❤️ BECAUSE IT WAS YOU

Chapter 08 - The Dead Man on the Phone

Michael Carter sounded nothing like Andrew.

His voice was rougher, older, touched by the flattened vowels of someone who had spent years away from New York. He did not sound like a ghost, either.

Ghosts belonged to imagination.

Michael sounded inconveniently alive.

“First,” he said, “get Emma out of Ohio.”

Cindy stood beneath a restaurant awning while Lucas watched traffic in both directions.

“Andrew has people there.”

“That’s not enough.”

“Why?”

“Because Thomas knows Andrew’s security protocols. He helped build them.”

Cindy looked at Lucas.

Lucas nodded reluctantly.

“Where should she go?” Cindy asked.

“Somewhere Thomas won’t expect.”

“That narrows it down beautifully.”

To Cindy’s surprise, Michael laughed.

“You sound like Elaine.”

Her throat tightened.

“You knew her well?”

“Well enough to owe her my life.”

“Then tell me what happened.”

“Not on this phone.”

“Everyone keeps telling me later.”

“I imagine you’re tired of it.”

“You imagine correctly.”

Michael was quiet.

Then he said, “Your mother was the bravest person I ever knew, Cynthia. She was also terrified almost every day of the last year I knew her. Both things can be true.”

Cindy closed her eyes.

No one had spoken about Elaine as a whole person in years.

Relatives remembered recipes. Neighbors remembered her laugh. Her father had remembered almost nothing aloud after she died.

Brave and terrified.

Cindy understood that combination now.

“Where are you?”

“Maine.”

Lucas swore.

Michael heard him.

“Hello, Luke.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Your father did.”

“My father also thought polyester was acceptable formal wear.”

Another small laugh.

Cindy looked between the phone and Lucas.

“This is touching, but Thomas sent a man into my apartment yesterday.”

Michael became serious.

“I know.”

“How?”

“I’ve been watching Thomas.”

“For how long?”

“Thirty-six years.”

“That seems excessive.”

“You haven’t met him properly yet.”

Cindy glanced back toward the restaurant.

“I just did.”

Silence.

“You what?”

Lucas closed his eyes.

“She followed me.”

“You let her follow you?”

“I didn’t issue an invitation.”

Michael said something Cindy suspected was not intended for polite company.

Then his voice changed.

“Cynthia, do not be alone with Thomas again.”

“I wasn’t alone.”

“I mean it.”

“So did David.”

“What?”

“He kept telling me what was best for me too.”

Michael went silent.

Cindy hated herself a little for the comparison, but she was too tired to be managed by another Carter man, living or dead.

When Michael spoke again, his tone was gentler.

“You’re right.”

The answer disarmed her.

“I don’t get to order you around. But I can tell you what Thomas has done, and you can decide how close you want to stand.”

“Start talking.”

“Not until Andrew is there.”

Cindy stiffened.

“You don’t trust him.”

“I didn’t.”

“Past tense?”

“I’ve been watching him too.”

“Everyone watches everyone in this family.”

“That’s why we’re all so well adjusted.”

She almost smiled.

Michael gave them an address on the Maine coast and a time the following afternoon.

Then he said, “Bring Elaine’s letter. Do not bring the ledger.”

“Why?”

“Because the ledger is bait now.”

“For who?”

“Everyone.”

The call ended.

Cindy looked at Lucas.

“You’re taking me back to Andrew.”

“That was my plan before you became a private detective.”

“I want to tell him everything.”

Lucas shoved his hands into his coat pockets.

“That’s going to be a pleasant conversation.”

It was not.

Andrew was waiting in the penthouse when they arrived.

He stood beside the bar with his sleeves rolled to his elbows and a glass of whiskey he had not touched. The quiet in the room felt more dangerous than shouting.

His eyes went first to Cindy.

“You’re all right.”

It was not a question.

“Yes.”

Then he looked at Lucas.

“You left her.”

“She followed me.”

Andrew’s gaze sharpened.

“You left her?”

Cindy stepped between the conversation before it became something physical.

