Chapter 3 - The Alibi Nobody Wanted to Believe
Declan’s alibi should have been simple.
He had been at Narin’s apartment when the lobby window was shot.
There were police reports.
Security footage.
Victor.
Narin.
Half a dozen officers.
Yet Adrian’s accusation still mattered because the alleged shooting occurred earlier that afternoon, during a forty-minute gap in Declan’s documented schedule.
“Where were you?” Simone asked.
Declan’s jaw tightened.
“In physical therapy.”
Victor blinked.
“You restarted therapy?”
Declan looked irritated.
“That is not the relevant part.”
“It is to me.”
Simone held up a hand.
“Who knew?”
“My therapist.”
“Name?”
“Dr. Naomi Chen.”
Narin leaned against the desk.
“You hid physical therapy from everyone?”
Declan looked at her.
“Apparently I enjoy privacy.”
“You live in a criminal headquarters with thirty employees.”
“Exactly why.”
Dr. Chen confirmed the appointment.
She also confirmed Declan had remained in her clinic during the entire time Adrian claimed he was shot.
That should have ended it.
Instead, the witness changed the time.
Simone stared at the updated statement.
“How convenient.”
The witness was a parking attendant named Theo Banks who said he saw Declan in a black SUV outside the hospital.
“Wheelchair?” Narin asked.
“No mention.”
“Face?”
“He says he saw Declan through the rear passenger window.”
Narin frowned.
“From how far?”
“Thirty feet.”
“In rain?”
“Yes.”
Narin looked at Declan.
“Your face is famous?”
“Unfortunately.”
“Could he have seen a photograph?”
Simone’s eyes sharpened.
“Or someone who resembles him.”
Victor said nothing.
That silence became noticeable.
Declan turned.
“What?”
Victor rubbed his chin.
“There’s one person.”
“Who?”
“Elias.”
Declan’s expression changed.
Narin looked between them.
“Who is Elias?”
“My half-brother.”
The answer landed harder than expected.
“You have a brother?”
“Had.”
“Dead?”
“Missing.”
Victor corrected him.
“Estranged.”
Declan’s gaze cut toward him.
“Ten years.”
Narin waited.
Declan hated family stories.
That made them more important.
Elias Graham was Patrick Graham’s older son from a relationship before Declan’s mother.
He looked enough like Declan that newspapers often confused old photographs of them.
Elias left the organization after accusing Adrian of stealing from Patrick.
Two years later, Elias disappeared.
Most people assumed Adrian killed him.
No body was found.
Narin folded her arms.
“And nobody thought to mention the missing brother who looks like you?”
Declan glared.
“You are very judgmental for someone who has been here five days.”
“Five long days.”
Simone asked Victor to find recent photographs.
None existed.
The last known image showed Elias at thirty-two.
Same dark hair.
Same jaw.
Same eyes.
A thinner version of Declan before the bomb.
Narin looked at the photo.
“Could Theo confuse them?”
“If Elias still looks like this,” Victor said.
Declan turned toward the window.
The possibility seemed to hurt him.
“Elias would not work with Adrian.”
Victor replied, “People change.”
Declan laughed without humor.
“So I’ve heard.”
By evening, police formally cleared Declan as a suspect in Adrian’s shooting based on Dr. Chen’s records and building video.
Adrian’s witness admitted he had been shown a photograph before identifying Declan.
Simone was furious.
“Who showed him the photograph?”
“A private investigator hired by Adrian.”
“That identification is contaminated.”
Declan looked relieved for exactly three seconds.
Then Victor received a call.
He answered.
His face changed.
“What?”
Silence.
“Where?”
He hung up.
“The shooter left the gun in a dumpster two blocks from the hospital.”
Simone asked, “Registered?”
Victor looked at Declan.
“To Patrick Graham.”
Declan’s dead father.
The weapon had disappeared from the estate eleven years earlier.
Narin whispered, “Someone has been keeping pieces of your family for a very long time.”
Declan’s eyes hardened.
