danger.”
“He has been in danger since somebody broke into his house.”
“And you think keeping us blind helps?”
“I think Whitmores have spent thirty-five years deciding what helps other people.”
Chase stopped.
The sentence landed.
Maya watched him absorb it.
Old Chase would have pushed.
Used investigators.
Found the address within an hour.
The man Maya married took a breath.
Then said, “You’re right.”
Rachel blinked.
“I’m sorry.”
She looked almost suspicious.
“I need information, but you don’t owe me his location.”
Maya saw the moment Rachel’s anger lost one small piece of fuel.
Chase continued.
“Can you contact him?”
“Yes.”
“Tell him what happened.”
“I will.”
“Tell him I won’t come unless he asks.”
Rachel nodded once.
Evelyn sat near the fireplace wrapped in a blanket.
She had refused the hospital.
Maya had argued.
Evelyn had won.
Some things never changed.
Daniel sat across from her.
Neither had spoken in twenty minutes.
Finally Evelyn said, “I should have told Jonathan to walk away.”
Daniel looked up.
“From Arthur?”
“From everything.”
“We all should have.”
“You didn’t know.”
“I knew enough.”
Evelyn shook her head.
“No. You knew your brother died. You didn’t know the rest.”
“And you did.”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I was afraid.”
Daniel laughed bitterly.
“Everybody was afraid.”
“Yes.”
“That seems to be the Whitmore family business.”
Chase heard him.
“Maybe it was.”
No defense.
Again.
Daniel looked at him differently.
At midnight Rachel received a text.
She read it twice.
Then looked at Chase.
“He’ll meet you.”
“Where?”
“Tomorrow.”
Maya stood.
“I’m coming.”
Rachel shook her head.
“He said Chase alone.”
“No.”
“Maya.”
“No.”
Chase looked at her.
“He gets to choose.”
“You got shot at tonight.”
“I was not shot at.”
“The bullet missed your mother because she bent down to pick up a glass.”
“I know.”
“You are not walking into a meeting alone.”
Rachel said, “He won’t hurt him.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do.”
“How?”
“Because Adam is a public defender who apologizes when he kills spiders.”
Maya paused.
“That is oddly specific.”
“He once made me carry one outside in a coffee cup.”
Despite everything, Chase smiled.
The next afternoon, Chase entered a diner forty miles outside Richmond.
Maya waited in the car across the street.
Technically, he was alone.
Technically.
She had also informed two security officers.
Marriage required compromise.
Adam Vale sat in the last booth.
Chase recognized him immediately.
Not because they looked identical.
They did not.
Adam had darker hair.
Brown eyes.
A leaner face.
But something around the mouth belonged to Jonathan.
Chase had seen it in photographs.
In mirrors.
In himself.
Adam stood.
For several seconds neither spoke.
Then Adam said, “This is weird.”
Chase almost laughed.
“Yes.”
“Coffee?”
“Sure.”
They sat.
Adam looked thirty-four.
Plain blue shirt.
Cheap watch.
A legal pad beside him.
No visible fear.
“I suppose we should start with DNA,” Chase said.
Adam raised an eyebrow.
“You brought a kit?”
“No.”
“Good. That would have been aggressive.”
Chase smiled despite himself.
Adam did too.
The similarity became worse when he smiled.
“My mother told me when I was nineteen,” Adam said.
“About Dad?”
“Jonathan.”
The distinction hurt.
Chase respected it.
“She said he paid for school.”
“Did he?”
“Anonymous trust.”
Chase nodded.
“That sounds like him.”
“You say that like it’s a compliment.”
“It isn’t.”
Adam studied him.
“You loved him.”
“Yes.”
“I hated him.”
“Did you meet?”
“Once.”
Chase stared.
“When?”
“I was twenty-one.”
“Where?”
“Philadelphia.”
“What happened?”
“He cried.”
Chase looked down.
Of course he had.
“He offered me money.”
“Did you take it?”
“No.”
Chase almost smiled.
“What?”
“Apparently refusing Whitmore money is a family tradition.”
Adam stared.
Then laughed.
A real laugh.
For one dangerous second they were simply two brothers discovering the same joke.
