Chapter 7 - THE BROTHER
The old Whitmore factory stood on the edge of the city, abandoned for twenty years. Rain streaked its brick walls. Shattered windows stared like hollow eyes. Ivy climbed the iron gates. I arrived before dawn, leaving my car a mile away, walking the rest of the way with my cane in one hand and a small recording device in the other.
I had told Mr. Collins and Daniel to wait. To follow at a distance. To wait for my signal. If I did not emerge within thirty minutes... they were to storm the building.
The factory smelled of rust and rain and old concrete. I walked through the main entrance, stepping carefully over fallen beams and broken glass. Light filtered through cracks in the roof, illuminating swirling dust motes.
"Alexander," I called out. "I am here."
A voice echoed from the upper level. Deep. Rough. Familiar. "You came alone."
"I did as you asked."
A man stepped onto the metal catwalk above. He was tall, like Arthur had been. Same broad shoulders. Same strong jawline. But his face was harder. Worn. Eyes dark with years of bitterness. He looked at me with an expression I had seen before—on Arthur, when he was angry.
"Margaret," he said. "You have not changed much."
May you like
"Alexander," I said. "Arthur told me you died. In a car accident. In 1995."
He gave a harsh laugh. "
