Chapter 3 - The Brother at My Table
Ethan arrived at headquarters at seven-thirty that morning wearing a navy suit and carrying coffee, looking exactly like the brother I had trusted for thirty-three years. I watched him through the glass wall of my office before he knew I was there. He joked with assistants. Asked someone about her son’s baseball game. Signed papers. Normal. That was what betrayal looked like before people knew they had been caught. I had expected villains to announce themselves eventually. Michael had taught me otherwise. Sometimes they knew where you kept the Christmas decorations. Sometimes they held your child at Thanksgiving. Sometimes they called you brother.
I locked the office door after Ethan entered.
“You look awful,” he said.
“Claire left.”
His expression shifted convincingly.
“What?”
“Last night.”
“Jesus, Daniel.”
He set down the coffee.
“Is it Sienna?”
I stared.
Again.
Another person who knew without me telling him.
“How does everybody know about my affair?”
Ethan sighed.
“You weren’t exactly subtle.”
“Did you tell Claire?”
“No.”
“Did Michael?”
“Why would Michael tell Claire?”
I leaned back.
“What do you know about Lakebridge Advisory?”
For a fraction of a second, Ethan stopped breathing.
Then: “Consulting vendor.”
“Seven million dollars.”
“We use large vendors.”
“North Street Logistics?”
He shrugged.
“What’s this about?”
“Answer.”
“You’re behaving strangely.”
“My pregnant wife disappeared after somebody threatened her, my security chief has been searching her medical records, and millions are moving through companies you approved. Strange seems appropriate.”
Ethan’s face hardened.
“Michael searched Claire’s records?”
There was genuine surprise.
That confused me.
“You didn’t know?”
“No.”
“Are you working with him?”
“On security. Obviously.”
“I mean against me.”
Ethan stared for several seconds.
Then laughed.
“You think I’m stealing your company?”
“Are you?”
“Our company.”
There it was.
I had heard resentment from Ethan before. Usually after whiskey. Usually hidden beneath jokes about being “the spare Carter.” Our father, Thomas Carter, had left me fifty-one percent of the main holding company. Ethan received fifteen. The rest went into trusts and family partnerships. I had always told myself I earned the difference because I had been working beside Dad since I was sixteen. Ethan remembered it differently.
“You approved the payments.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because Dad left liabilities you never bothered learning about.”
I narrowed my eyes.
“What liabilities?”
“Properties held through nominees. Contractors paid off-book. Old agreements with people who don’t send invoices.”
My stomach tightened.
“Criminal payments?”
“Historical obligations.”
“That sounds like something Charles would say.”
“Who the hell is Charles?”
I almost smiled despite myself. Wrong story.
Exhaustion was getting to me.
Ethan continued. “You wanted Carter Holdings clean. I cleaned it. Cleaning old systems costs money.”
“Through shell companies?”
“Yes.”
“With Michael?”
“Sometimes.”
“Why was Michael in my nursery?”
“I don’t know.”
I believed him.
Not completely.
Enough to make the situation worse.
“Claire owns something connected to Dad’s warehouses.”
Ethan’s face changed.
This time unmistakably.
“You know.”
He looked toward the windows.
“How much did she find?”
“Enough.”
“Daniel…”
“What?”
“Sit down.”
“I am sitting.”
“You know what I mean.”
“Stop talking to me like I’m a child and tell me what Claire inherited.”
Ethan rubbed both hands over his face.
“Her mother’s maiden name was DeLuca.”
“I know.”
“Angela DeLuca.”
“Yes.”
“Her father was Anthony DeLuca.”
I froze.
That name belonged to my childhood.
Anthony DeLuca had owned six blocks of industrial land along the Chicago River before our father expanded. Dad always said DeLuca sold willingly after his business failed.
“He was Claire’s grandfather?”
Ethan nodded.
“Dad buried the connection.”
“Why?”
“Because he didn’t buy all the land.”
My chest tightened.
“What did he do?”
“Anthony DeLuca entered a partnership.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“He retained thirty percent.”
“Through a trust.”
I stood.
“Where is it?”
“Dormant.”
“Why?”
“Because Dad structured everything around a development company that technically stopped operating.”
“And Claire?”
