Chapter 4 - THE TICKETS IN THE COAT POCKET
I couldn't breathe.
My mother? An accountant for a billionaire?
“That's impossible,” I said, stepping backward. “My mother taught third grade. She graded spelling tests on our kitchen table.”
Joseph leaned forward in his chair.
“She did, sweetheart. After she changed her identity.”
Adrian stepped closer to me, his presence solid and grounding in the spinning room.
“Dad,” Adrian said quietly. “Start from the beginning. Now.”
Joseph took a shaky breath.
“Twenty-four years ago, Eleanor found the micro-film. She realized Marcus Whitmore was stealing from the syndicate. She knew if Marcus found out she had the proof, he'd kill her.”
Joseph looked down at his trembling, stroke-weakened hand.
“I was just a carpenter. I was building the custom cabinets in Marcus's mansion. Eleanor slipped the micro-film inside a gold pocket watch and hid it in my toolbox. She begged me to keep it safe until she could go to the police.”
“Why didn't she?” I asked, tears burning my eyes.
“Because Marcus figured it out,” Joseph whispered. “He ran her car off the road before she ever made it to the precinct.”
A sob tore from my throat.
My whole life had been a lie. My mother's death wasn't a tragic accident on a rainy night. It was murder.
Adrian's hands gripped my shoulders gently, steadying me.
“If they killed her,” Adrian said, his voice terrifyingly calm, “why didn't they come after you, Dad?”
“Because they didn't know I had the watch. Not until a month ago.”
Joseph looked at his son.
“Since the stroke... my memory gets confused sometimes. I went to the bank to check my safe deposit box. Celeste insisted on driving me. I got confused at the vault. I asked the teller for the watch.”
Joseph began to cry.
“Celeste heard me. She realized I was the carpenter from twenty-four years ago. That's why she pushed so hard to move in. That's why she wanted me sent to a nursing home. So she could tear this house apart looking for it.”
Adrian pulled his phone from his pocket.
“I'm calling my men. We're locking down the city. Celeste isn't getting out of Chicago with that watch.”
“She doesn't have it,” a small voice said from the doorway.
We all turned.
Standing in the hall was Leo.
Adrian's six-year-old nephew.
He wore his little superhero pajamas, clutching a battered stuffed bear.
Adrian immediately softened.
He knelt down to Leo's eye level.
“Hey, buddy. What are you doing awake? The party was too loud?”
Leo shook his head.
He walked into the room and pointed at Joseph's broken drawer.
“The mean lady didn't take the shiny clock.”
Adrian froze.
“What do you mean, Leo?”
The little boy reached into the pocket of his pajama coat.
“Grandpa Joe let me play with it yesterday. I liked the ticking sound. I put it in my coat.”
Leo pulled his small hand out of his pocket.
Resting in his palm was the heavy, gold pocket watch.
Joseph let out a sound that was half-laugh, half-sob.
“Leo... you little thief,” Joseph whispered with immense relief.
Adrian took the watch.
He clicked open the gold casing.
Inside, tucked behind the clock face, was a tiny square of micro-film.
“We have it,” Adrian said. “We have the proof to destroy the Whitmores.”
But Leo was still reaching into his pocket.
“I found this in her coat, too,” the little boy said.
He handed me a folded piece of thick paper.
I opened it.
It was a pair of first-class plane tickets.
Leaving Chicago at midnight tonight.
One ticket was for Celeste Whitmore.
But the second ticket made my blood run cold.
It wasn't for her father.
May you like
It was for Arthur Bennett.
My father.
