A Powerful Secret

by Dr. Kevin Leman

  Even in a place as big as New York City, that description was a tall order. It was one of Drew’s major responsibilities on behalf of Will and Worthington Shares. Drew searched nationally and internationally for sharp, honest stars in the making. If he recommended someone, Will knew that person’s background had been thoroughly examined by confidential checks in Drew’s massive social network.

  Today Will had hired a new chief operating officer who could handle the day-to-day operations of Worthington Shares, while also being sensitive to the privacy of the family. It had been a long search, but he and Drew were confident this was the right person for the job. After six months or so of training, Will should be able to hand off the majority of the responsibility, just in time to take on other responsibility. For him, such roles were a constant ebb and flow.

  He settled back in his black leather chair with a satisfied sigh. He gazed out the window facing Madison Avenue. So many people moved from place to place far below that the setting often seemed unreal, like a chess game unfolding.

  Power was a strange thing, he thought. Some at the pinnacle of the buildings in New York City boasted about being in control of that game. But Will knew better. Moves were made every day behind the scenes, even above the scenes, that directed the game. That was why he listened to the quiet voice that brought clarity and long-term perspective. He simply wished that voice spoke to him directly more often.

  Will took his grandfather’s timepiece, made by luxury watchmaker Patek Philippe in the 1930s, out of his desk drawer. It was one of Will’s idiosyncrasies—he loved old timepieces, and particularly this one, even though most would call it too old-fashioned. Will liked things that were solid and had a history behind them. It was one of the many reasons he’d slid into his role at Worthington Shares so comfortably.

  He glanced at the hour. I can get there if I hustle. He eased out of his chair and removed his suit coat from behind the closet door, where he kept it unless he was in a meeting. It stayed crisp and unwrinkled that way. Donning the coat, he grabbed his briefcase and strode out the door. Mingling with the throngs of people, he soon entered the bowels of the New York subway system. It was dirty, old, and packed, but he loved the fact he could get anywhere in the city in minutes.

  He got off at the stop near the quaint flower shop he visited once a week on his way home from work. The flowers there were exotic and unusual, but they also had his wife’s favorite—roses. They were in pristine condition too, unlike the dented flowers the street vendors hawked. Since the day Laura had agreed to marry him, he’d bought her a single rose each week. He varied the color—his wife was a rainbow-of-colors sort of woman—and wrote on the card something he loved about her. Even after all their years of marriage, three kids, and a jet-set lifestyle, he’d never missed giving her a rose a week. Which day it was sometimes had to change, but not the thought and not the act.

  As he stood in the cramped little shop, surveying the rose selection, he smiled. He loved the way Laura’s hazel eyes lit up every time he gave her one. She’d clasp the rose, lift it to her nose, and inhale.

  Watching her enjoy that rose never grew old. Making a stop once a week on the way home was a small way to say “thank you,” “I love you,” and “I’d marry you all over again.”

  Sean sat in a dark-paneled booth at a greasy spoon with worn, plastic-coated tablecloths. He had no idea how he’d arrived there or where exactly he was. All he knew was that the menu he held was smudged with ketchup. He swiveled a finger over the coffee cup, and the middle-aged waitress poured a muddy brew. He pointed blindly at an item on the menu, and she nodded.

  “Don’t talk much, do you, sugar?” When he didn’t respond, she added, “Order’ll be coming right up.”

  Was he still even in New York City? The last thing he remembered was striding out the door of his parents’ building, and then the slate was blank.

  Sean slumped against the back of the tall booth. It was in a corner, shielded from any onlookers.

  It all made sense now—the restlessness, the instinct that he was out of place among his family, that he didn’t fit the Worthington mold. It was because he wasn’t really a Worthington. He was half O’Hara from his mother and half Rich from his—

  Father. He wasn’t Bill Worthington’s kid. He was Thomas Rich’s kid.

  Sean leaned forward, propping his elbows on the table, and held his head in his hands. I’ve been living a lie, perpetrated by my own mother.

  Anger stirred. How could she have done this to him? Lied to him? For over three decades? Watched him struggle to find his place among the Worthingtons, knowing all the while why he didn’t fit and never telling him?

  Suddenly the betrayal by the person he trusted most in the world made him physically sick. Slapping a $100 bill on the table, he slid out of the booth.

  “You all right, sugar?” The waitress was standing by the table, holding a tray with his order. “You look a little peaked—”

  But he was already running for the door. He had to get out of there.

  28

  Will walked into a firestorm the instant he opened his front door.

  For the first time ever, Laura ignored the rose he extended toward her. “Will, you have to go to your mom’s right now.”

  His joy in being home deflated. “But I just—”

  “Sean knows.”

  “Knows what?” One glimpse of Laura’s face put the pieces together for him. “How did he find out?”

  “Ava told him.”

  He tilted his head. “She told him? Did she tell you she was going to?” Past experience had taught him that Ava often discussed matters of the heart with Laura first.

  Laura shook her head. “I had no warning. She invited him over for breakfast this morning and told him. Only said she’d decided it was time, and she needed to do it while Bill was away in Arizona golfing.”

  Will sagged. “How did it go?”