“Her mother inherited the DeLuca trust. Claire inherited after Angela died.”
“Does Claire know?”
“Apparently now.”
I stared at him.
“How much is it worth?”
“Depends what assets are traced back.”
“Ethan.”
“Hundreds of millions.”
I laughed once.
Claire had spent six years insisting we maintain separate bank accounts because she liked knowing she could buy her own shoes without asking anyone. She drove a six-year-old Volvo because she hated “stupid rich-person cars.” She had no idea she might own hundreds of millions.
“Why hide it?”
“Dad did.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I didn’t know until last year.”
“And then?”
“I was trying to fix it.”
“By moving millions through shell companies?”
“To buy out old interests before litigation.”
I moved around the desk.
“Were you trying to steal Claire’s interest?”
“No.”
His answer came too quickly.
I stared.
“Ethan.”
“Not steal.”
“What?”
“Control.”
My hands went cold.
“For whom?”
“The company.”
“Against my wife.”
“Against instability.”
I almost hit him too.
He saw it.
“Daniel, think. Claire suddenly discovers she owns claims against our main properties. She’s pregnant. You’re having an affair. If she divorces you and sues, lenders panic. Projects freeze. Thousands of employees—”
“You knew about Sienna.”
“Yes.”
“Did Michael tell you?”
“No.”
“Then who?”
Ethan looked away.
I stepped closer.
“Who?”
“Sienna.”
My stomach dropped.
“What does Sienna have to do with you?”
“She came to me two months ago.”
“Why?”
“She was afraid.”
“Of what?”
“You.”
I laughed bitterly.
“She’s sleeping with me.”
“That doesn’t mean she trusts you.”
“What did she tell you?”
“That Michael approached her.”
The room went silent.
“When?”
“Before the affair started.”
My heart stopped.
“What did he want?”
Ethan swallowed.
“For her to keep you distracted.”
I stared.
“You’re lying.”
“I wish I was.”
“Did she agree?”
“At first she thought he meant work. More dinners. More travel. Then you made it personal.”
I turned away.
I desperately wanted the affair to become something done to me.
A trap.
A conspiracy.
Something that reduced my guilt.
It didn’t.
Michael might have created opportunity.
I chose to walk through it.
“Why didn’t Sienna tell me?”
“She didn’t know how deep it went.”
“Do you?”
Ethan’s silence answered.
Then he said, “Michael told me Claire was preparing to destroy Carter Holdings. He said she was secretly meeting attorneys.”
“Was she?”
“Yes.”
“Because she was threatened.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“Michael did.”
I stared at my brother.
“How much of this did you authorize?”
“Financial containment. Legal strategy. Nothing involving threats.”
“Did you authorize surveillance?”
“No.”
“Medical records?”
“No.”
“Tracking Claire?”
His face changed.
That was enough.
“You knew she was being tracked.”
“I knew Michael wanted to know where she met lawyers.”
“You let my security chief stalk my pregnant wife.”
“Daniel—”
I grabbed him by the jacket.
“You let him follow her.”
“I thought we were protecting the company!”
“She is my wife!”
“Who you were cheating on!”
The words hit harder because they were true.
We stared at each other.
I released him.
Ethan adjusted his jacket.
“You don’t get to suddenly become Husband of the Year because she left.”
“No.”
I felt sick.
“But I can become the man who stops whatever this is.”
Ethan’s eyes filled with something like regret.
“You may have to destroy Dad’s legacy.”
I looked around the office.
His portrait hung behind my desk.
Thomas Carter.
Founder.
Father.
My first hero.
“Then maybe it deserves destroying.”
My phone rang.
Rebecca.
Claire’s sister.
I answered immediately.
“Is she safe?”
Rebecca ignored the question.
“Daniel, did you ask Michael Reed to find Claire?”
“No.”
“Did anyone from your company?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then you have a problem.”
My blood chilled.
“What happened?”
“A black SUV followed us for forty miles this morning.”
I stood.
“Where are you?”
“I’m not telling you.”
“Rebecca—”
“Claire was right.”
“About what?”
“That your empire follows people even when you don’t give the order.”
Then the call ended.
I looked at Ethan.
He had heard enough.
May you like
“Michael,” we said together.
And for the first time, my brother looked as scared as I felt.
