Chapter 5 - The Man Wesley Trusted Most
The lights died.
Bruno slammed his body against the back door and barked.
Then Patrick Dwyer called from outside.
“Wesley, I brought the real ledger.”
Caleb stopped breathing.
For fourteen years, he had believed his father was dead.
Now Patrick was standing on the other side of the door.
“Dad?”
Caleb moved.
Wesley caught his shoulder.
“Wait.”
“That’s my father.”
“You saw a photograph.”
“I know his voice.”
“So did whoever sent the photograph.”
Caleb turned on him.
“You don’t get to tell me not to open that door after what happened with yours.”
Wesley’s grip tightened.
“That’s exactly why I’m telling you.”
Silence.
Marcus moved toward the darkened kitchen window.
“Those SUVs are still outside.”
“How many men?” Wesley asked.
“Can’t tell.”
Declan reached beneath a cabinet and pulled out a flashlight.
Nora stared.
“How many things have you hidden in this house?”
“Enough to survive.”
“Apparently not enough to pay the electric bill.”
Under any other circumstances, Wesley might have smiled.
Instead he looked at the door.
“Patrick.”
Silence.
Then:
“Still cautious, Wesley.”
Wesley knew that tone.
Not the voice.
The confidence.
Whoever stood outside knew him.
“What’s in the ledger?”
Patrick answered immediately.
“The first payment was made October seventeenth, fourteen years ago. Forty thousand dollars to Judge Samuel Harlan through Bellweather Consulting.”
Marcus turned sharply.
Wesley noticed.
“You recognize it?”
Marcus nodded.
“That transaction was never in Declan’s files.”
Patrick continued through the door.
“The second was eighty-five thousand to Detective Raymond Cole.”
Caleb looked at Marcus.
“Cole wrote my father’s death report.”
“Yes.”
Wesley called through the door.
“And the third?”
A pause.
“One hundred twenty thousand dollars to Dr. Stephen Voss.”
Declan went rigid.
Wesley looked at him.
“Who?”
Nobody answered.
“Dad.”
Declan stared at the floor.
“The doctor who certified my death.”
Marcus whispered a curse.
Wesley walked toward the door.
Caleb followed.
Nora did too.
Wesley looked back at her.
“No.”
“I’m involved.”
“You’re unarmed.”
“I have Bruno.”
The Cane Corso growled as though agreeing.
Wesley considered arguing.
Then stopped wasting time.
He unlocked the back door.
“Stay behind me.”
He opened it.
Patrick Dwyer stood beneath the porch light.
He was sixty-something, broad-shouldered despite his age, with gray hair and a weathered face.
Caleb stared at him.
The resemblance was undeniable.
Same eyes.
Same crooked nose.
Same small scar beneath the chin.
Patrick looked at his son.
For a moment, the hard expression disappeared.
“Cal.”
Caleb crossed the distance before anyone could stop him.
He grabbed Patrick by the jacket.
“You’re alive.”
Patrick did not resist.
“You’re alive!”
“I’m sorry.”
Caleb shoved him backward.
“Fourteen years!”
“I know.”
“You let me bury you!”
“I know.”
“You let Mom die thinking you were dead.”
Patrick’s face broke.
“That part I didn’t know.”
Caleb hit him.
One punch.
Patrick staggered but stayed upright.
Wesley stepped between them before Caleb could strike again.
“Enough.”
Caleb’s eyes were wet.
“You don’t get to say that.”
“Maybe not.”
Wesley looked at Patrick.
“But we need what he has.”
Patrick held up a weatherproof satchel.
“The ledger.”
Wesley reached for it.
Patrick pulled it back.
“Not yet.”
Wesley’s expression changed.
“You came to my house.”
“Declan’s house.”
“For ninety days, mine.”
Patrick almost smiled.
“You really are his son.”
Wesley moved closer.
“Give me the ledger.”
“I need something first.”
“Of course you do.”
Patrick looked toward Nora.
“Elaine’s letter.”
Nora froze.
“You broke into my storage unit.”
“No.”
“The photograph came from there.”
“I sent someone.”
“Who?”
