A Family Secret

by Cross, Kennedy

  It’s been there all along. The truth, hiding in plain sight. Hiding between conflicting emotions. Alison was right.

  Barlow leans forward. “That means Anna wasn’t acting on behalf of her father,” he says.

  “She was acting on behalf of Ethan.”

  26

  Liam

  The car slows as we pass under the roof of a confined area. A garage, I realize.

  The guy with the scarred chin shoves the Impala’s gear into park. He leaves the keys in the ignition as he opens his door. His companion follows suit. He says something, but their conversation becomes muted when both men close their doors.

  It’s not lost on me that there’s only one reason they’ve kept me alive. If they were going to kill me quickly then they would’ve done it right next to Colter.

  Colter. Another life stolen by The Club. When does this—

  The door above my head swings open. A pair of hands wrap under my arms and begin pulling. My leg protests in pain as I pass through the door. I bite down on the gag to stifle my wail.

  I’m yanked up. The guy throws my arm over his shoulder and I stumble while trying to steady my leg under my weight. Scarred Chin is watching us when I look up.

  “It helps the cause a little to see you hurtin’ like that,” he says. “I knew I hit you.” He winks at me. My response come out as an inaudible mumble, my tongue working hopelessly against the gag. “Let’s go,” Scarred Chin says. He turns, leaving his partner to drag my hobbling frame.

  I stagger through a door and into a dimly lit room composed only of grey cement and blank drywall with no windows. It’s completely empty except for a single chair in the center of the floor. Scarred Chin stops just inside the door and watches his partner shuffle me to the chair.

  I exhale in relief as I drop down and take the weight off my leg. The guy remains standing in front of me for a moment to catch his breath. His wide shoulders, thick chest and neck—he was one of the thugs who killed Mabel. I fight back my words instead of garbling another pathetic mumble.

  But the first chance I have, I’m getting payback.

  He circles the chair and kneels behind me before working at untying my hands. He reties the rope around part of the chair, then pulls it tight. I debate kicking the chair back so that it hits him in the face, but decide against it.

  “He’s good!” Scarred Chin shouts.

  There’s the sound of a door opening. It’s to my right. I didn’t notice a door, but sure enough it’s there when I look, a cheap fiberglass slab with its frame discreetly blended into the drywall. Outside light invades the door frame until it’s shut. The room goes dim again.

  The new entrant is wearing a dark suit with a thin purple tie. His brown hair has a curl but it’s stiff with product. His chin is covered with stubble and his eyes have a sharp, predatory gleam.

  He stops when he’s only a few feet in front of me. He stands there wordlessly while Scarred Chin dips into the garage, returning a moment later with a tall stool. Like an obedient little sidekick he brings it to his master, who takes a seat. His eyes trace me up and down. He smiles.

  “You look more pathetic up close,” he murmurs. He looks up and nods at the thug behind me. The man’s fingers begin working at the knot of my gag, and a moment later, it falls.

  I gasp at my first breath of fresh air.

  The new smile that breaks across his lips is enthusiastically patronizing. “I have been waiting to formally introduce myself,” he says. “My name is Ethan Black, do you recognize that?” He barely gives me time to answer, his smile gaining a spiteful edge. “How about Head Honcho?” he asks.

  27

  Claire

  There’s a hole in my stomach, a tight coil of rage and shock in my chest. I feel delirious. And yet, it all makes sense. Horrible, agonizing sense.

  I never had the chance to meet Ethan’s father, the founder of Black & Williams. By the time I met Ethan his father had passed, and he was already in firm control. Everything his father built was bestowed to his only son. The properties, the employees, the contracts, the entire criminal network—Ethan inherited it all. And under his control, The Club didn’t skip a beat.

  For the last five years, Ethan has been the one calling the shots.

  Dad spent the last two years of his career searching for the same man that was dating his daughter. I lived, ate, and slept alongside one of the most infamous masterminds in the state. I’ve never felt more betrayed. Never felt more guilty.