“I am not luggage.”

Andrew looked at her.

“No.”

“I chose to follow him.”

“That doesn’t make him less responsible.”

“It makes me responsible too.”

Andrew’s jaw moved.

He was trying.

Cindy could see it.

Finally he nodded.

“Fine.”

Lucas exhaled.

“Excellent. Personal growth. Can we discuss the dead brother now?”

Andrew’s head turned.

The glass in his hand stopped halfway to the counter.

“What did you say?”

Lucas looked at Cindy.

She understood why.

It was her truth now too.

“Michael called,” she said.

Andrew stared at her.

For once, no controlled mask arrived in time.

The hurt was immediate and almost boyish.

“My brother is alive.”

“Yes.”

Andrew set the glass down very carefully.

Cindy watched the friendship between the two men change in real time. Andrew and Lucas rarely spoke about loyalty because it had always seemed too obvious to require language. Lucas was the person Andrew trusted to stand behind him with a gun. Andrew was the person Lucas trusted with every ugly decision that followed.

A secret kept for seventeen years did not erase that history. It did, however, force both men to decide whether loyalty meant obedience, honesty, or sometimes refusing to give someone information that could get him killed. Cindy realized there might not be a clean answer.

“How long have you known?” he asked Lucas.

Lucas did not lie.

“Since I was nineteen.”

Andrew crossed the room.

Cindy moved, but Lucas raised one hand.

“It’s fine.”

Andrew stopped inches from him.

“Seventeen years.”

“Yes.”

“You stood beside me at his grave every year.”

“Yes.”

“You watched my mother forget his face.”

Lucas’s expression tightened.

“I kept a promise to him and to my father.”

“What about your promise to me?”

The question was quiet.

Lucas flinched.

Cindy had never imagined Lucas could be made to look ashamed.

“He believed knowing would put you in danger,” Lucas said.

“I was already in danger.”

“I know.”

“You should have told me.”

“Yes.”

Andrew turned away.

He walked to the windows and stood with his back to them. For years, Lucas had been the one man Andrew never checked. He did not review Lucas’s calls, question his travel, or ask for proof when Lucas said a problem was handled. In Andrew’s world, that kind of trust was rarer than affection.

‘Did he ask about me?’ Andrew said.

Lucas looked at him. ‘Michael?’

‘Over the years.’

‘Yes.’

Andrew’s shoulders tightened. ‘What did you tell him?’

‘The truth when I could. That you were alive. That you were becoming more like William in some ways and less in others.’

Andrew gave a short, humorless laugh. ‘Comforting.’

‘He worried about you.’

‘From a safe distance.’

Lucas had no answer to that.

He was furious.

But anger was not the only thing holding him upright.

Cindy recognized the posture.

He was furious.

But anger was not the only thing holding him upright.

“He wants to meet tomorrow,” she said.

Andrew did not turn.

“Where?”

“Maine.”

A humorless laugh escaped him.

“Of course.”

“You don’t have to go.”

Now he looked at her.

“My brother has been dead for thirty-six years.”

“He’s been hiding.”

“To me, Cindy, he has been dead.”

She let the distinction stand.

Andrew picked up the gray file from his desk—the one on her—and placed it in the fireplace.

Cindy watched the edges catch flame.

“What are you doing?”

“Correcting something I can correct.”

“You have digital copies.”

“I ordered them destroyed.”

She studied him.

“Because I was angry?”

“Because you were right.”

The answer sat between them.

Not absolution.

But movement.

At midnight, Andrew arranged a jet to Portland and a car north. Emma was quietly moved from her house to a secure location outside Columbus, but Cindy did not tell her why yet.

She was packing a small overnight bag when Andrew appeared in the guest-room doorway.

“Can I come in?”

The question surprised her.

“You own the room.”

“That isn’t what I asked.”

Cindy nodded.

Andrew entered but stayed near the door.

“I did not hire you because of your mother.”

She stopped folding a sweater.

“Thomas said—”

“I saw your last name on the application. It meant nothing to me.”

“When did it mean something?”