“A woman I trust.”
“Does she have my mother’s letter?”
“Yes.”
Caleb stepped forward.
“That letter was addressed to you.”
Patrick looked at him.
“I know.”
“What does it say?”
“I don’t know.”
“You never opened it?”
“I never received it.”
Nora studied him.
“My mother kept it for eight years.”
Patrick nodded.
“Because she didn’t know if I was alive.”
“Were you?”
“Yes.”
“Then why didn't you contact her?”
Patrick looked at Declan.
“Because he told me not to.”
Caleb turned.
Declan’s face hardened.
“You were compromised.”
“My family thought I was dead.”
“You would have led Marcus straight to them.”
Marcus laughed from the doorway.
Patrick looked at him.
“You find something funny?”
“You two spent fourteen years blaming me for every decision you were too cowardly to own.”
Declan stepped outside.
“Careful.”
“No.”
Marcus pointed at Patrick.
“You abandoned your son because Declan told you to.”
Then he pointed at Declan.
“You abandoned Wesley because you decided hiding was easier than trusting him.”
Finally Marcus touched his own chest.
“And somehow I became the monster responsible for both.”
Patrick’s eyes narrowed.
“You moved the money.”
“I traced the money.”
“You owned Bellweather.”
“My name was on Bellweather.”
“Same thing.”
“No.”
Marcus looked at Wesley.
“That is the trick.”
Wesley stared at him.
“What trick?”
“Everything points to someone.”
Your signature.
My companies.
Declan’s accounts.
Elaine’s identities.
Patrick’s contacts.
Each trail ends at a person who looks guilty.”
Nora understood.
“But none of you controlled the whole system.”
Marcus nodded.
“Exactly.”
Patrick’s expression remained suspicious.
“Then who did?”
Marcus looked at him.
“I was hoping your ledger would tell us.”
Patrick finally handed the satchel to Wesley.
Inside was a thick leather-bound book.
No copies.
No photographs.
Original ink.
Wesley carried it into the house.
Everyone followed.
Caleb stayed beside Patrick.
Not touching him.
Not forgiving him.
Just making sure he could not disappear again.
Wesley placed the ledger on the dining table.
Nora stood beside him.
He opened it.
The first pages contained transactions matching the documents she had found.
Dates.
Amounts.
Recipients.
Initials.
Then Wesley noticed the handwriting.
“This isn't my father's.”
Declan leaned closer.
“No.”
“Marcus?”
“No.”
Patrick said, “Elaine believed one person maintained the master ledger.”
“Who?”
“She never learned the name.”
Nora studied the entries.
Something bothered her.
She had seen this handwriting before.
Not recently.
Years ago.
She turned several pages.
A lowercase g curled backward.
The number nine was written with an unusually straight stem.
Her stomach tightened.
Wesley noticed.
“What?”
“I know this handwriting.”
Everyone looked at her.
“Where?” Marcus asked.
Nora tried to remember.
Receipts?
Birthday cards?
Her mother's documents?
Then it came.
“Mrs. Holloway.”
Silence.
Caleb frowned.
“Your supervisor?”
“She wrote my work schedules by hand.”
Patrick looked sharply at Marcus.
Marcus shook his head.
“Impossible.”
“Why?”
“Because Holloway didn't join the agency until seven years ago.”
Nora pointed at the ledger.
“This entry is fourteen years old.”
Wesley looked at her.
“You’re sure?”
“I worked for that woman for five years. I know her handwriting.”
Patrick took the ledger.
He studied it.
Then looked at Declan.
“What's her first name?”
Nora answered.
“Margaret.”
Declan sat down.
Not slowly.
As if his legs had stopped working.
Wesley saw it.
“You know her.”
Declan did not answer.
“Who is Margaret Holloway?”
Marcus looked at Declan.
Then understanding hit him.
“Oh, God.”
Nora’s skin prickled.
“What?”
Marcus whispered, “Margaret Crane.”
Patrick went still.
“Elliot’s wife.”
Nora shook her head.
“No. Mrs. Holloway was never married.”
“That’s what she told you.”
Wesley closed the ledger.
