Chapter 6
Agent Hale refused to take me to Lake Geneva that day.
I hated him for about ten minutes.
Then he explained why.
“If someone has been waiting four years for your account to activate, rushing into a location connected to your father is exactly what they may expect.”
“So we do nothing?”
“No.”
“That’s what adults call waiting.”
“That’s what agents call not walking into traps.”
I crossed my arms.
He almost smiled.
“You really are Michael’s son.”
Everyone kept saying that.
Sometimes like praise.
Sometimes like an accusation.
I still didn’t know which one it was.
By afternoon, the bank had become a crime scene.
Computers were copied.
Phone records were requested.
Mr. Harris was escorted out through a side entrance.
He was not arrested.
Not yet.
But he looked at me as he passed.
For one second, I thought he might apologize.
He didn’t.
Rebecca was taken to the police station because she had struck me and because investigators wanted a formal statement.
Charles left with a lawyer.
He didn’t look at me.
That bothered me.
Men like Charles always looked at people they thought they could control.
Ignoring me meant he had moved me into another category.
Threat.
I spent the next two hours with a child-services worker named Maria Bennett.
She was calm.
That made me suspicious.
“Where did you sleep last night?”
“Somewhere safe.”
“Ethan.”
“Why does everyone say my name when they don’t like my answer?”
She smiled.
“Because you’re good at avoiding questions.”
“So are adults.”
“Fair.”
Eventually I told her about the auto shop.
Not because I wanted to.
Because Agent Hale said if I hid where I had been staying, somebody else would tell the story for me.
Mr. Ortiz owned the shop.
He found me sleeping behind his dumpster one night.
Instead of calling police, he gave me food.
Then work.
Then eventually an old cot in the storage room.
He said it was temporary.
I promised him it was.
Maria didn’t look angry.
She looked sad.
“You can’t go back there tonight.”
“I know.”
“You’ll be placed in emergency foster care.”
“No.”
“Ethan—”
“No.”
“You are thirteen.”
“And I have forty-eight million dollars.”
She leaned back.
“That doesn’t make you an adult.”
“I know.”
“It also doesn’t mean you get to rent a penthouse tonight.”
“I don’t want a penthouse.”
“What do you want?”
“My dad.”
The answer came out before I could stop it.
Maria went silent.
I stared at the floor.
“That’s the only thing I want.”
“I know.”
“No, you don’t.”
She didn’t tell me I was wrong.
That helped.
Daniel came over before I left.
He had a new jacket folded over his arm.
I looked at it.
“What’s that?”
“You’re cold.”
“I’m fine.”
“You have a tear from your shoulder to your elbow.”
I looked at my old jacket.
Then at him.
“Did the bank buy it?”
“No.”
“You did?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t want charity.”
“It isn’t charity.”
“What is it?”
He hesitated.
“An apology I’m not entitled to give on behalf of someone else.”
That was strange enough that I accepted it.
It was dark blue.
Warm.
Probably the nicest thing I owned.
“Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
He handed me a business card.
“Call me if anyone from this bank contacts you directly.”
“Why?”
“Because until we know who leaked the account alert, I don’t trust our internal systems.”
I looked around.
“Do you trust anyone?”
Daniel’s expression became tired.
“Less than I did this morning.”
I understood that.
Maria drove me to a temporary foster home on the North Side.
The foster parents were Linda and George Patel.
They had a daughter in college and a son stationed overseas.
They gave me a bedroom with clean sheets.
Linda made chicken and rice.
Nobody asked about the money.
Nobody asked if I was rich.
George asked if I liked baseball.
I said basketball.
He told me that was unfortunate but forgivable.
For half an hour, I almost felt normal.
Then the doorbell rang.
George answered it.
A delivery driver stood outside with a package.
“For Ethan Carter.”
Every muscle in my body tightened.
George looked at me.
“Expecting something?”
“No.”
He didn’t touch the package.
Good.
He stepped outside and told the driver to leave it on the porch.
Then called Maria.
Maria called Hale.
Within twenty minutes, two agents were at the house.
The package was small.
No return address.
No bomb.
No wires.
Inside was a phone.
Old-fashioned flip phone.
And a note.
CALL ME BEFORE THEY FIND ME.
D.C.
My hands went cold.
“David Carter,” I said.
Hale looked at me.
“Probably.”
The phone rang.
Everyone froze.
Hale immediately took it.
“No.”
I stepped forward.
“It’s for me.”
“You’re not answering alone.”
“I didn’t say alone.”
The phone kept ringing.
Hale put it on speaker.
I answered.
“Hello?”
A man breathed out.
“Ethan.”
His voice shook.
“You sound like Michael.”
I swallowed.
“Are you David?”
Silence.
Then, “Yes.”
“Where are you?”
“I can’t tell you.”
“Why?”
“Because Samuel is dead.”
Agent Hale’s expression hardened.
“How do you know?” I asked.
“I found him.”
“When?”
“Three years ago.”
Rebecca said Samuel disappeared.
Now David said he was dead.
“Why didn’t you tell anyone?”
“I did.”
“Who?”
“Your aunt.”
I looked at Hale.
He wrote something down.
“What did she do?”
David laughed bitterly.
