Chapter 7 - The Name Buried in His Mother’s LettersMaxwell refused to react in front of Pierce.
That was what powerful men did when someone found the one wound they hadn’t armored.
They became still.
“Take him,” Maxwell said.
Detective Warren nodded.
Pierce stood between two officers.
At the doorway, he looked back.
“Your mother knew.”
Maxwell’s hands curled into fists.
Pierce smiled.
“She knew exactly who you were.”
The door closed behind him.
Maxwell remained silent.
Eleanor approached carefully.
“Max.”
“Did you know?”
“No.”
“Don’t lie.”
“I swear.”
He looked toward Nico.
“You?”
“No.”
Finally his eyes came to me.
I didn’t say anything.
Maybe that was why he spoke.
“My mother died when I was seventeen.”
“I know.”
“She never told me Patrick wasn’t my father.”
“She may have had reasons.”
“That’s what people say when the truth is ugly.”
Eleanor suddenly turned toward the bookshelves.
“Her letters.”
Maxwell frowned.
“What?”
“Mom’s letters.”
She walked to a narrow cabinet.
“After Dad died, I found a box. You told me to throw it out.”
“Did you?”
“No.”
Maxwell closed his eyes.
“Of course you didn’t.”
“Sentimental younger sister.”
“Interfering younger sister.”
“Same thing.”
For the first time since Pierce’s revelation, something human returned to his face.
The box was stored in an attic archive.
Nico retrieved it.
Dozens of envelopes.
Photographs.
Old receipts.
And one bundle tied with blue ribbon.
Eleanor recognized their mother’s handwriting.
Maxwell didn’t want to open them.
I could see that.
He did anyway.
The letters were addressed to a man named Thomas Vale.
Most were more than forty years old.
I tried not to read over Maxwell’s shoulder.
I failed.
Thomas, Patrick knows the child may not be his.
Another.
You cannot come back here. He will kill you.
Another.
I chose safety. Please forgive me.
Maxwell stopped.
Nobody spoke.
He opened one dated shortly before his birth.
If my son ever finds you, do not ask him to choose between fathers. Patrick will raise him. Whatever else Patrick has done, he has promised to protect the boy.
Maxwell placed the letter down.
“Thomas Vale.”
Nico was already searching.
His phone buzzed.
He stared at the screen.
“What?”
Maxwell asked.
Nico turned the phone.
An old photograph.
Thomas Vale.
Tall.
Dark hair.
Gray eyes.
The resemblance to Maxwell was unmistakable.
Eleanor sat down.
“Where is he?”
Nico continued searching.
“Connecticut.”
“Alive?”
“Seventy-one.”
“Occupation?”
Nico looked uncomfortable.
“Former head of the Vale organization in New Haven.”
Of course.
Because apparently one criminal dynasty wasn’t enough.
Maxwell laughed once.
Cold.
“So my mother escaped one crime family by marrying into another.”
Eleanor whispered, “Maybe she was trying to survive.”
Maxwell folded the letter.
“We find him.”
Detective Warren objected when he heard.
So did I.
Maxwell ignored both of us.
“You’re not going anywhere,” I said.
He looked at me.
“That sounded like an order.”
“It was.”
“Martha.”
“You have untested neurological recovery, recent exposure to sedatives, and somebody tried to kill you.”
“I’ll take security.”
“You can barely transfer safely when you’re tired.”
His pride immediately bristled.
“I can manage.”
“No.”
“What exactly is your role here now?”
I paused.
Housekeeper?
Attendant?
Medical adviser without a license?
Woman who kept arguing with a mafia boss?
“I’m the person who knows when you’re being stupid.”
Eleanor covered a smile.
Maxwell glared at her.
“Don’t encourage her.”
“I like her.”
“So does everyone, apparently.”
I looked at him.
“Stay here. Let Nico find Vale.”
He held my gaze for several seconds.
“Fine.”
Victory.
Tiny.
But satisfying.
That night I helped Maxwell with his first real rehabilitation session under Dr. Chen’s remote guidance.
He hated every second.
“Lift.”
“I am.”
“No, you’re glaring at your leg.”
“That usually works on employees.”
“Your quadriceps aren’t on payroll.”
He tried again.
A faint contraction appeared.
His face changed.
“You saw that.”
“I did.”
“Again.”
“Rest.”
“Martha.”
“Rest.”
He looked at me with infuriating stubbornness.
Then suddenly his right leg lifted half an inch.
We both froze.
It dropped immediately.
Maxwell stared at it.
I smiled.
“You did that.”
His throat worked.
“Again.”
This time I didn’t argue.
He tried.
Nothing.
Again.
Nothing.
Then a tiny contraction.
He laughed under his breath.
And before I knew what was happening, he reached for my hand.
I let him.
His fingers closed around mine.
“You believed me,” he said.
“What?”
“When I said something was wrong.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because your body told me before you did.”
He smiled.
“You always this difficult?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
The word came out softer than expected.
The space between us changed.
Not dramatically.
Just enough.
I became aware of his hand.
His eyes.
The quiet room.
Maxwell’s thumb moved once across my knuckles.
Then his phone rang.
Nico.
Maxwell answered.
“Tell me.”
I watched his expression darken.
“What address?”
He listened.
Then looked directly at me.
“We found Thomas Vale.”
“Good.”
“No.”
“What happened?”
Maxwell ended the call.
“He’s missing.”
My heart sank.
“For how long?”
“Since yesterday.”
“Somebody got there first.”
Maxwell nodded.
Then his phone buzzed with an incoming video.
Unknown sender.
He opened it.
Thomas Vale appeared tied to a chair in an empty warehouse.
An older man.
Gray-haired.
Bleeding slightly from the forehead but conscious.
He looked into the camera.
“Maxwell, if you’re seeing this, don’t come for me.”
Someone stepped into frame behind him.
Julian Rourke.
Maxwell went completely still.
Julian smiled at the camera.
“Family reunion, cousin.”
Then he placed a gun against Thomas Vale’s shoulder.
“And this time, bring Martha.”
My blood turned cold.
Julian looked directly into the lens.
“She’s the reason you started waking up.”
May you like
His smile widened.
“So she’s the first thing I’m taking away.”
Related Stories
