Chapter 6: The Brother I Never Knew
For several seconds, nobody moved.
Thomas Reed.
Alexander's father.
The man who had supposedly died seventeen years ago.
The man whose handwriting appeared on the documents that had destroyed my family.
And according to my mother's final message, the man responsible for killing my father.
Alexander stood so abruptly that his chair scraped backward.
"No.""
Detective Walsh looked at him.
"Mr. Reed?""
"My father died seventeen years ago.""
"According to the records, yes.""
"Then how could he have killed Daniel Hayes?""
Walsh closed the folder.
"That's what I'd like to know.""
I looked at the note again.
My mother's handwriting was unmistakable.
I had seen it on birthday cards, school forms, and the letters she wrote while my father was in prison.
"Detective," I said, "where was my father killed?""
Walsh looked at me.
"Officially, he died of a heart attack in prison.""
"Officially?""
He paused.
"His death certificate records cardiac arrest. However, the prison medical report was sealed after an internal review.""
Alexander leaned forward.
"Why was it sealed?""
"Because the investigation was closed.""
I looked at the note.
"My mother says Thomas Reed killed him.""
Walsh rubbed his chin.
"Do you have any evidence that Thomas Reed is alive?""
"No," Alexander answered.
"Then we need to establish that before making accusations.""
He collected the documents.
"I'll have the laboratory examine the note and locket. In the meantime, I suggest both of you avoid contacting the Sterlings.""
I almost laughed.
"That's difficult. They already know we're investigating.""
Walsh looked at me carefully.
"Then don't investigate alone.""
At one in the morning, Alexander drove me to his penthouse.
I hadn't wanted to go.
But the police station was surrounded by reporters, and Marcus had stopped answering his phone.
The apartment occupied the top two floors of a glass building overlooking the city.
Everything was spotless.
Too spotless.
A massive living room opened onto a terrace. Expensive paintings hung on white walls. A grand piano stood near the windows.
It looked like a place where nobody had ever been unhappy.
Alexander handed me a glass of water.
"There's a guest bedroom down the hall.""
"Thank you.""
He hesitated.
"Eleanor?""
I turned.
"I know this is a terrible question, but I need to ask.""
"What?""
"Do you think we could be related?""
I looked at him.
"I don't know.""
He sat on the sofa.
"My father told me I was adopted. He said my biological mother died when I was born. But he never mentioned Margaret.""
"Maybe he didn't know.""
"He knew.""
Alexander opened the leather folder.
"The photographs. The phone number. The note.""
He rubbed his eyes.
"My entire life was built around a story that someone invented.""
I sat opposite him.
"Welcome to the family.""
He gave a tired laugh.
Then his expression became serious.
"I don't expect you to forgive anything my family did.""
"I don't know what I feel about you.""
"That's fair.""
"But I need the truth.""
"So do I.""
For the first time, we sat together without suspicion between us.
Two strangers connected by a history neither of us had chosen.
Then Alexander stood.
"There's something I want to show you.""
He walked toward a locked cabinet beside the piano.
He entered a code and removed a small wooden box.
Inside were several documents and a silver bracelet.
I recognized it immediately.
My mother had worn that bracelet in every photograph from my childhood.
I picked it up.
"Where did you get this?""
"My father gave it to me when I turned eighteen.""
"Why?""
"He said it belonged to someone important.""
I examined the clasp.
There was a tiny inscription.
For our first child. Forever.
My fingers went cold.
Alexander looked at me.
"He said my mother gave it to him.""
I swallowed.
"Then why did he give it to you?""
"I don't know.""
I turned the bracelet over.
A small engraving appeared inside the clasp.
Two initials.
M.H.
My mother.
I stared at Alexander.
"You're her son.""
He nodded slowly.
"And if that's true...""
He couldn't finish.
I did it for him.
"You're my brother.""
The word sounded strange.
Almost impossible.
Alexander sat down.
For a moment, he looked like a little boy who had just learned that the world was not what his parents had told him.
Then his phone rang.
He answered.
"Hello?""
A woman's voice spoke.
"Alexander, you need to listen carefully.""
He frowned.
"Who is this?""
"My name is Helen Brooks. I need to correct something I told you earlier.""
Alexander looked at me.
"What?""
"The original report isn't at the railway station.""
My heart began racing.
"Then where is it?""
Helen's voice dropped.
"Margaret hid it with someone she trusted.""
"Who?""
There was a long pause.
Then Helen whispered:
"Your father.""
Alexander went completely still.
"That's impossible. My father is dead.""
Helen began crying.
"No, Alexander. Thomas Reed never died.""
At eight the following morning, we returned to Helen's apartment.
She was waiting behind the locked door.
Her face was pale.
When she saw Alexander, she immediately stepped aside.
"Come in.""
I looked around.
The boxes had been moved.
A cabinet stood open.
Several drawers were empty.
"Has someone been here?""
Helen nodded.
"Someone searched the apartment last night.""
"Did they take anything?""
"Only the photographs.""
Alexander frowned.
"Which photographs?""
"All the ones involving Thomas and Margaret.""
I looked at him.
"Someone knows we're getting close.""
Helen locked the door.
Then she placed a newspaper clipping on the table.
It was dated seventeen years earlier.
*THOMAS REED KILLED IN PRIVATE PLANE CRASH.*
I read the article.
The aircraft had supposedly gone down over the Atlantic during a business trip.
The remains were never recovered.
The report stated that the crash had been confirmed through flight records and insurance documentation.
"Where did you get this?"" Alexander asked.
"Helen?"" I corrected myself, looking at her.
She nodded.
