Chapter 4 - My Mother’s Eyes
The agreement was thirty-seven pages long.
I read it twice.
Then a third time.
Marcus sat across from me in my mother’s study.
“What does it mean?”
“It means my father was either an idiot or a traitor.”
“Could be both.”
I pointed to a section near the end.
Twenty-eight years earlier, my father and August Vandermark created a joint holding company.
Vale property.
Vandermark financing.
Pier access.
Warehouses.
Rail easements.
Land stretching along nearly two miles of river.
The agreement remained dormant while both families maintained separate control.
Unless one event occurred.
Marriage between a surviving Vale heir and a Vandermark descendant.
Marcus stared at me.
“Your wedding.”
“Yes.”
“And then?”
“The property consolidates.”
“Who controls it?”
I turned the page toward him.
“The Vandermark side receives operating authority for ten years.”
Marcus slowly sat back.
“That land is worth…”
“More than half a billion.”
“And you didn’t know?”
“My father buried it.”
“Why?”
I thought about Celeste’s words.
Ask your mother why she chose you.
My phone rang.
Hospital.
Delia was stable.
She wanted to return to the estate.
“No.”
That was my answer.
“She stays there.”
Then Delia herself took the phone.
“Your mother is in danger.”
“So are you.”
“She’s in more.”
“You were almost dragged into a basement.”
“And I’m telling you she is in more danger.”
“Why?”
Delia was silent.
“Why?”
“Because Celeste knows your mother can communicate.”
I looked toward Marcus.
“What are you talking about?”
“Bring me to her.”
An hour later, Delia arrived wearing hospital scrubs beneath a borrowed coat.
She refused the wheelchair someone offered at the entrance.
Stubborn.
Ewan always liked stubborn people.
We went directly to my mother’s room.
Eleanor Vale lay beneath a white blanket, gray hair brushed carefully away from her face.
She was seventy-one.
Her eyes followed me immediately.
Delia sat beside her.
“Mrs. Vale.”
My mother looked at her.
“Damian knows.”
A flicker.
Fear.
I stepped forward.
“Knows what?”
Delia pulled a laminated alphabet board from her bag.
I stared.
“What is that?”
“The way your mother talks.”
My stomach twisted.
“For how long?”
“Almost four years.”
I turned toward my mother.
“You could communicate?”
Her eyes filled.
I felt as if someone had struck me.
“Why didn’t anyone tell me?”
Delia answered.
“Because she told us not to.”
“Us?”
“Me. Her physical therapist. One doctor who died last year.”
“Why?”
Delia held up a finger.
“Watch.”
She positioned the board.
Rows.
Letters.
Yes.
No.
Common words.
Delia pointed.
“Blink once for yes.”
My mother blinked.
“Twice for no.”
Two blinks.
My knees nearly failed me.
Four years.
Four years of sitting beside her bed talking about weather, business, food, things I thought she could barely understand.
She had been there.
Listening.
Waiting.
“Mom.”
Her eyes moved to mine.
“Did you know Ewan survived the fire?”
One blink.
I looked down.
Marcus muttered something behind me.
“Is he alive now?”
My mother hesitated.
Then blinked once.
I closed my eyes.
My brother was alive.
Somewhere.
“Do you know where?”
Yes.
Delia moved to the alphabet board.
Slowly, painstakingly, my mother began spelling.
P.
I.
E.
R.
My pulse climbed.
Then:
L.
O.
W.
E.
R.
R.
O.
O.
M.
Pier 44.
Lower room.
Marcus pulled out his phone.
“I’ll get men moving.”
My mother’s eyes suddenly widened.
She blinked rapidly.
“Stop.”
Delia leaned closer.
“What is it?”
My mother looked toward Marcus.
Blinking.
Fast.
Desperate.
Delia moved over the board.
T.
R.
A.
C.
K.
E.
R.
I turned toward Marcus.
“What tracker?”
He froze.
Then reached into the pocket of Delia’s borrowed coat.
His fingers found something small sewn inside the lining.
A black electronic tag.
Delia went pale.
Celeste had planted it.
And if it was transmitting—
The lights went out.
May you like
A second later, the estate alarms began screaming.
Then came gunfire from the front gate.
