Chapter 6 - THE DEAD MAN WHO WASN’T DEAD
Andrew read the message three times.
Then he looked at Brenda.
“What does this mean?”
She shook her head.
“I don’t know.”
He stepped closer.
“Who sent it?”
“I don’t know.”
The number was blocked.
Daniel took the phone.
“We can trace the routing if you authorize access.”
Brenda grabbed for it.
“No.”
Every person in the room looked at her.
Her panic answered the question.
I walked toward her.
“You know where Charles is.”
She stared at me.
“No.”
“You knew he was alive.”
“No.”
“You received money from the forged loan.”
“I told you that was consulting money.”
“And now someone is warning you about my husband’s dead father.”
Brenda’s eyes filled with tears.
For once, they didn’t look fake.
“I never met him.”
“Who?”
“Charles.”
Andrew grabbed her wrist.
“Then why did someone send you this?”
She ripped free.
“Because your mother gave them my number.”
Andrew turned toward Margaret.
Margaret closed her eyes.
The room felt smaller.
“Mom.”
She said nothing.
“Is Dad alive?”
Margaret’s shoulders dropped.
Then she sat down.
“Yes.”
Andrew stopped breathing.
I had seen him furious.
Arrogant.
Cruel.
Terrified.
I had never seen him look like a child.
“My father is alive?”
Margaret looked at him.
“He had to disappear.”
“You told me he died in Zurich.”
“He nearly did.”
“You held a funeral.”
“It was necessary.”
Andrew laughed in disbelief.
“We buried a coffin.”
“It was empty.”
Andrew stumbled backward.
I hated what he had done to me.
But watching a man discover that his mother had lied about his father’s death for five years was still painful.
He turned away.
“Where is he?”
Margaret stared at my father.
“If I tell you, Gabriel will destroy him.”
My father’s voice was cold.
“Charles destroyed himself.”
I stepped between them.
“This is not about revenge.”
“It is about the truth.”
Margaret gave me a disgusted look.
“You sound just like Elena.”
I ignored the insult.
“Where is Charles?”
She looked at Andrew.
“I protected him for you.”
Andrew’s voice broke.
“Where is my father?”
Margaret finally answered.
“Argentina.”
Daniel immediately began typing.
“What name?”
Margaret hesitated.
“Charles Ward.”
My father turned toward an investigator.
“Run it.”
Minutes later, confirmation came.
Charles Ward.
Seventy-one.
Private property outside Mendoza.
Multiple transfers from shell companies connected to WMR Development.
Andrew looked sick.
“My company was sending him money?”
Margaret corrected him.
“Our family was keeping him alive.”
“With stolen money?”
I asked.
Margaret glared at me.
“You have no idea what your mother did.”
That sentence landed harder than the accusation.
My father stepped toward her.
“Be very careful.”
Margaret smiled.
“There it is.”
“The great Gabriel Escalante protecting the sainted Elena.”
I turned toward him.
“What is she talking about?”
My father said nothing.
Margaret did.
“Elena found Charles stealing.”
“That part is true.”
“But she didn’t report him.”
My father’s face changed.
“Stop.”
Margaret continued.
“She blackmailed him.”
“Stop.”
“She forced him to transfer assets.”
My father shouted.
“That is enough.”
The room went silent.
I had never heard my father shout like that.
I stared at him.
“Is it true?”
He slowly looked at me.
“Not the way she says.”
“What way, then?”
Before he could answer, Daniel’s laptop chimed.
He frowned.
“We found Charles.”
A live security feed from a private airport appeared.
An elderly man was walking toward a jet.
The image was grainy.
But Andrew recognized him instantly.
“Dad.”
Charles was alive.
And he was running.
My father looked at the departure information.
“He’s headed to New York.”
Daniel shook his head.
“No.”
“He changed the flight plan eight minutes ago.”
I leaned closer.
“Where?”
Daniel’s face tightened.
“Here.”
May you like
Charles Whitmore wasn’t running away from us.
He was coming directly toward us.
