Chapter 4 - The Brother Who Sold a Doorway
Aaron Whitmore owed $186,000.
Clare knew about twelve thousand of it.
The rest belonged to bookmakers, online lenders, and one man in Queens who did not send invoices.
Aaron had spent most of his adult life convincing people that his next opportunity would repair the damage caused by the previous one.
Clare loved him anyway.
That was why Harrison Bowmont chose him.
Aaron did not understand who Harrison was when they first met.
He believed the older man represented a private investment group willing to clear his debt in exchange for information.
Nothing violent.
Nothing illegal.
Just schedules.
Locations.
Names.
“What does my sister have to do with investments?” Aaron asked.
“Nothing.”
“Then why do you want to know when she visits Ashcroft House?”
Harrison slid a cashier’s check across the table.
Fifty thousand dollars.
“You don't need to understand everything.”
Aaron stared at the number.
That was the beginning.
Three weeks later, Clare received an email from her employer informing her that confidential files had been downloaded using her credentials.
She stared at the screen.
“That’s impossible.”
Nathaniel looked over her shoulder.
“What files?”
“A pricing-impact report. Preliminary congressional material.”
“Who has your password?”
“No one.”
“Clare.”
“No one.”
Nathaniel called his security chief.
Within an hour, they discovered an unauthorized login from a device registered to Aaron.
Clare stopped breathing for a moment.
“No.”
Nathaniel said nothing.
She called her brother.
He did not answer.
Again.
Nothing.
On the third call, someone else picked up.
“Clare Whitmore?”
Her blood went cold.
“Yes.”
“You should tell Mr. Ashcroft to stop interfering in Bowmont port operations.”
Nathaniel reached for the phone.
The call ended.
Clare looked at him.
“What does my brother have to do with your ports?”
Nathaniel’s silence was answer enough.
“You said you were in finance.”
“I am.”
“You said there were parts of the family business you didn't want.”
“There are.”
“What parts?”
Nathaniel walked to the window.
He had known this moment would come.
He simply had not expected it to arrive with Clare’s brother attached.
“My grandfather moved contraband through the docks after the war.”
Clare stared.
Nathaniel continued.
“By the time my father took over, the organization had legitimate companies covering most operations. Shipping. Warehousing. Distribution.”
“You're telling me your family is mafia.”
“I don't use that word.”
“I bet federal prosecutors do.”
“Yes.”
She stepped away.
“Are you involved?”
Nathaniel looked at her directly.
“Yes.”
The answer hurt more because he did not soften it.
Clare sat.
“What do you do?”
“I control the organization.”
She laughed once in disbelief.
“Of course you do.”
“Clare—”
“No. Give me a second.”
He waited.
She paced.
“You've been sitting in my apartment eating takeout while apparently running organized crime.”
“Yes.”
“You criticized my parking tickets.”
“They were excessive.”
“Nathaniel.”
He fell silent.
She pressed both hands over her face.
Then remembered something worse.
“My baby.”
“Our baby.”
“Do not correct me right now.”
He stopped.
“Is our baby in danger because of you?”
Nathaniel could have lied.
He did not.
“Yes.”
Clare’s eyes filled.
“That was the one answer I hoped you wouldn't give.”
“I can protect you.”
“You keep saying that like protection erases danger.”
Nathaniel had no response.
Then his phone rang.
Lucas.
“We found Aaron.”
“Where?”
“Warehouse in Red Hook.”
“Alive?”
“For now.”
Nathaniel looked at Clare.
She read his face.
“My brother?”
“Yes.”
“I’m coming.”
“No.”
“Nathaniel.”
“No.”
Clare walked close enough that he had to look down at her.
“You lied to me about the most important part of your life. You do not get to make decisions for me now.”
“It's dangerous.”
“My brother is there.”
“And you're pregnant.”
Her voice cracked.
“That doesn't make me property.”
Nathaniel flinched.
Clare saw it.
Good.
He needed to.
An hour later, they entered a secured warehouse near the waterfront.
Aaron sat in an office chair.
His face was bruised, but he was alive.
Lucas stood behind him.
When Aaron saw Clare, he broke.
“I'm sorry.”
Clare slapped him.
Nathaniel blinked.
So did Lucas.
Aaron accepted it.
“I deserved that.”
“You sold my password.”
“I thought they only wanted documents.”
“You gave them my schedule.”
Aaron looked down.
Clare’s anger faded into horror.
“How much?”
“Clare—”
“How much was I worth?”
Aaron started crying.
“Fifty thousand.”
Nathaniel turned away because the look on his face frightened even Lucas.
Clare crouched in front of her brother.
“Who?”
Aaron whispered:
“Harrison Bowmont.”
Nathaniel slowly turned.
“What did he ask for last?”
Aaron looked at him.
“The security rotation at your parents’ house.”
Nathaniel felt cold.
“When?”
“This morning.”
“Why?”
Aaron shook his head.
“I don't know.”
Nathaniel called his mother.
No answer.
His father.
Nothing.
Security office.
Nothing.
Lucas was already moving.
Nathaniel looked at Clare.
“Stay here.”
This time, she did not argue.
Because the fear in his face told her something had changed.
Twenty-eight minutes later, Nathaniel’s convoy reached Ashcroft House.
The front gates were open.
The guards were gone.
And inside the grand entrance hall, Eleanor Ashcroft was standing at the top of the marble staircase.
Beside her was Victoria.
At the bottom lay Douglas.
Blood spread beneath his head.
Nathaniel stared.
His mother whispered:
“He fell.”
But Nathaniel looked at Victoria.
And Victoria looked terrified.
May you like
Not by the dead man.
By Eleanor.
