Chapter 3 - Christmas on the Breaking News
My uncle had been dead since I was twelve.
At least, that was what I'd been told.
David Bennett had supposedly died in a boating accident on Lake Michigan.
No body had ever been recovered.
I remembered the funeral anyway.
Closed casket.
My mother crying.
Dad holding my shoulder.
Now I watched David walk across a security monitor twenty-two years later.
“That's impossible.”
Natalie didn't answer.
“Where did this footage come from?”
“Northstar.”
“Why was he there?”
“We don't know.”
I replayed it.
David looked older.
Gray hair.
Heavier.
But it was him.
There was a scar near his left eyebrow from falling off my grandfather's garage roof when he was sixteen.
I had heard that story a hundred times.
“What does this have to do with Jason?”
“I don't know yet.”
I called Dad.
He answered immediately.
“Claire.”
“Is Uncle David alive?”
Silence.
Not confusion.
Silence.
That told me everything.
“Dad.”
“Where are you?”
“You know where I am. America knows where I am. Is David alive?”
“This isn't a conversation for the phone.”
“Then it should have been a conversation twenty-two years ago.”
“Claire—”
“You told me he died.”
“Your mother and I made a decision.”
Mom.
She had died seven years earlier.
Cancer had taken her quickly.
Now there was nobody to ask whether she had participated in this lie willingly.
“What decision?”
“Come home.”
I almost laughed.
“Three days ago, you told me not to.”
“Things have changed.”
“What changed? The fact that I saw something you didn't want me to see?”
He said nothing.
“Was David at Christmas dinner?”
“No.”
“Who was?”
“Claire.”
“Who was I not supposed to see?”
Another silence.
Then Dad whispered:
“Martin Keller.”
The missing CFO.
I sat down.
“Why?”
“He came to me for help.”
“Why you?”
“Because your mother knew him.”
I felt as if every answer created three new questions.
“Dad, start telling the truth.”
“I will.”
“When?”
“When you get here.”
I looked at the storm outside.
Roads were closing.
“I can't leave.”
“I know.”
“Then talk.”
Before he could answer, someone knocked loudly on his side of the call.
Dad stopped.
“Who is that?”
“No one.”
The knock came again.
Then a man's voice.
“Richard?”
Dad inhaled sharply.
“Dad?”
“I have to go.”
“Don't hang up.”
“I'm sorry.”
The line died.
I called back.
Nothing.
Then Jason called.
I answered.
“Where's Dad?”
“What?”
“He stopped answering.”
Jason sounded exhausted.
“Claire, you need to stay out of this.”
“No.”
“For once in your life, stop trying to save everyone.”
I stood.
“What did you just say?”
“You heard me.”
“You're angry because I rescued people?”
“No!”
His voice broke.
Then quieter:
“I'm angry because every time something goes wrong, you run toward it.”
“That sounds like your problem.”
“You don't understand.”
“Then explain.”
“I can't.”
“Won't.”
He exhaled.
“You think Dad chose me over you.”
“He did.”
“No, Claire.”
I waited.
Jason said:
“He was trying to protect you.”
“From what?”
“From finding out what Mom did.”
My heart stopped.
He meant my mother.
Not his.
“What did my mother do?”
Jason didn't answer.
“Jason!”
The call disconnected.
I stood there staring at the phone.
Alvarez approached but stopped several feet away.
“Major?”
“I need ten minutes.”
“You've got twenty.”
I stepped into an empty conference room.
Christmas lights someone had hung around the whiteboard blinked quietly.
I called Erica.
No answer.
Natalie.
No answer.
Dad.
No answer.
Then an unknown number called.
“Major Bennett?”
“Yes.”
“This is St. Matthew's Hospital.”
Every instinct in me sharpened.
“Who?”
“We have a patient who listed you as an emergency contact.”
“Name?”
The nurse hesitated.
“David Bennett.”
I gripped the table.
“He's alive?”
“Yes, ma'am.”
“What happened?”
“He came in approximately an hour ago.”
“Is he okay?”
“I can't discuss medical details by telephone without authorization.”
“Why did he list me?”
“He asked us to call you.”
I closed my eyes.
“Can I speak to him?”
“One moment.”
Static.
Movement.
Then a man's voice.
Older.
Weak.
But unmistakably familiar.
“Claire?”
I had not heard that voice since childhood.
“Uncle David?”
He laughed softly.
“You still remember.”
“Everyone told me you were dead.”
“I know.”
“Why?”
“To keep you alive.”
The room seemed to tilt.
“What?”
“Listen carefully. I don't have much time.”
“What happened?”
“Nothing that matters.”
“It matters to me.”
“Your mother found something twenty-two years ago.”
“What?”
“Records.”
“Northstar?”
“It wasn't called Northstar then.”
I sat down.
“What records?”
“Transportation contracts. Inspections. Money changing hands.”
“Who was involved?”
David coughed.
“Your mother wanted to expose it.”
“Then why didn't she?”
“Because she found out your father was involved.”
I stopped breathing.
“No.”
“Not the way you think.”
“What does that mean?”
“Richard wasn't stealing money. He discovered it too.”
“Then who?”
David went quiet.
“Uncle David?”
“I made your mother promise something.”
“What?”
“That if anything happened to me, she'd let everyone believe I was dead.”
“Why?”
“Because the person behind it knew about you.”
My childhood.
My family.
My mother's fear.
Pieces moved into place.
“Who?”
David whispered:
“Claire, Jason's promotion isn't a reward.”
“What is it?”
“A leash.”
I stood.
“What does that mean?”
“Northstar promoted him because they discovered Erica had copied the files.”
“Erica?”
“She was trying to help him.”
“Help him do what?”
“Get out.”
My phone buzzed with an incoming message.
Unknown sender.
A photograph.
I opened it.
Christmas dinner.
Tonight.
Real this time.
Dad.
Jason.
Erica.
Martin Keller.
And at the far end of the table sat another man.
I recognized him from Northstar's corporate website.
CEO Grant Holloway.
Under the photograph was a message.
Your family has been lying to you.
David spoke again.
“Claire?”
“Yes.”
“There's something your mother left for you.”
“Where?”
“Your father's house.”
“What?”
“His study.”
My pulse accelerated.
“Where in the study?”
“The desk.”
“What am I looking for?”
“An envelope.”
“What does it say?”
David breathed slowly.
May you like
Then:
“FOR CLAIRE—WHEN SHE FINALLY COMES HOME.”