"Your father arranged the funeral himself.""
Alexander studied the article.
"Why would he fake his own death?""
Helen sat down.
"Because Richard Sterling had discovered that Thomas intended to expose the accident.""
"What accident?"" I asked.
"The construction disaster. Thomas had signed the original safety report, but he hadn't approved the changes that caused the collapse. Richard had used his signature to authorize them.""
Alexander looked confused.
"But the note says Thomas killed Daniel.""
Helen shook her head.
"Thomas didn't kill Daniel directly. He arranged the prison transfer that placed him in the unit where he was attacked.""
My stomach turned.
"Attacked?""
Helen lowered her eyes.
"Your father was beaten two days before he died. The prison classified it as a medical emergency. Thomas paid someone to make sure nobody investigated.""
I gripped the edge of the table.
"So Thomas killed him.""
Helen nodded.
"Yes.""
Alexander turned away.
His hands were shaking.
"Why?""
Helen looked at him.
"Because Daniel had discovered that Thomas was the biological father of his son.""
I felt the room tilt.
Alexander stared at her.
"Me?""
"Yes.""
"That doesn't make sense.""
"Daniel found out that Thomas had been seeing Margaret before she married him. He also discovered that Thomas had arranged your adoption.""
I looked at Helen.
"Why would my father care so much?""
"Because he loved Margaret. And because he had raised you as his own son, Alexander, even before he knew the truth.""
Alexander sat down heavily.
"Daniel knew?""
"He found out shortly before the accident.""
The room went silent.
I thought about my father.
The man who had carried me on his shoulders.
The man who taught me to ride a bicycle.
The man who used to read me bedtime stories while my mother washed dishes.
He had known about Alexander.
And he had loved him anyway.
"Why didn't he tell me?"" I whispered.
Helen reached across the table.
"Because he wanted you to have a normal childhood.""
I looked down.
There was no such thing as a normal childhood after your family had been destroyed.
Helen eventually gave us the address of an abandoned medical clinic outside the city.
She claimed Thomas had used it as a private office after his supposed death.
We drove there shortly after noon.
The building stood behind a row of dead trees, its windows covered in dust.
A faded sign hung above the entrance.
*REED FAMILY MEDICAL FOUNDATION.*
Alexander examined the lock.
"This place closed ten years ago.""
"How do you know?"" I asked.
"My father donated money to it.""
He pushed the door.
It opened.
Inside, the air smelled of damp plaster and old medicine.
We walked through the reception area.
Most of the furniture had been removed.
A broken clock hung above the desk.
Its hands were frozen at 2:17.
I found a staircase leading to the basement.
"Let's check downstairs.""
Alexander shook his head.
"We should wait for the police.""
I looked at him.
"Your mother might still be alive.""
He glanced toward the hallway.
Then nodded.
We descended.
The basement contained a row of filing cabinets.
One was unlocked.
Inside were medical records, bank statements, and photographs.
Alexander opened a folder.
Then he stopped.
"What?""
He handed it to me.
The first page contained a photograph of a woman.
My mother.
Beneath it was a medical record dated four years earlier.
*PATIENT: MARGARET HAYES.*
*STATUS: ACTIVE.*
I felt my chest tighten.
"She was here.""
Alexander turned another page.
There was a handwritten note.
Patient is not to be discharged without authorization from T. Reed.
Then I found something else.
A list of payments.
Monthly transfers from a private account.
Each one was made to a woman named Margaret Hayes.
The final payment was dated three days ago.
My mother was alive three days ago.
I grabbed the paper.
"Alexander!""
He looked at the page.
Then he noticed a second name.
The person authorizing the transfers was:
*THOMAS REED.*
A sound came from the upper floor.
Footsteps.
Slow.
Deliberate.
Alexander switched off the flashlight.
We stood in darkness.
Someone opened the basement door.
A man's voice drifted down the stairs.
"Alexander?""
My brother went rigid.
The voice continued.
"I know you're down there.""
Alexander slowly stepped forward.
"Who is it?""
A light appeared at the top of the staircase.
Then a man descended.
He was older, with silver hair and a walking stick.
His face was thinner than the photographs.
But the resemblance was unmistakable.
Alexander's eyes widened.
"Dad?""
The man smiled.
"Hello, son.""
I couldn't move.
Thomas Reed was alive.
He looked at Alexander.
Then at me.
And finally, he spoke.
"Margaret told me you might come looking.""
I stepped forward.
"Where is my mother?""
Thomas leaned against his walking stick.
"Safe.""
"Where?""
"Somewhere you won't find her.""
I grabbed the medical record.
"Why have you been keeping her here?""
He looked at the paper.
Then he smiled sadly.
"Because Margaret knows what really happened to Daniel Hayes.""
I stared at him.
"Then tell us.""
Thomas's expression changed.
"Not here.""
"Why?""
He looked toward the staircase.
"Because Richard Sterling isn't the only person who wants that report destroyed.""
Alexander moved closer.
"Who else?""
Thomas looked directly at his son.
Then he said something that made my blood run cold.
"The person who ordered Daniel's death is standing in this room.""
Alexander turned toward me.
I looked at Thomas.
Then back at Alexander.
Thomas raised his walking stick and pointed between us.
"One of you has already been betrayed.""
Before either of us could respond, the basement lights suddenly came on.
A gunshot exploded.
Thomas collapsed.
Alexander screamed.
And from the darkness behind the filing cabinets, a familiar female voice whispered:
"Don't move, Eleanor.""
I turned.
May you like
Vanessa Sterling stood there, holding a smoking gun.
"Because this time," she said, "I'm not going to miss.""