  All of Ethan’s trips, the persistent phone calls, the surprise meetings and difficult clients. All the questions I had asked without ever receiving an answer, never anything more than a shrug, a Don’t worry, baby. You’ve got enough on your plate. Then a kiss to the forehead.

  I never pushed him. I never probed more than necessary.

  I’d wondered things like why a company as prominent as Black & Williams would bother with the type of customers who couldn’t pay. Why not assess the firm’s finances before engaging them in business? But they weren’t firms at all. They were people like Liam’s father.

  They were people to which The Club had loaned money, sold drugs, prostitutes, and who couldn’t pay the bill. The money was funneled through Black & Williams, probably through phony raw materials accounts or ‘investments’ in properties and equipment. And for over twenty years.

  The money, the contraband, the entire network, all of it was camouflaged under procedures established by Ethan’s father and continued—perfected—by Ethan. And for the last two years, he did it right under my nose.

  We had a toxic, unhealthy relationship. I always knew that deep down, but I feel it now like a wave of nausea. While Ethan kept me holed up in a luxury prison, I only sunk myself further into my job. I took refuge in my work while Ethan was absorbed in his, I saw a balance in that. I saw everything but the truth.

  All the while, Ethan had me exactly where he wanted me. He found the safest and most direct route to Detective Bill Brooks: his daughter. The relentless detective finally retired, and his daughter fell right into hands of Head Honcho.

  Ethan and Anna have done far worse than I ever imagined. She was his secretary to murder. And there I was when he’d come home, eagerly waiting to kiss him.

  Barlow and Detective Mantra round the corner of the hallway simultaneously. Mantra gains a half-step on him as they progress towards Conference Room 02 where I’m sitting in wait. I can see the answer in their expressions: the judge approved the warrant.

  “Judge approved the warrant to ping his phone,” Mantra announces when he enters. He stops to let Barlow pass before closing the door behind them.

  After twenty years, the leader of The Club has been identified. The secret is out. Except, for once, to the media. The officers bustling around the situation room are aware, but it’s only the three of us (Me, Mantra, and Barlow) in Conference Room 02.

  Barlow takes a seat beside me. He opens a laptop on the table.

  “Contacting the phone provider,” he says.

  “All right, Brooks,” Mantra says, “what are the chances that Ethan has his cell phone on him?”

  “Let’s find out.” I slide to unlock my phone, then dial.

  As it rings, I realize that I’m not breathing.

  In… and out… I tell myself, drawing a silent breath. I can almost feel the earth rotating below us. Ethan’s not answering, but at least it’s ringing. It means his phone is on, which should be enough for the provider to ping it. Then, just as I’m preparing to end the call at his voicemail, I hear him answer.

  “Hello?” Cool, composed, and terrifyingly calm.

  “Ethan?” I ask.

  “Hi Claire.”

  I can’t believe it.

  He’s using the same tone that I’ve heard repeatedly since stumbling across Anna’s email. It’s heavy with guilt and self-pity. And it’s completely fake.

  “Hi,” I say, echoing a similar tone of my own. I’ve feigned composure when talking with Ethan before during stupid
arguments when I know I’m the one at fault. But this is going to require an Academy Award-winning performance. Liam’s life is at stake.

  But I can’t believe he answered. He must not think I know much. At the very least, he will assume I know Liam is missing. But if this goes how I hope it will, I may convince him that I don’t.

  It occurs to me that he may have answered to try and gage exactly how much I do know.

  You arrogant prick.

  “Listen,” I say mildly, “I want to talk.”

  “Oh, now you do, huh?”

  I exchange glances with Barlow and Mantra. “Yes, now,” I insist, feigning hurt at the way he tried to dismiss me. “Unless you’re over it.” False stubbornness in my voice now.

  A pause. I hold my breath.

  “Okay. Let’s talk.”

  “I said I’d call you,” I say.

  “No. What you said is that you would pursue legal action if you ever saw me again.”