Then Adam’s expression closed.
“He wanted me to sign something.”
“What?”
“Confidentiality agreement.”
Chase’s smile vanished.
“I told him to go to hell.”
“Did he come back?”
“No.”
“Did you want him to?”
Adam took a long time.
“Yes.”
That answer hurt more than anger.
“He died eleven years later,” Adam said. “I found out online.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.”
“I am anyway.”
Adam looked through the window.
“Maya is in the black car.”
Chase turned.
“How did you know?”
“She has been staring at this diner like she plans to perform surgery on it.”
Chase laughed.
“She was supposed to stay home.”
“Does she ever do what she’s supposed to?”
“Almost never.”
“Good.”
Adam’s face softened.
“My mother liked reading about her.”
“So I heard.”
“She said Maya embarrassed rich people professionally.”
“That is accurate.”
Adam looked back at him.
“Why are you here?”
“Because someone broke into your house.”
“They didn’t find anything.”
“What were they looking for?”
“I assume documents.”
“Do you have them?”
“Yes.”
“About Samuel?”
“About everything.”
Chase leaned forward.
“What does everything mean?”
Adam opened his legal pad.
Inside was a photocopy of a ledger.
Names.
Dates.
Payments.
Companies.
Chase recognized several.
Old Whitmore subcontractors.
Some still existed.
One name made his blood freeze.
Hollis Development.
“What?”
Adam watched him.
“Hollis is buying Whitmore Group shares.”
“How much?”
“Enough that I noticed.”
Chase took out his phone.
He searched.
Recent filings.
Investment entities.
Shell corporations.
Small purchases individually.
Together, significant.
“Who owns Hollis?”
“That’s the interesting part.”
Adam slid another page across.
“Hollis is controlled through three trusts.”
“And?”
“The beneficiary is Rebecca Vale.”
Chase stared.
“Your mother?”
“Yes.”
“She owns part of a company buying Whitmore?”
“Apparently.”
“Did she tell you?”
“No.”
“When did you find out?”
“After she died.”
“Why would she—”
“I don’t know.”
Adam’s voice hardened.
“My mother spent thirty-four years working as an accountant at a public school district. She drove a twelve-year-old Honda. She bought cereal on sale.”
“And secretly controlled an investment company?”
“Yes.”
“How much is Hollis worth?”
“About nine hundred million.”
Chase sat back.
“That’s impossible.”
“So was finding out my dead mother owned it.”
“Where did the money come from?”
“Arthur.”
“Your grandfather?”
“Yes.”
“I thought he was a criminal.”
“He was.”
“Then this could be laundering.”
“Some of it probably was.”
“Why buy Whitmore shares?”
Adam looked at him.
“I think my mother was planning to take the company.”
Chase laughed.
Not because it was funny.
“My dead father’s secret son just told me his mother planned a hostile takeover.”
“That seems to be the situation.”
“And someone is trying to stop us from finding out.”
“Yes.”
“Do you know who?”
“I have a theory.”
“Which is?”
“Your board.”
Chase stopped smiling.
“What?”
“Someone inside Whitmore Group knew about Hollis before I did.”
“How?”
“My house was broken into twelve hours after I requested archived shareholder records.”
“From whom?”
“Whitmore’s corporate office.”
Chase’s mind accelerated.
“Who processed the request?”
“I don’t know.”
“I can find out.”
Adam shook his head.
“Carefully.”
“I know my own company.”
“Do you?”
The question irritated him.
Because it was fair.
Adam leaned back.
“Your father built layers. Your mother hid letters. Your board protected donors. Your lawyers destroyed Maya’s career once.”
“Temporarily.”
“Is that the defense?”
“No.”
Chase exhaled.
“No, it isn’t.”
Adam looked surprised.
“You’re less unbearable than I expected.”
“Thank you?”
“It wasn’t a compliment.”
“I’m taking it.”
Outside, Maya watched two men emerge from a gray sedan.
They crossed the street.
Neither looked toward her.
Both entered the diner.
Something about them bothered her.
Not clothing.
Movement.
Purpose.
She called Chase.
Inside, his phone vibrated.