  Laura touched his shoulder. “Not well. He stormed out of there without saying good-bye.”

  “So you want me to—”

  “Go over there and get the details from your mother. Then call your brother. He’s not answering your mom’s calls.”

  He exhaled. “I’m not surprised.”

  It would be a far different evening than he’d planned.

  Sean walked the dusky streets blindly, not caring where he was going. Why didn’t he ever guess? Was he that stupid?

  Does my father know?

  The thought struck him like a lightning bolt, and he stopped under the awning of a storefront. He hadn’t asked his mother that before he took off . . . hadn’t stuck around long enough to have the wits to ask. He just had to get away from the pain, the betrayal, before it crushed him.

  Father. The irony was so overwhelming, he laughed out loud. The reference to father was now ludicrous. Bill Worthington had never been his true father.

  Is that why he’s treated me differently? Been harder on me? Ignored me and focused on Will?

  Sean’s hands started to shake from the intensity of the shock, and he stuffed them in the pockets of his zipped sweatshirt. His stomach roiled.

  What about Will? Sarah? Do they know?

  They had to know, he reasoned. Or at least Will did, since he was older. If so, then they too had withheld the information from him. Why? Thinking naïvely they could protect him? Protect the Worthington name?

  Realization dawned. That’s why Mom didn’t want me to run for governor. Didn’t want Will to run for senator. Because this skeleton in the closet might come to light and ruin the pristine Worthington reputation.

  That was what she had meant by her enigmatic comment, “Things that are hidden will be revealed.” After a lifetime of secrecy, she had felt compelled to tell him the truth, before it was ferreted out and plastered all over the tabloids.

  He shivered as the outside temperature dropped. Suddenly everything and everyone Sean thought he could count on eroded from him.

  Then, right as the heavens
opened and the drizzle began, he heard his mother’s words: “Sometimes desperate, lonely people do desperate things. And even good people can get desperate. I wish . . .”

  Sean knew what she wished for—that she had never had an affair. That she’d never become pregnant with him. That he didn’t exist. After all, his very existence jeopardized everything she held dear.

  As the rain sluiced downward in earnest, Sean made a decision. He stepped out from under the protective awning and stood in the onslaught, letting the water flow unheeded around his body.

  He had nothing left to lose.

  29

  “You need to tell Dad the truth,” Will insisted. He couldn’t back down simply because of his mother’s tears. “You can’t afford not to.”

  Ava swiped at her overflowing eyes. “If I do, it may change everything for our family.” She adjusted her position on the velvet couch in their living room.

  “Mom, it already has. It did when Sean was born. He’s the proof of that change. Don’t you see?” His frustration mounted. “It’s not if you should tell Dad, it’s when you should. Do you really want him to find out from someone else?”

  She wept. “I wish I had the courage.”

  “But Mom, you do,” he said gently. “You’ve always had it. You’ve only lost track of it for the moment. I know you. You’ll find it again.”

  Sean was waterlogged from head to toe, and his favorite Nikes were ruined, but it no longer mattered. The shoes squished as he headed toward what looked like a busier street.

  Once there, he flagged down a cab.

  “Bad night,” the cabbie proclaimed as Sean opened the door and slid into the backseat.

  You have no idea, Sean thought. Aloud he said, “Yup.”

  “Where to?” the effusive driver asked.

  “Just start driving, and I’ll tell you.” He waved the cabbie onward.

  Now he knew exactly where he was, where he must go, and what he had to do.

  Sarah awoke with a start at 1:30 a.m., as if someone had poked her with a sharp object. She was sweating.

  Must have been a bad dream, she mused. But she couldn’t remember one.

  Or perhaps the spicy Indian curry she’d had for a late dinner was making her pay. It was all Sean’s fault. He’d introduced her to that restaurant four years ago and insisted she try that dish. One bite and she was hooked. Every once in a while she had to have some.

  “Okay, Sean,” she announced aloud when she still couldn’t go back to sleep 20 minutes later, “it’s payback. This time you’re the one who’s going to get a wake-up call.” She grinned as she hit his speed-dial number.

  30

  It had been five days since any of the Worthingtons had heard from Sean.

  The entire family was worried. Ava was distraught. She had fled to their home in Chautauqua Institution to stay secluded from the media. With Sean’s globe-trotting life, they were used to him coming and going and sometimes not contacting them for days or weeks.

  This time, though, was different. The media had been hot on Sean’s heels since the rumors had flown about his potential bid for governor of New York. Suddenly he’d disappeared. The tabloids were concocting various stories. The one with the highest readership was tantalizing voyeurism:

  Sean Worthington, wealthy playboy extraordinaire, MIA? No one’s talking, but reportedly no one has seen him for days. The middle Worthington sibling is known for his extravagant lifestyle and worldwide jet-setting, but is he a victim of foul play? Or have the Worthingtons decided enough is enough and taken steps to rein in his wildness? Especially since he’s close to making a run at becoming governor of New York? The family has declined any interviews.

  Will scowled and threw the tabloid in the trash. Another reason for him to hate the gossip-mongers. A pinch of truth and a heap of conjecture, and a seed of question was masterfully planted in the mind of the reader, who would keep coming back for more. The industry made billions of dollars each year based on that simple principle.