  “Because I was hurt, Ethan.” The fake defensiveness comes easily. “I still am. But I—”

  “The tables sure have turned, haven’t they?” he asks.

  My heart stops. Is that a taunt, or just a continuation of the spiteful ex? I gamble that it’s both. And I call his bluff.

  “Well it sounds like I have my answer,” I say. “I shouldn’t have called, you’re right. I should’ve never imagined a future between us to begin with.”

  He scoffs. “Look where you are, after everything I gave you. You threw it all away because you’re a snobby fucking brat. And now Daddy’s little princess has nothing because even Daddy is gone.”

  I shut my eyes and bite my lips to keep the words in. He’s having fun with this. But that makes him vulnerable.

  “You’re right,” I say, “I threw away the best part of my life, and I miss you. But it took a lot of thinking and crying and reflecting to realize that.” The words taste like bitter poison.

  Ethan scoffs again. And at that, I know I’ve won.

  “Don’t ever call me again,” he says.

  “No! I’m sorry, Ethan! I’m—”

  “No, you’re alone,” he says. His voice overflowing with disgust now. “I hope it stays that way.” There’s a click as he hangs up.

  I drop the phone and inhale my first breath free of tension. I’m battling too many emotions to feel just one. Except for urgency.

  I look up at Barlow. “Did you get it?” I ask.

  He turns the screen of the laptop so I can see the completed inquiry from AT&T. A 2D map with a dot over Ethan’s location.

  I bounce up. “I know the spot!”

  “We all do, Brooks,” Mantra says, punching numbers on his phone. “And soon so will Miami PD and the FBI.” He puts it to his ear.

  “No, I mean I know exactly where he is,” I say. Which means I know where Liam is. It’s down south, but I recognize the cross streets.

  Wayne and Fulton.

  Black & Williams has a site there. It’s basically all infrastructure and it’s been like that since I met him. Ethan used to joke that he’d turn it into a second home someday.

  “They’re not going to make it in time,” I plead.

  “It’s outside of our jurisdiction.”

  But it’s our fault. It’s my fault.

  I’m already bounding out of the conference room and racing down the hall, towards the door and my car parked outside.

  28

  Liam

  “You’re alone,” Ethan spits the words into the phone with a harsh finality. “I hope it stays that way.” He ends the call.

  That was Claire. Why did she call him?

  He holds his eyes shut for a moment before they flash open, glaring directly at me. “She misses you,” he says. His glare shifts from a taunt to undisguised hatred. I only stare back.

  My stomach is churning with nauseating rage. There was a portion of the call that centered around their relationship, and I cringed.

  After everything I gave you.

  She’d been dating Head Honcho. Claire, in the same house, the same bed, as the man who ordered the murder of my father. And now here I am, looking directly at him.

  I’m looking into the haunting eyes of a killer. The heart of the beast that’s terrorized Florida. Looking at pure, concentrated evil masked by an elegant suit and an expensive haircut. It’s all right in front of me. Yet I can’t shake the idea of his arms around Claire.

  Out of nowhere, Ethan laughs. He drops his head and his laugh intensifies, growing more authentic and animated. Then he looks suddenly up at me, and every line of humor goes instantly flat. “You two are a fucking joke,” he spits.

  I return a smile of my own, ignoring the sharp pulse of pain that results in my temples.

  Ethan stands up, then swings. I barely have time to wince. My head recoils from the blow and begins throbbing. It’s like a bowling bowl ricocheting inside my skull.

  By the time I can blink my eyes open, Ethan has returned to sitting on the stool. He glowers at me. “That’s for fucking her,” he says.

  “That’s it?” The voice of Scarred Chin.

  “Shut up,” Ethan yells. He narrows his eyes at me. The space around him has become fuzzy as the swelling above my eyes continues to shrink the room. There’s a metallic taste of blood in my mouth. “I’m going to put you through hell,” he whispers.

  “Who’s Williams?” I ask.

  “What?”

  “Your company.” I can only suck in half of a painful breath. “It’s called Black & Williams, who’s Williams?”