He answered.
“Maya?”
“Two men just entered.”
“So?”
“They didn’t come for pie.”
Chase glanced toward the entrance.
The men separated.
One moved toward the counter.
One toward the restrooms.
Adam saw Chase’s face.
“What?”
“We’re leaving.”
They stood.
The man near the counter turned.
His hand entered his jacket.
Chase grabbed Adam.
“Down.”
The window exploded.
Customers screamed.
Maya was already out of the car.
Security moved.
The gunman ran toward the kitchen.
The second man disappeared through the rear exit.
Chase crawled behind the booth.
Adam looked at him.
“You bring this everywhere?”
“Apparently.”
Sirens approached.
Maya burst through the front door after police secured the room.
She saw Chase.
Then Adam.
Then the shattered window.
She marched directly toward her husband.
“You said alone.”
“I was alone.”
“You were shot at.”
“Technically the window—”
“Do not technically me.”
Adam started laughing.
Maya turned.
“You must be Adam.”
“Yes.”
“I already like you less because you’re related to him.”
“That seems reasonable.”
Chase looked offended.
“You two have known each other eleven seconds.”
Maya checked him for injuries.
Then Adam.
Both fine.
Police recovered no weapon.
The shooters escaped.
But one thing remained.
A phone dropped beneath a table.
Locked.
Cheap.
Disposable.
Police took it.
Six hours later, a detective called Chase.
There was only one saved photograph.
Maya.
Leaving the clinic.
Taken three days earlier.
And beneath it was a message.
SHE IS THE LEVER.
Chase stopped breathing.
Maya read the message over his shoulder.
“No.”
He looked at her.
“No what?”
“No disappearing me.”
“Maya—”
“I know that face.”
“What face?”
“The one where you decide loving me means making decisions for me.”
“Someone marked you as leverage.”
“Yes.”
“You need protection.”
“Fine.”
“You need to stop working temporarily.”
“No.”
“Maya.”
“No.”
“They know where you work.”
“They have known where I work for years. I run public clinics.”
“This is different.”
“Because now you’re scared.”
“Yes!”
The word exploded.
Chase rarely shouted.
The room went silent.
“I am scared.”
Maya looked at him.
He lowered his voice.
“I can lose the company.”
He swallowed.
“I can lose the house. Money. Reputation. All of it.”
His eyes filled.
“I cannot lose you because my father made terrible choices before I was born.”
Maya’s anger softened.
But did not disappear.
She stepped closer.
“You don’t get to keep me by putting me in a cage.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
He closed his eyes.
Then nodded.
“I know.”
Maya took his hand.
“Security comes with me.”
“Yes.”
“I change routes.”
“Yes.”
“I do not work alone.”
“Yes.”
“But I keep working.”
Every instinct in Chase fought it.
Maya saw them fighting.
Finally he said, “Yes.”
She touched his face.
“That is why we’re still married.”
He gave a miserable laugh.
Adam watched from across the room.
Something in his expression had changed.
Later, when Maya went to speak with police, Adam approached Chase.
“She really does stand beside you.”
Chase looked through the glass at his wife.
“Yes.”
“My mother spent her life afraid of your family.”
“I’m sorry.”
Adam shook his head.
“I don’t think you understand.”
“What?”
“She wasn’t afraid of Jonathan.”
Chase frowned.
“Then who?”
Adam handed him another page from Rebecca’s files.
A letter.
Three sentences.
Evelyn knows Arthur is dangerous, but she still believes Jonathan can control him. She is wrong. If anything happens to Samuel or me, look at the man Jonathan calls his brother.
Chase stared.
“My father didn’t have a brother.”
Adam looked at him.
“Not by blood.”
“Who?”
Adam pointed at the signature on an old corporate document.
Chase knew the name.
Everyone at Whitmore Group did.
Martin Shaw.
Jonathan’s oldest friend.
His best man.
Whitmore Group’s general counsel for thirty years.
And the man who had mentored Chase after his father died.
The man Chase had trusted with almost everything.
Adam said quietly, “He’s still on your board, isn’t he?”
May you like
Chase could barely answer.
“Yes.”
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