Chapter 3 - The Brother Who Was Supposed to Be DeadI stared at the stranger beneath the red clock.
He looked nothing like me.
That was my first irrational thought.
He was taller than Cole, leaner than Travis, with dark hair cut close to his head and the kind of face that looked older than his years.
A scar ran from his left temple to his jaw.
His right hand rested near the gun beneath his coat.
But his eyes were familiar.
Gray-green.
My father’s eyes.
“No.”
The word left my mouth before I could stop it.
The man didn’t move.
“Nora.”
“Don’t call me that.”
Cole stepped between us.
“Michael.”
So Cole knew him.
Of course he did.
I laughed, but there was no humor in it.
“You knew he was alive.”
Cole’s silence answered.
I slapped him.
Hard.
The sound echoed through the abandoned gym.
Travis looked at the floor.
Cole took the hit without moving.
“You let me think my brother didn’t exist.”
“I thought he was dead until eighteen months ago.”
“Eighteen months?”
Michael finally stepped forward.
“I told him not to contact you.”
I turned on him.
“You don’t get a vote.”
“No.”
His expression barely changed.
“I gave that up a long time ago.”
Something in his voice broke through my anger.
Pain.
Real pain.
I hated him for making me hear it.
“Prove it.”
Michael reached beneath his shirt and pulled out a chain.
A small brass boxing glove hung from it.
My father had given me one exactly like it when I turned thirteen.
Mine was inside my jewelry box.
On the back of Michael’s were two scratched initials.
M.B.
My knees almost weakened.
“My mother never told me.”
“She was trying to keep you alive.”
“My mother died four years ago.”
Michael’s face changed.
He looked away.
“I know.”
“You knew?”
“I watched the funeral from across the street.”
I hit him too.
He accepted it the same way Cole had.
That made me even angrier.
“You watched me bury her alone?”
“If Raymond had seen me—”
“Stop saying Raymond like it explains everything.”
Michael looked at Cole.
“Did you tell her about the fights?”
“Not yet.”
“Tell me now.”
Nobody moved.
I picked up my father’s cassette recorder and slammed it onto the bench.
“Everybody keeps deciding what I can handle. That ends tonight.”
Travis sat on the edge of the ring.
“Your father discovered Raymond was using private fights to launder money.”
I frowned.
“Boxing?”
“Not boxing,” Cole said. “Betting.”
Travis continued.
“The fighters were disposable. Raymond owned promoters, security, doctors, judges. Men placed bets through offshore accounts. Dirty money went in. Clean winnings came out.”
“And my father?”
“He trained people,” Cole said. “Some of the best.”
“Like you.”
He nodded.
“Like Travis. Like Michael.”
I looked at my brother.
“You fought for Raymond?”
“I fought to get close to him.”
“Why?”
“Because Dad asked me to.”
That hurt more than I expected.
My father had trusted him with something I knew nothing about.
Michael saw it on my face.
“You were seventeen.”
“I was old enough to know my own family.”
“You were his daughter.”
“And you weren’t his son?”
Michael flinched.
Finally.
The cold man cracked.
“He was trying to save one of us.”
Silence filled the gym.
Cole walked toward the old red clock.
“Six years ago, Thomas gathered evidence against Raymond. Ledgers. recordings. names.”
I looked at the duffel.
“This?”
“Part of it.”
“He planned to give everything to the FBI,” Michael said. “Raymond found out.”
I swallowed.
“What happened that night?”
Michael stared at the frozen clock.
“I was here.”
Cole joined him.
“So was I.”
Travis nodded.
“Me too.”
Three boys.
My father’s note.
I held the cassette recorder.
“And him?”
Michael’s voice dropped.
“Your father walked into this gym knowing Raymond had ordered all three of us killed.”
My skin went cold.
“Why?”
“We knew too much,” Travis said.
“He locked us in the basement,” Michael continued. “Told Raymond’s men the building was empty.”
Cole’s jaw tightened.
“They beat him for almost an hour.”
I couldn’t breathe.
“No.”
Michael looked at me.
“We heard everything.”
The old gym disappeared.
For a moment, I was seventeen again.
Standing in our kitchen.
My mother answering the phone.
Her face turning white.
Telling me Dad had been in an accident.
“He didn’t die in an accident.”
“No,” Michael said.
Cole’s hands curled.
“He refused to tell them where we were.”
“Then what?”
“Raymond arrived,” Travis said.
I looked at the red clock.
Michael’s voice became distant.
“Dad escaped long enough to reach the basement door. He let us out. Told us to run.”
“Did you?”
“Cole and Travis did.”
Cole looked ashamed.
“He ordered us to.”
“What about you?”
Michael touched the scar across his face.
“I stayed.”
Of course.
“You saw Raymond kill him.”
Michael nodded.
The room tilted.
I grabbed the bench.
“With what?”
“A gun.”
The shot.
My childhood suddenly had a sound.
Michael continued.
“Dad fell beneath the clock. Raymond saw me. I ran. One of his men caught me outside.”
His finger traced the scar.
“I woke up two days later in a motel three states away.”
