Chapter 4 - The Brother Who Always Came First
Benjamin’s security team locked down the parking garage.
They searched every level, stairwell, vehicle row, and maintenance room.
The photographer was gone.
The hotel moved us to a private service elevator, and by two in the morning, I was inside a guarded suite on the thirty-first floor.
Sleep was impossible.
I stood at the window watching the city lights while memories I had buried for years returned one after another.
Ryan had always come first.
When I was nine, my father sold my piano to pay for Ryan’s traveling baseball team.
When I was twelve, my mother canceled my birthday dinner because Ryan had been invited to a party.
When I was fourteen, I won a statewide science competition. My father refused to drive me to the award ceremony because Ryan had a practice game.
I told myself these things had made me stronger.
That was partly true.
They had also taught me to accept loneliness as the price of ambition.
At six in the morning, Naomi arrived carrying coffee, clean clothes, and enough anger for both of us.
She had become Asteron’s chief operations officer and remained the only person who knew every version of me.
The broke student.
The exhausted founder.
The public executive.
And now the woman whose family had brought an armed stranger into her life.
She threw her bag onto the sofa.
“I want names.”
“So do the police.”
“I don’t mean the shooter. I mean every idiot who told you confronting your father at home was a good idea.”
“That would include you.”
“I supported the legal confrontation. I did not support sitting in front of an unsecured window.”
She handed me coffee.
“You were right.”
“I know.”
We reviewed the threat message with Benjamin.
The number had been routed through several encrypted services.
The photograph contained no useful location data.
However, Naomi noticed something in the reflection of Benjamin’s car.
A silver emblem appeared on a pillar behind us.
It resembled a compass enclosed in a circle.
I had seen it before.
The emblem was embossed on the corner of Grandma Evelyn’s letter.
Benjamin enlarged the image.
“Northstar.”
Naomi looked at me.
“Whoever sent the threat wanted you to see that.”
“Or they didn’t realize it was reflected.”
“No,” she said. “This is staged.”
I agreed.
A skilled shooter had deliberately missed me.
A hidden photographer had allowed the emblem to appear.
The threat was not only meant to frighten me.
It was an invitation.
At nine, Detective Mendes called.
A records search had uncovered Project Northstar references in old municipal documents.
Twenty-two years earlier, Hartwell Properties had participated in an urban redevelopment partnership with three medical clinics owned by Grandma Evelyn.
The stated goal was to build housing and health facilities in neglected neighborhoods.
The partnership dissolved after two years.
No buildings were completed.
Almost twelve million dollars in private investment disappeared.
My grandmother had sued two contractors, but the case was quietly settled.
My father’s name did not appear on the official partnership documents.
However, one shell corporation was registered to a post office box later used by Hartwell Properties.
Mendes asked whether Grandma had ever spoken about the project.
She had not.
At least not to me.
Naomi suggested searching Grandma’s old house.
After her death, my mother inherited it but never sold the property. She claimed there were legal problems with the title.
The house had stood empty for seven years.
By noon, we had a warrant request in progress.
By one, my mother’s attorney filed an objection.
That told us the house mattered.
While Benjamin handled the legal battle, I received another surprise.
Ryan called.
I almost ignored him.
Then I remembered the fear on his face when our father insulted him.
I answered.
“You need to meet me,” he said.
“Why?”
“Because Dad lied to me too.”
“About what?”
“Everything.”
His voice sounded strained.
I heard traffic in the background.
“Where are you?”
“Not at the house.”
“Ryan, the police need to know where you are.”
“No police.”
“Someone shot at me.”
“I know.”
“Then why would I meet you alone?”
“Because I found something in Dad’s office.”
There was a pause.
Then he whispered, “It has Grandma’s emblem on it.”
“Send me a photograph.”
“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Dad has people checking our phones.”
I almost laughed.
“You expect me to believe that?”
“I didn’t believe it either.”
A horn sounded nearby.
Ryan lowered his voice.
“Meet me at the old Union Station. North entrance. One hour.”
“I’m bringing security.”
“No.”
“Then I’m not coming.”
“Claire, listen to me. Dad kept files on both of us. School reports. Medical records. Bank accounts. He even had photographs of you at Northbridge.”
My grip tightened around the phone.
“What photographs?”
“You working at the library. Leaving the warehouse. Meeting investors.”
The room seemed to tilt.
My father had claimed he knew nothing about my life during those years.
“What did you find?”
“A file labeled Contingency Heir.”
The line crackled.
Then I heard Ryan gasp.
A man’s voice spoke somewhere near him.
Ryan said my name once.
The call ended.
I immediately called back.
His phone was disconnected.
Police traced the final signal to a street three blocks from Union Station.
They found Ryan’s car parked beside an alley.
The driver’s door was open.
May you like
There was blood on the steering wheel.
And on the passenger seat, someone had left a silver key.