“Or Elias has.”
The next morning, Narin returned to her apartment with security to collect clothes.
The broken door had been boarded.
Her landlord was nowhere to be found.
Inside, the place felt less like hers.
She packed quickly.
Under the sink she found an old Ridgeway employee badge.
Behind it was a photograph she had never seen.
Marcus Bell stood beside a tall dark-haired man outside Ridgeway’s office.
The man’s face was turned partly away.
But Narin had spent enough hours studying Declan’s expression to recognize the jawline.
Elias.
On the back Marcus had written one sentence.
HE SAYS DECLAN ISN’T THE TARGET.
Narin’s hands went cold.
She took the photograph to the estate.
Declan stared at it.
“He was alive six months ago.”
Victor took a slow breath.
“That changes everything.”
“No,” Narin said. “It changes one thing.”
They looked at her.
“If Declan wasn’t the target of the car bomb, who was?”
Silence.
Then Mrs. Gibson entered.
She had heard the question.
The color left her face.
Declan noticed.
“Gibson.”
She closed the door behind her.
“No.”
“What do you know?”
“Nothing.”
“You are a terrible liar.”
Mrs. Gibson’s hands trembled.
For the first time, the rigid housekeeper looked old.
“It was not your car originally.”
Declan went still.
“What?”
“Your father’s.”
“My father was dead.”
“The car had belonged to him. Adrian ordered it transferred to you after Patrick died.”
Victor stared.
Mrs. Gibson continued.
“The explosive device was installed long before the night it detonated.”
“How long?”
“Weeks. Maybe months.”
Narin understood first.
“If it was planted before Patrick died…”
Mrs. Gibson closed her eyes.
“The bomb may have been intended for Patrick.”
Declan’s hands clenched.
“But my father died of a heart attack.”
Mrs. Gibson looked at him.
“No.”
The word barely existed.
Declan’s voice became dangerously quiet.
“What do you mean, no?”
Mrs. Gibson’s eyes filled.
“Patrick knew Adrian was stealing. He planned to remove him from the organization.”
Victor whispered a curse.
“Three days before Patrick died,” Mrs. Gibson continued, “he told my husband he believed someone had tampered with his car. He stopped using it.”
Declan stared at her.
“Then how did he die?”
Mrs. Gibson looked toward the desk.
“He collapsed during dinner.”
“Heart attack.”
“That is what Adrian told everyone.”
Declan’s face drained.
“What did the doctor say?”
“There was no autopsy.”
Silence consumed the room.
Then Mrs. Gibson spoke the line she had spent eleven years avoiding.
“Your father told me that if anything happened to him, I was to find Elias.”
Declan whispered, “Did you?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“He disappeared the next day.”
Narin looked at the photograph again.
Elias was alive.
Marcus Bell had known him.
Adrian had been shot.
And Patrick Graham’s missing gun had appeared beside the hospital.
This was not one conspiracy.
It was two men fighting over an old crime.
Declan was only the piece in the middle.
Narin placed the photograph on his desk.
“We find Elias.”
Declan looked at her.
“We?”
She immediately regretted the word.
His expression changed just enough to annoy her.
“Don’t make that face.”
“What face?”
“That smug one.”
“I am incapable of smugness.”
Victor laughed.
Even Mrs. Gibson almost did.
Then Declan became serious.
“Narin, this is not your fight.”
She looked at the photograph of the man tied to her old employer.
“It became my fight when someone searched my apartment and shot through my lobby.”
He had no answer.
For once, that felt like winning.
Then Narin’s phone rang.
Unknown number.
She answered.
A man said, “If Declan wants the truth about his father, bring him to Pier Nine at midnight.”
Narin’s pulse stopped.
“Who is this?”
The voice answered.
“His brother.”
The line went dead.
Declan had heard enough from across the desk.
Neither of them spoke.
May you like
Midnight was eight hours away.
And for the first time since Narin entered the Graham estate, Declan looked afraid of meeting someone who might actually know him better than he knew himself.
