Chapter 8 - The Number on Her WristThe enemy was inside the walls
Maxwell kicked open the motel room door.
The neighboring room was empty.
No one.
He checked the bathroom.
Then the closet.
Nothing.
My mother was shaking.
“Martha.”
“What?”
“Don't touch the window.”
I stepped back.
She looked at the blood on her wrist.
“The tattoo.”
“0417?”
“Yes.”
“What does it mean?”
“The date you were supposed to die.”
I stared at her.
“What?”
“April 17.”
My blood turned cold.
“Why would that be my death date?”
“Because Richard needed you gone.”
“Then why am I alive?”
“Because Maxwell refused.”
I turned toward him.
He looked away.
“How did you save me?”
He didn't answer.
My mother did.
“He took you from the house.”
“When?”
“The night of the fire.”
“Where did you take me?”
“A hospital.”
“Then what?”
“He stayed outside your room for three days.”
I looked at Maxwell.
“You were there?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because your mother asked me to.”
I shook my head.
“That doesn't explain anything.”
He looked at me.
“Your mother saved my life first.”
“How?”
“She stopped my father from killing me.”
My mother sighed.
“Richard suspected Maxwell had turned against him.”
“Because of the children?”
“Yes.”
“What did Maxwell do?”
“He sabotaged a shipment.”
“And you?”
“I gave him the records.”
Suddenly headlights appeared outside.
Maxwell froze.
“Get your coat.”
We left through the back.
A truck waited in an alley.
A man waved.
Maxwell raised his weapon.
The man shouted:
“Samuel Price!”
I recognized the name.
My mother's lawyer.
We climbed into the truck.
Samuel drove.
“Where are we going?”
“Somewhere Richard doesn't know about.”
Maxwell sat beside me.
“You trust him?”
“No.”
Samuel laughed.
“Good.”
We drove for an hour.
Then stopped at an old church.
Underground, Samuel opened a steel vault.
Inside were boxes of documents.
Photographs.
Bank records.
Shipping manifests.
And one enormous ledger.
I knew immediately.
“That’s it.”
Samuel nodded.
“The original.”
My hands trembled.
“Why did you hide it here?”
“Because no one looks beneath a church.”
Maxwell opened the ledger.
Names filled the pages.
Politicians.
Police commanders.
Judges.
Shipping executives.
Foreign brokers.
Then he reached one page.
His expression changed.
“What?”
He showed me.
Under a heading dated fourteen years ago was my name.
Martha Kovak.
Beside it:
TRANSFERRED TO ROURKE MEDICAL PROGRAM.
I stared.
“I wasn't kidnapped.”
My mother shook her head.
“You were.”
“By whom?”
Samuel's face went pale.
He turned the page.
There was another name.
MAXWELL ROURKE.
Status: DECEASED.
I looked up.
“What?”
Samuel whispered:
“This ledger says Maxwell died fourteen years ago.”
Maxwell went completely still.
“That isn't possible.”
Samuel looked at him.
“Then who have we been protecting?”
No one spoke.
A slow clap came from behind us.
We turned.
Victor Dane stood at the bottom of the stairs.
Alone.
Smiling.
“You finally found it.”
Maxwell raised his gun.
Victor shook his head.
“You won't shoot me.”
“Try me.”
Victor looked at me.
“You should ask your mother what happened to the real Maxwell.”
My mother began crying.
I stared at her.
“What is he talking about?”
She looked at Maxwell.
Then at me.
And finally whispered:
“Your father was not Richard Rourke.”
Maxwell's expression hardened.
“Don't.”
She continued.
“The real Maxwell was his first son.”
Victor smiled.
“And this man?”
He pointed at Maxwell.
“He was never supposed to exist.”
Victor stepped closer.
“He is Richard Rourke's hidden son.”
Then he looked at me.
“And your mother is the only person who knew why.”
May you like
A gunshot exploded.
Samuel dropped.
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