Chapter 13 - THE BROTHER
Charles had planned everything.
The bullet had struck body armor beneath his shirt.
Fake blood packets created the illusion of injury.
The hidden passage opened into an underground tunnel leading toward the river.
By the time police discovered it, Charles was gone.
But Grant had been left behind.
Again.
Jonathan confronted him.
“Did you know about the tunnel?”
“No.”
“Did you know about the sniper?”
“No.”
Jonathan pushed him against the chapel wall.
“Every time Dad escapes, you’re standing nearby.”
Grant did not fight back.
“I know.”
“Why should I believe you?”
“You shouldn’t.”
Grant looked at his brother.
“But I can prove something.”
He handed Rebecca access credentials to a private Hayes Global server.
Inside was a file Grant had secretly maintained for fifteen years.
Payments Charles ordered.
Threats.
Blackmail.
Illegal surveillance.
Everything Grant had been too cowardly to expose publicly.
“Why keep this?” Rebecca asked.
“Because I knew one day he would turn on me.”
Jonathan laughed bitterly.
“He did.”
“Yes.”
Grant looked at Rachel.
“And eight years ago I helped him hurt you.”
Rachel said nothing.
“I didn’t know he planned the car attack.”
“You knew he was threatening me.”
“Yes.”
“You knew I was pregnant.”
Grant lowered his eyes.
“Yes.”
Rachel slapped him.
Hard.
Grant did not move.
“That,” Rachel said, “is for Emma.”
Then she walked away.
Grant wiped blood from his lip.
“I deserve worse.”
Rebecca studied him.
“Help us catch Charles.”
Grant nodded.
“I will.”
A search of the server revealed Charles had one remaining operational account.
A large transfer had been made that morning.
Destination—
A private airfield.
Police rushed there.
The plane remained on the runway.
Pilot unconscious.
Charles was not aboard.
But security video showed him entering a black SUV.
With someone beside him.
A child.
Rebecca replayed the footage.
Jonathan stopped breathing.
The child wore hospital pajamas.
For several terrible seconds, everyone believed it was Emma.
Then Rachel leaned closer.
“No.”
Jonathan looked at her.
“What?”
“That isn’t Emma.”
The girl turned toward the camera.
Older.
Maybe twelve.
Red hair.
Celeste saw the image and collapsed into a chair.
“My daughter.”
Everyone stared at her.
Grant whispered—
“You told me she died.”
Celeste began crying.
“Charles told me she died.”
The girl on the screen was Abigail Ward.
Grant’s daughter.
A child he had believed dead for eleven years.
May you like
Charles had kept her hidden.
And suddenly Grant had more reason than anyone to find his father alive.
