Marco’s gaze found mine.
The answer came.
I knew it before he spoke.
“Yes.”
He ended the call several minutes later.
For once, I didn’t ask immediately.
Marco stood alone in the corridor, staring at nothing.
I waited.
Finally, he walked toward me.
“Gabriel didn’t die.”
“I gathered.”
“My mother sent him away.”
“Why?”
“She says she was told he was in danger.”
“By my father?”
“Yes.”
The hospital seemed to grow colder.
“Why would my father know anything about your brother?”
“Because Gabriel worked for him.”
I frowned.
“He was fourteen.”
“Not officially.”
“What does that mean?”
Marco leaned against the wall.
“My mother cleaned offices at Mercer Shipping.”
I knew that.
It was how my father met Marco.
Years later, when Marco left the military, my father had hired him into security.
I’d always assumed it was loyalty to an old employee’s son.
“Gabriel used to wait for her after school,” Marco continued. “He fixed computers.”
“In the eighties?”
“Basic systems. Terminals. Early databases. Apparently, your father noticed.”
I pictured Samuel Mercer.
He noticed everything.
“Gabriel started helping with inventory records,” Marco said. “At first, little things. Then more.”
“Why?”
“Because he was talented.”
“No. Why was my father using a child?”
Marco looked at me.
“Maybe because adults asked questions.”
I didn’t like that answer.
“Your mother said he was in danger.”
“She said someone discovered Gabriel had been copying records.”
“What records?”
“She doesn’t know.”
“Where did he go?”
“She doesn’t know that either.”
“Marco.”
“I’m telling you what she said.”
His frustration flashed.
Not at me.
At thirty-two years of silence.
“One day, Samuel came to our apartment,” he continued. “He told my mother Gabriel had seen something he wasn’t supposed to see.”
“What?”
“She says my father would never tell her.”
I flinched at the phrase.
My father.
Marco did not appear to notice.
“Samuel gave her money. Papers. An address.”
“Where?”
“Montreal.”
“Gabriel went to Canada?”
“Maybe.”
“What do you mean, maybe?”
“My mother says she put him on a bus.”
“Alone?”
“He was fourteen.”
The disbelief in my voice made Marco look at me sharply.
Then I remembered the era.
The fear.
The people involved.
And I stopped judging a frightened woman who had believed Samuel Mercer could protect her son.
“She received one letter,” Marco said. “About six months later.”
“From Gabriel?”
“Yes.”
“What did it say?”
“That he was safe.”
“And after that?”
“Nothing.”
“Thirty-two years?”
Marco nodded.
I looked toward Elena’s room.
“Until tonight.”
“Until tonight.”
My phone rang.
Daniel.
For half a second, neither of us moved.
Then I answered.
“Where is Mother?”
No greeting.
No accusation.
My brother gave a tired sigh.
“Hello to you too, Luke.”
“Where is she?”
“Safe.”
“Put her on.”
“I can’t.”
“Why?”
“Because she’s angry with me.”
I stared at Marco.
“Daniel, you have ten seconds to explain what is happening.”
“No.”
The answer stopped me.
My brother had spent his entire life smoothing my rough edges.
He did not say no.
Not like that.
“No?” I repeated.
“I’m done reacting to your deadlines.”
His voice sounded exhausted.
“You want answers? Then listen.”
I said nothing.
“Mother went to Elena’s apartment because I told her the file might be there.”
“Why would it be?”
“Because I left it.”
Elena’s letter returned to me.
Daniel’s tablet.
The editable messages.
The mysterious clinic.
“You were in Elena’s apartment.”
“Yes.”
“You lied to her.”
“Yes.”
“You told her I knew about the baby.”
Daniel’s silence hardened something inside me.
“Answer me.”
“Yes.”
My grip tightened around the phone.
Marco stepped closer.
I turned slightly away.
“Why?”
“Because I needed her away from you.”
I almost laughed.
“Interesting. I had the same idea.”
“That’s the problem, Luke. You didn’t know why you were doing it.”
The words landed strangely.
“What does that mean?”
“You received a threat.”
I froze.
Daniel continued.
“Photographs. A deadline. A warning about the Hudson depot.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because I received the same message.”
The corridor narrowed around me.
“When?”
“Three days before you did.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I tried.”
“No, you didn’t.”
“I came to your office.”
I remembered.
A Tuesday afternoon.