“Why didn’t they kill you?”
“Raymond changed his mind.”
Cole answered for him.
“He used Michael.”
“For what?”
“To control Thomas’s evidence.”
I stared.
Michael walked to the duffel.
“This is incomplete.”
He pulled out one ledger.
“Dad created three copies. Raymond believed I knew where they were.”
“Did you?”
“Yes.”
“You could have gone to the police.”
“Raymond owned some of them.”
“Federal agents?”
“We didn’t know who we could trust.”
I looked at Cole.
“So you became him instead.”
His face hardened.
“That’s what you think?”
“You run illegal fights.”
“I took over the network.”
“Same thing.”
“No.”
He stepped closer.
“I kept Raymond from controlling it.”
I laughed.
“You expect me to believe you became a criminal for charity?”
“No. I expect you to believe people are complicated.”
Travis stood.
“Cole used the fights to track Raymond’s money.”
“Then why humiliate me?”
Cole looked directly at me.
“I didn’t know who you were.”
“You knew my name.”
“Nora Bennett isn’t rare.”
“My scar changed everything.”
“Yes.”
“What is it?”
Michael stepped closer.
“When you were nine, Dad’s gym caught fire.”
I remembered.
A small fire in the storage room.
My father carrying me outside.
My wrist cut by broken glass.
“That scar?”
“It came from a window.”
“So?”
Cole pulled up his sleeve.
A matching scar crossed his forearm.
Travis did the same.
Michael’s scar was partially hidden beneath his watch.
I stared.
“How?”
“Dad made us crawl through that same broken window,” Cole said.
“When?”
“The night Raymond first tried to burn the gym.”
My mouth went dry.
“You were there?”
“You were unconscious from smoke,” Michael said. “Dad passed you through the window to Cole.”
I looked at him.
Cole.
The arrogant man who had threatened me with Travis had carried me out of a burning building when I was nine.
“I remembered the scar,” Cole said. “Not your face.”
I didn’t know what to do with that.
So I changed the subject.
“Patrick.”
Michael’s expression darkened.
“He worked for Dad.”
“As what?”
“Accountant.”
Of course.
My manager had always been better with numbers than people.
“He helped create the ledgers,” Michael said. “After Dad died, he disappeared inside Raymond’s organization.”
“He works at a restaurant.”
Cole shook his head.
“He works at my restaurant.”
The meaning hit me.
“You knew Patrick?”
“I knew him as Patrick Ellis. Not Patrick Bennett’s accountant.”
“Why would he put me in that room tonight?”
Michael looked toward the duffel.
“Because he knew somebody was watching you.”
“Who?”
“Raymond.”
My phone vibrated.
Every man in the room froze.
Blocked number.
Cole stepped forward.
“Don’t answer.”
I answered.
“Hello?”
A familiar voice laughed softly.
Older.
Smooth.
“Your father always said you were stubborn.”
Michael turned pale.
Raymond.
I put the call on speaker.
“You shot Patrick.”
“I did no such thing.”
“Then who?”
“A correction was attempted.”
Cole’s face became stone.
“Uncle.”
Raymond laughed.
“Cole. Still pretending you’re not exactly like me?”
“You ordered the warehouse hit.”
“I ordered a warning.”
“To who?”
“To all of you.”
I gripped the phone.
“What do you want?”
“You have something that belongs to me.”
“The ledgers?”
“Your father stole those.”
“My father died because of them.”
“Your father died because he confused courage with intelligence.”
Michael stepped forward.
“I’ll kill you.”
Raymond chuckled.
“My missing dog finally learned to bark.”
Michael’s hand shook.
I reached for it before I realized what I was doing.
My brother looked down at our hands.
Raymond continued.
“Bring the bag to Pier Seventeen tomorrow at midnight.”
“No.”
“Nora.”
His voice changed.
No longer amused.
“You might want to reconsider.”
A message appeared on my phone.
Photograph.
Patrick unconscious in a hospital bed.
A nurse beside him.
A red circle around her face.
Then another image.
My apartment.
Taken from across the street.
Then a third.
My mother’s grave.
My stomach dropped.
“He can reach everyone,” Michael whispered.
Raymond spoke again.
“Midnight. Pier Seventeen. Bring the ledgers.”
The call ended.
Cole immediately took the phone.
“We’re not going.”
I looked at my father’s letter.
Trust the boys I trained.
Especially Cole.
“You’re right.”
Cole blinked.
“I am?”
“We’re not bringing him the ledgers.”
Travis smiled slowly.
Michael looked at me.
“What are you thinking?”
I picked up the cassette recorder.
“My father spent six years dead because everybody played Raymond’s game.”
I pressed PLAY.
Static filled the room.
Then my father’s voice came through the tiny speaker.
If you’re hearing this, Raymond has already won once.
Don’t let him win twice.
Cole closed his eyes.
I looked at the three men my father had trained.
“We’re going to Pier Seventeen.”
Cole opened his eyes.
“But we’re not going to negotiate.”
May you like
For the first time all night, Michael smiled.
It looked exactly like my father’s.
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