  I don’t know whether I’m buying time—don’t know whether that’s even worth it, but I’m not going to give Ethan the satisfaction of fear.

  “Shut the hell—” Scarred Chin begins.

  “God dammit!” Ethan cuts him off. He stands up, turning and pointing at Scarred Chin. “If you make another fucking sound I’ll stab a knife through your tongue.”

  I will myself to strain to see the man’s expression. And it’s worth it.

  Slowly, Ethan turns back around. This time, he only takes half a seat on the stool with his legs fully extended to the ground and his arms crossed.

  He smiles. Thin and sadistic. “No, this is good,” he says. “Let’s talk a little family history, shall we? It turns out you and I have a good bit of history between us. But who is Williams? Let’s start there.”

  Ethan turns to look over his shoulder at his two minions. Then back to me.

  “We should ask them,” he whispers loudly, cupping a hand around his mouth. “I bet they don’t even know.” He drops his hand and smiles.

  My throat is on fire, burning in its crave for water. I catch a slight tilt of Ethan’s head as he studies me.

  “Will someone bring Liam some water?” Ethan calls over his shoulder.

  I immediately hate that he can read me, though I’m sure my face isn’t making it hard. The temptation of water sends a wave of dry heat down my throat and I can’t keep relief from flooding through me.

  Scarred Chin vanishes into the garage. He returns with a bottle in hand a moment later. In no rush, he brings it to Ethan in the center of the room and attempts to hand it over.

  “Did I ask you to bring me water, or bring it to Liam?” Ethan looks up at him, feigning curiosity.

  Wordlessly, the man retracts his extended hand. He turns to me, flashing a smirk that stretches his scar up his chin, and takes two steps so that he’s standing by my side. I tilt my head back, open my mouth, and my whole body shivers with bliss as the cool water splashes down on my tongue. It courses down my throat, spills out my lips and trails down my shirt.

  For a split second, it feels wonderful. Then it’s gone.

  When I reopen my eyes after licking the water from my lips, Scarred Chin has already retreated to the back wall.

  “Water is like a drug,” Ethan says. “Give a thirsty man a taste and it’ll quench the craving. But it only comes back stronger.” He smirks, and the reality of his words settles like a heavy blanket o
ver the front of my mind.

  That was probably my last taste of water. I’m riding the steady path to my death.

  “Phil Williams,” Ethan says. He lets the name hang in the room’s stiff, humid air. “That was his name. He grew up with my father. I never met the bastard, you know why?”

  He waits. I say nothing.

  “Because The Club outgrew him,” he says. “Phil only ever wanted to move a little cocaine, some pharmaceuticals, and clean the money through property investments.” He puts a sarcastic emphasis on the last two words. “That’s why they started Black & Williams. But my dad saw the bigger picture. And when he realized that Phil Williams wasn’t cut out for the bigger picture…” Ethan drags a hand across his throat, punctuating it with a smile.

  I spit blood onto the floor in front of him.

  He looks down at it, back up at me. “You’re not far removed from what I do, you know that, right?” he asks.

  “I’m nothing like you.”

  Ethan tilts his head, eyeing me from the corner of his eyes. “But you are your dad’s son, and that man was a client.”

  “He was a victim.”

  “Of his own greed,” Ethan says, raising his palms like a shrug. “You can’t go on taking money without ever replenishing the pockets it comes from.” His words are coated in patronizing spite. “It was one excuse after another with your pops. Over and over. You think banks tolerate that? No. There’s consequences. We’re no different, but when you play by our rules, you accept different consequences. That’s all.”

  Somewhere along the lines, Ethan’s patronizing tone shifted into a true explanation. A corrupted justification that could only come from a corrupted mind. Ethan is the product of his father. Just like I am.

  We’re the branches of a tree that grew without our say or control. And it grew to this. Like father like son. We’ve been on a collision course with an outcome that couldn’t be avoided, just postponed. I knew my dad’s mistakes would eventually catch up to me. Ethan is right about one thing; choices have consequences.