Chapter 8
“Why Ethan?”
Malcolm didn't answer.
Ryan did.
“Continuity.”
I turned.
He looked ashamed.
Not enough.
“What does that mean?”
Ryan stared at the floor.
Claire laughed.
“Say it.”
He looked at her.
She smiled.
“You wanted to be boss. Use the vocabulary.”
Ryan's jaw tightened.
Then he looked at me.
“The men wouldn't support a permanent break from your line.”
“My line?”
“You.”
“And?”
“Ethan.”
There.
My son as legitimacy.
Not a child.
A symbol.
I felt sick.
Claire crossed her arms.
“Old men love bloodlines.”
I stared.
“You knew.”
“Of course.”
“And you were willing to use him.”
She shrugged.
“He would be safe.”
There it was.
Safe.
The favorite word of people planning to control a child.
I stepped closer.
“With who?”
“Family.”
“Which?”
She smiled.
“Does it matter?”
“Yes.”
Claire rolled her eyes.
“God, you're exhausting.”
Ryan muttered:
“Stop.”
She ignored him.
“You want every room, every meal, every bedtime explained like Ethan is some national emergency.”
I stared.
“He is my son.”
“Exactly.”
Her face twisted.
“You don't see how pathetic you've become.”
A capo near the wall shifted uncomfortably.
Claire noticed.
Then went further.
“Do you know how many meetings ended because Emily needed to call home?”
I said:
“Enough.”
“No.”
She smiled.
“Let's tell them.”
I stared.
“She left a sit-down because Ethan had a stomachache.”
“He was hospitalized that night.”
“He wasn't when you left.”
“I knew my child.”
Claire laughed.
“And you expect men to follow that?”
Frank spoke quietly.
“Yes.”
Claire turned.
“What?”
The older capo looked at her.
“My son died at twenty-two.”
Silence.
Claire's face changed.
Frank continued.
“I missed his last call because I thought the meeting mattered.”
Nobody moved.
He looked at me.
“If Emily leaves for her child, that's not why I oppose her.”
Claire had no answer.
Good.
Malcolm finally spoke.
“This isn't about parenting.”
I turned.
“What is it about?”
“Stability.”
“Meaning Victor.”
“Meaning someone who understands the organization is bigger than one person.”
I almost laughed.
“You cut one person's brakes.”
“I didn't.”
“Then say who did.”
He stayed silent.
I held up the phone.
“Ryan?”
My husband looked at Malcolm.
Then me.
“Gavin.”
“Who ordered Gavin?”
Ryan said nothing.
Claire looked at Malcolm.
Malcolm looked at Ryan.
Triangle.
Good.
I waited.
Silence becomes pressure when nobody knows who will crack first.
Ryan finally said:
“Malcolm introduced us.”
Malcolm's jaw clenched.
Claire added:
“And gave Gavin access to the SUV.”
Malcolm snapped:
“You both approved it.”
There.
Confession without intending one.
Every capo heard.
Malcolm realized.
Too late.
I smiled faintly.
“So all three.”
He stared at me.
“Not the same.”
“No?”
“I wanted you removed.”
Ryan laughed.
Claire smiled.
Malcolm continued:
“Not dead.”
I stared.
“Brake lines are a strange retirement plan.”
A few capos almost smiled.
Malcolm's face hardened.
“I wanted a controlled accident.”
Silence.
Even Ryan looked at him.
I stepped closer.
“What is a controlled accident?”
He said nothing.
Claire answered.
“Enough injury to keep her out six months.”
I stared.
She shrugged.
“Broken legs. Maybe spine.”
Ryan whispered:
“Claire.”
She looked at him.
“What?”
Then at me.
“She asked.”
I felt cold.
Not because of the brutality.
Because of how ordinary Claire made it sound.
Six months.
Broken legs.
Temporary problem.
I asked Malcolm:
“Who changed that to the bridge?”
He looked at Ryan.
Ryan stared back.
There.
Answer.
Ryan wanted me dead.
Malcolm wanted me disabled.
Claire wanted whatever cleared the way.
And Gavin physically did it.
Four layers.
Then Nathan entered quickly.
“Emily.”
I turned.
He held a small envelope.
“What?”
“Ethan gave me this.”
My chest tightened.
“He said he found it under Ryan's jacket.”
Ryan went pale.
Nathan handed it to me.
Inside was a black metal token.
Carter crest.
One number engraved.
Malcolm's face changed.
Frank whispered:
“Room fourteen.”
I looked at him.
“What is room fourteen?”
Nobody answered.
Malcolm did.
Eventually.
“The old recovery suite.”
My stomach turned.
The hospital had an unused secure floor below us.
Built for family members who needed privacy.
Isolation.
Control.
I looked at Ryan.
He wouldn't meet my eyes.
“Who was room fourteen prepared for?”
Claire laughed nervously.
Then stopped when nobody joined her.
May you like
I already knew.
Me.