“She told me to stop digging if I wanted to stay alive.”
My heart pounded.
“Did she kill him?”
“No.”
“You sure?”
“No.”
At least he admitted it.
“Where is Box 317?”
Silence.
Then David whispered, “So Michael left you the key.”
Hale mouthed, Don’t answer.
I didn’t.
David laughed softly.
“Good. Don’t trust me just because we share blood.”
That surprised me.
Dad had said almost the same thing.
“Did you hate my father?”
“Yes.”
The answer came immediately.
It hurt.
David continued.
“And I loved him.”
I didn’t understand.
“He could be arrogant. Controlling. Impossible. He thought he could fix everyone with enough planning.”
“So Rebecca was telling the truth.”
“Rebecca tells the truth whenever it helps her lie.”
That sounded exactly right.
“Why did you hate him?”
“Because he accused me of stealing from Carter Meridian.”
“Did you?”
“Yes.”
I blinked.
“How much?”
“Three million.”
Hale raised his eyebrows.
Everyone in my family apparently stole millions like other families borrowed lawnmowers.
“Why?”
“My wife was dying.”
David’s voice changed.
“She needed an experimental treatment. Insurance refused it. Michael told me he would pay, but I was too proud to ask twice. I moved company money.”
“Did the treatment work?”
“No.”
Silence.
“She died six months later.”
I didn’t know what to say.
David continued.
“Michael could have had me arrested.”
“Did he?”
“No.”
“What did he do?”
“Made me sign over my shares and leave the company.”
“So Rebecca was right.”
“Partly.”
“What part was wrong?”
“Michael gave the shares back.”
I frowned.
“When?”
“Three weeks before he died.”
Hale leaned closer.
“Why?”
“Because he discovered I had not been the person draining money from the company.”
My stomach tightened.
“Who was?”
David went silent.
“Who?”
“I’ll tell you in person.”
“No.”
“Ethan—”
“My dad wrote that money makes relatives dangerous. You’re my relative.”
For several seconds there was nothing.
Then David whispered, “He taught you well.”
“Tell me now.”
“I can’t.”
“Then goodbye.”
“WAIT.”
I almost hung up.
“Box 317 contains evidence tied to the night Michael died.”
“What evidence?”
“A video.”
I stopped breathing.
“What video?”
“A recording from the parking garage beneath Carter Meridian headquarters.”
Hale grabbed a pen.
David continued.
“Michael met someone there hours before the crash.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know. Samuel took the original footage before police could seize the company servers.”
“That sounds illegal.”
“It was.”
“Why?”
“Because Samuel believed someone inside law enforcement was compromised.”
Hale looked grim.
“Where is the video?”
“Box 317.”
“Then tell us where it is.”
“You already know Lake Geneva.”
Hale’s eyes narrowed.
David laughed quietly.
“You federal people are predictable. You found the storage facility.”
“Why not open the box yourself?”
“Because Michael designed it so I couldn’t.”
“What do you mean?”
“The key is only half of it.”
I looked at the silver key resting in an evidence sleeve on Hale’s table.
“What’s the other half?”
“You.”
My stomach tightened.
“The box requires biometric confirmation from the beneficiary once he turns thirteen.”
I stared at Hale.
“Why thirteen?”
“That’s a question for your father.”
“You said Samuel is dead.”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
Silence.
Then David whispered, “Under a fake name in Wisconsin.”
Hale leaned toward the phone.
“This is Special Agent Marcus Hale. Mr. Carter, if you know the location of a body connected to an active financial investigation, you need to provide it immediately.”
David laughed.
“I know who you are, Agent Hale.”
Hale froze.
“How?”
“Michael kept files on everyone.”
“I never met Michael Carter.”
“I didn’t say the file was old.”
Nobody spoke.
That was impossible.
Dad had been dead four years.
David continued.
“Ethan, listen carefully.”
“I’m listening.”
“Someone knew you walked into that bank before Rebecca arrived.”
“We know.”
“No. You don’t understand.”
His voice dropped.
“They didn’t just know you were there.”
“What do you mean?”
“They wanted you there.”
I felt cold.
“Why?”
“To trigger the account.”
“Rebecca did?”
“Rebecca is greedy, not smart enough for this.”
I heard a noise on David’s end.
A door.
His breathing changed.
“Someone’s here.”
Hale stood.
“Tell us your location.”
“No.”
“David.”
“Ethan, Box 317. Trust what Michael left. Not what anyone tells you about him.”
A crash sounded through the phone.
David cursed.
Hale shouted, “Location!”
David’s voice became frantic.
“Your father’s accident—”
Another crash.
Then a man shouted in the background.
David said one final sentence.
“The brakes didn’t fail, Ethan. Someone replaced the entire control module.”
A loud bang exploded through the speaker.
The connection died.
I stared at the phone.
“David?”
Nothing.
“DAVID?”
Hale grabbed another phone and started issuing orders.
Linda stood in the kitchen doorway with one hand over her mouth.
George locked the front door.
I stared at the dead phone in my hand.
I had known my uncle for less than ten minutes.
And I had no idea if he had just been shot.
Then the phone screen lit up.
One final text arrived.
It contained an address.
May you like
And beneath it, four words.
DON’T BRING THE POLICE.