  The family had worked hard to keep under wraps that they couldn’t reach him, despite all their efforts. But his social circle was too large, too active, and had missed his presence. They’d spread the word, and the media was swift to pick up on it. The networking king had gone silent. No tweeting, no Facebooking, no texting, no emailing. Even Drew calling in a favor with a high-tech specialist to track Sean’s cell phone had produced no leads.

  Sean, where are you? Will tapped his fingers on his desk. He couldn’t concentrate on his work.

  When he finally reached his little brother, Will would hug him first. Then he’d yell at him for putting their family—especially his mother—through such angst.

  LANGLEY, VIRGINIA

  The man’s knuckles turned white as he gripped the hard copy of last week’s Buffalo News and read the story headline: “Unknown Man Dives off Peace Bridge.”

  Thursday evening an unidentified man dove off the middle of the Peace Bridge. The man, described as wearing a sweatshirt, jeans, and athletic shoes, got out of the backseat of a cab heading north on the bridge when lane closures due to roadwork led to gridlocked traffic. He walked to the middle of the bridge, climbed up one of the steel supports, and the next instant was gone. “Just did a swan dive into the Niagara,” one witness claimed.

  The Peace Bridge, the second busiest border crossing between the US and Canada, connecting Buffalo with Fort Erie, Ontario, is a little over 12 miles upriver of Niagara Falls. The body has not yet been found.

  The man’s source had been able to gather some additional information that hadn’t been printed in the Buffalo News. Other onlookers described the jumper as around six feet tall and having dark or maybe reddish hair. One man said his shoes looked expensive.

  Could this be Sean? The descriptions were vague, but they could be a match. But what would happen to make someone of Sean’s background and character suddenly commit suicide?

  Only one thought came to mind. Maybe Sean found out about the photos with the Polar Bear Bomber and was afraid they would ruin the Worthington family. After all, the Worthingtons are intensely loyal. Or maybe . . .

  The man left his thoughts there. He could guess all he wanted, but the proof lay in the facts. His job was to uncover them.

  He focused on his new task—using every contact at his disposal to find out who the jumper was and to speed along locating the body. If the jumper was Sean Worthington, he’d ferret out the reason and the person behind the reason. Then he’d make that person pay.

  31

  NEW YORK CITY

  Drew looked unusually stoic as he entered Will’s office. “There’s something you need to know.”

  Will glanced up from his laptop. “Okay, shoot it to me.”

  “There’s a report about a man jumping off the Peace Bridge last Thursday.”

  Frowning, Will focused back on the reports he had been reading. “And that has what to do with us?”

  “The descriptions are general but could match Sean.”

  Will’s hand froze. Slowly he raised his eyes to meet Drew’s.

  His mentor’s gaze was troubled. “As you know, I’ve been using every source I can to track Sean’s whereabouts. I came across the report in last Friday’s Buffalo News. The basic description of the jumper matched what Ava said Sean was wearing when they had breakfast. So I called in a favor at the Buffalo PD headquarters.”

  As soon as Will opened his mouth in protest, Drew added, “Don’t worry. I didn’t mention anything about Sean. But the additional details they gave me said he was approximately five eleven to six feet tall, dark or maybe reddish hair, and wearing expensive athletic shoes.”

  Will frowned. “That could describe a lot of guys in New York.”

  “Yes, but the cab driver says the man flipped him a $100 bill and thanked him for the ride before exiting the cab. You know how much Sean hated the bother of making change.”

  So did Will, and he’d often done the same thing.

  “Have they
found a body?” Will asked.

  “Not yet. With the location just upriver of Niagara Falls, that makes the search much more complicated. But suicide would be completely out of Sean’s character.” Drew cocked his head toward Will. “Then again, doing things that are out of character seems to be running in the Worthington family lately. You . . . Ava . . .” His keen eyes searched Will’s, as if he were trying to put together the final piece to a puzzle.

  Will squirmed.

  “Something tells me there’s more going on than just that photo,” Drew stated in a quiet tone, “or the string of photos Carson likely has that could reveal how it was staged. Sean doesn’t know about the photo, does he?”

  Will’s pulse skyrocketed. “No, I don’t think so. At least not from me.” But what if he did find out somehow? What if he’s not communicating because he’s after whoever set him up?

  “And Ava doesn’t know, does she?”

  “Absolutely not,” Will declared. “No one knows except you, me, and Laura.”

  Drew gave a single nod, as if his deductive line of questioning had proved a point. “Is there anything else you want to tell me?”

  Will’s mind was at war. He needed to tell Drew about the connection between Sean and Thomas Rich. He wanted Drew’s advice about next steps. But how could he break his mother’s confidence without asking her first? “There are events at work here that you might not know about yet.”

  “I see. Well, I may know more, or have guessed more, than you think. Desperate people do desperate things.” Drew propped both hands on Will’s desk and leaned in. “But I certainly know one thing. Your family needs you now, perhaps your mother most of all. That’s far more important than any business deal going on here at Worthington Shares.”