“So Elliot Crane wasn't the mastermind.”
“No,” Marcus said.
“He was the cover.”
Nora remembered Mrs. Holloway’s frightened video.
Her bound hands.
Her tears.
Don't trust anyone.
Especially Wesley Rourke.
Was it real?
Or another performance?
“She kidnapped herself,” Nora whispered.
Patrick looked at her.
“Possibly.”
Nora felt anger rise.
“She knew I was homeless.”
Nobody spoke.
“She knew I was sleeping in my car.”
Wesley watched her.
“She sent Elliot—or someone pretending to be Elliot—to offer you the lakehouse.”
Nora nodded slowly.
“She put me here.”
“To find the box,” Wesley said.
“And bring you here.”
Nora looked at him.
The entire thing had been staged.
Her poverty.
Wesley’s disappearance.
Room 214.
The forged signatures.
Even their meeting on the lawn.
Two people who should never have crossed paths had been deliberately placed in the same house.
“Why me?” Nora asked.
Patrick answered quietly.
“Because of Elaine.”
“My mother?”
“She had the one thing Margaret could never find.”
“The letter?”
“No.”
Patrick pointed toward the ledger.
“The key to decoding it.”
Nora stared at him.
“It’s written in English.”
“The payments are. The purpose isn't.”
He opened the ledger.
Every transaction ended with a small number.
Nora had assumed they were account references.
Patrick said, “Elaine created the code.”
“Why?”
“To identify who actually authorized each payment.”
Wesley leaned over the book.
“So these numbers reveal the person behind the transfers?”
“If we have the key.”
“And Elaine had it?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
Patrick looked at Nora.
“That’s what her letter should tell us.”
Nora’s phone vibrated.
A new photograph.
Her mother’s envelope.
This time opened.
Nora stared.
“Someone opened it.”
Another message arrived.
YOU HAVE THIRTY MINUTES.
Then an address.
Not the warehouse.
A marina four miles away.
Wesley immediately looked at the SUVs outside.
“They want us away from the house.”
Patrick shook his head.
“They want Nora.”
“Why?”
“Because whatever Elaine left behind may only make sense to her.”
Nora’s phone rang.
Mrs. Holloway.
Wesley put it on speaker.
Nora answered.
“Where is my mother’s letter?”
Margaret laughed softly.
The terrified hostage voice was gone.
“You always were quicker than people thought.”
Nora’s face hardened.
“You used me.”
“I gave you somewhere to live.”
“You threatened me.”
“I motivated you.”
“You knew my mother.”
“I loved your mother.”
Nora recoiled.
“Don't say that.”
“She was my closest friend.”
“Then why are you doing this?”
Silence.
When Margaret answered, the warmth disappeared.
“Because Elaine stole something from me.”
“The code.”
“Yes.”
“And you think she gave it to me.”
“I know she did.”
“I don't have it.”
“You do.”
Nora looked around helplessly.
“Where?”
Margaret laughed again.
“Ask yourself why your mother never let you throw away that ridiculous song.”
Nora froze.
Wesley looked at her.
“What song?”
She barely heard him.
Her mother used to sing one song constantly.
An old rock song.
Badly.
The same song Nora had been singing on the lawn when Wesley arrived.
She always got the lyrics wrong.
Because Elaine had taught them wrong.
Nora covered her mouth.
“The words.”
Patrick understood.
“The wrong lyrics were the code.”
Nora felt dizzy.
Margaret spoke through the phone.
“Come to the marina alone.”
“No.”
“Then the letter burns.”
Nora looked at Wesley.
Margaret continued.
“And so does the only evidence proving Wesley Rourke is innocent.”
The call ended.
Wesley immediately said, “You're not going alone.”
“She expects me.”
“She can expect disappointment.”
Patrick looked outside.
“The SUVs haven't moved.”
Marcus frowned.
“Which means they're not Margaret's.”
Everyone went silent.
Wesley turned toward the window.
Six black vehicles surrounded the property.
Their headlights remained on.
Doors closed.
Nobody approaching.
Waiting.
Caleb walked toward the front monitor.
“Maybe they're police.”
