Chapter 6 - The Ghost in Harbor StreetShe knew things only my mother could know
A woman stepped from the hallway.
She looked older.
Thinner.
Her hair was streaked with gray.
But I knew her.
Before she said my name, I knew her.
“Mom?”
She started crying.
I did too.
I ran toward her.
Maxwell caught my arm.
“Wait.”
The woman stopped.
“Martha.”
“You know my childhood nickname?”
“Yes.”
“What was it?”
She swallowed.
“Sunny.”
My heart broke.
Only one person called me that.
I stepped forward.
Maxwell lowered his weapon.
I embraced her.
She held me so tightly it hurt.
“My baby.”
“You're alive.”
“Yes.”
“You've been alive for fourteen years.”
She pulled back.
“I couldn't come back.”
“Why?”
Her eyes moved to Maxwell.
“Because of him.”
Maxwell didn't react.
My mother looked at me.
“Not because he wanted me dead.”
“Then why?”
“Because he was the only reason I survived.”
I looked between them.
She continued.
“Richard Rourke wanted me dead.”
Maxwell's face hardened.
“He found out I had copied his records.”
“What records?”
“Names. Payments. Shipments.”
“Human trafficking.”
She nodded.
“Children.”
My stomach turned.
I looked away.
“How did you survive the fire?”
“Maxwell found me.”
“You said he was the reason you disappeared.”
“I said that because I had to.”
“Why?”
“Someone was listening.”
She looked toward the ceiling.
Maxwell understood immediately.
“We're leaving.”
My mother grabbed my hand.
“No.”
“What?”
“He needs to know.”
“Know what?”
She looked at Maxwell.
“You're running out of time.”
His face tightened.
“How long?”
“Three days.”
I stared.
“What happens in three days?”
“Richard comes home.”
“But he died.”
My mother shook her head.
“His death was staged.”
Maxwell took a step back.
“Impossible.”
“I saw him.”
“Where?”
“Rotterdam.”
“When?”
“Two weeks ago.”
Maxwell looked furious.
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“Because I wasn't sure who was following me.”
My mother reached into her coat.
She handed him a photograph.
A man in a black suit stood outside a port.
Even from a distance, the resemblance was undeniable.
Richard Rourke.
Alive.
Maxwell stared at the picture.
Then he sat down.
Not because he couldn't walk.
Because for the first time, his legs seemed unable to hold him.
I crouched beside him.
“What does he want?”
My mother answered.
“Martha.”
I looked at her.
“He wants you.”
“Why?”
“Because you inherited something.”
“What?”
“A ledger.”
“What ledger?”
She touched the silver necklace around my neck.
I looked down.
The necklace had belonged to my mother.
“It has a key inside.”
My fingers froze.
“A key to what?”
“A vault.”
“Where?”
“Under the old Rourke shipping terminal.”
Maxwell stood.
“We have to move.”
A gunshot cracked through the window.
Glass exploded inward.
My mother dropped.
“Mom!”
Maxwell dragged us behind the wall.
Another bullet.
Then another.
He looked at me.
“Get her out.”
“Where?”
“Basement.”
We ran.
My mother stumbled.
I supported her.
Maxwell returned fire through the doorway.
A man shouted outside.
“Rourke!”
Maxwell answered with two shots.
We reached the basement.
There was nowhere to hide.
Then my mother pulled open a wooden cabinet.
Behind it was a tunnel.
She looked at me.
“I built this.”
“You knew we'd need it?”
“I built it fourteen years ago.”
We entered.
Maxwell followed.
The tunnel ended at a small underground garage.
A black sedan waited there.
Keys in the ignition.
I looked at my mother.
“You planned this.”
“No.”
She stared at Maxwell.
“He did.”
I turned.
Maxwell shook his head.
“I've never seen this car.”
My mother whispered:
“Then we have a bigger problem.”
A phone inside the car began ringing.
Maxwell approached it.
The screen showed one name.
DAD.
He didn't touch it.
It rang again.
Then a voice came through the car speakers.
Richard Rourke.
“Maxwell.”
Maxwell stared ahead.
“You should have stayed in the wheelchair.”
The call ended.
My mother gripped my hand.
And then the garage doors began opening.
May you like
A convoy of black SUVs waited outside.
We were surrounded.
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