“No lights,” Wesley said.
“Federal?”
“No.”
Patrick looked uneasy.
“Then we have two groups.”
“One at the marina,” Nora said.
“And one here,” Wesley finished.
A bright flash appeared outside.
Then another.
Wesley recognized it instantly.
“Down!”
The front windows shattered.
Everyone hit the floor.
Bruno barked wildly.
Glass rained across the room.
A second burst struck the stone wall.
Caleb dragged Patrick behind the kitchen island.
Marcus crawled toward the hallway.
Wesley covered Nora with his body.
“Are you hit?”
“No.”
“Stay down.”
Smoke rolled past the broken windows.
Not gunfire.
Canisters.
Wesley smelled gasoline.
His head snapped up.
“They're not trying to shoot us.”
A bottle smashed against the porch.
Flames erupted.
Nora stared.
“They're burning the house.”
Wesley grabbed the ledger.
Declan shouted from the staircase.
“Underground passage!”
They moved.
Caleb pulled Patrick.
Marcus grabbed Bruno's collar.
Nora followed Wesley toward the hidden panel.
Then she stopped.
“My mother's letter.”
“Nora!”
“If the house burns, everything here burns.”
“We have the ledger.”
“Not the documents I moved.”
“Those are gone.”
“Not all of them.”
Wesley stared at her.
“What?”
“I made copies.”
“Where?”
“The boathouse.”
Flames climbed the curtains.
Smoke thickened.
Wesley cursed.
“We get out first.”
They entered the hidden passage.
Declan led them toward Room 214.
Behind the archive was another tunnel.
The temperature dropped as they moved beneath the property.
Patrick knew the route.
So did Declan.
Marcus stayed close to Nora.
That made Wesley uncomfortable.
At the end stood a wooden hatch.
Declan pushed.
It opened behind thick bushes near the shoreline.
They emerged one by one.
The lakehouse was burning.
Nora stared at it.
Three weeks ago, it had been nothing but shelter.
Now it held the answers to her mother’s death.
Wesley grabbed her hand.
“Move.”
They ran toward the trees.
Then Caleb stopped.
“Where’s my father?”
Everyone turned.
Patrick was gone.
Caleb looked back toward the tunnel.
“Dad!”
Nothing.
Wesley scanned the shoreline.
A figure moved near the dock.
Patrick.
Running.
Carrying the ledger.
“The bastard took it,” Marcus said.
Caleb sprinted after him.
“Dad!”
Patrick reached the dock.
A motorboat appeared from the darkness.
Someone stood at the wheel.
Patrick jumped aboard.
Nora stared.
The driver turned.
A woman.
Gray hair.
Dark coat.
Margaret Holloway.
Caleb stopped at the edge of the dock.
“Dad!”
Patrick looked back at his son.
For one terrible second, their eyes met.
Then Margaret accelerated.
The boat pulled away.
Caleb stood motionless.
Wesley reached the dock.
“He chose her.”
Caleb looked destroyed.
“No.”
“He took the ledger.”
“No.”
Marcus stared after the boat.
“Patrick has been working with Margaret.”
Declan whispered, “For how long?”
Nora's phone vibrated.
One final message.
Not from Margaret.
From Patrick.
She opened it.
DON'T BELIEVE WHAT YOU JUST SAW.
A second message followed.
I SWITCHED THE LEDGERS.
Wesley stared.
Patrick had given Margaret a fake.
“Where’s the real one?” Nora whispered.
A third message arrived.
Nora opened it.
Three words.
WITH YOUR MOTHER.
Her heart stopped.
“That’s impossible.”
Wesley looked at her.
“What?”
Before Nora could answer, headlights swept across the burning lawn.
A single car raced toward them.
It stopped near the dock.
The driver's door opened.
A woman stepped out.
Thin.
Older.
Weak.
But alive.
Nora dropped her phone.
She knew that face.
“Mom?”
The woman took one step toward her.
Then raised a shaking hand.
“Don't come closer.”
Nora froze.
Elaine Bell looked past her.
Straight at Marcus.
May you like
And whispered:
“He’s the one who killed me.”
