Chapter 2 - The Son Who Returned After Twenty Years of SilenceThe next morning, my phone rang before sunrise.
“Emma Carter?”
“Yes?”
“This is Nathaniel Whitmore.”
I sat upright.
“Mr. Whitmore?”
“Please call me Nathaniel.”
I looked at the clock.
5:42 a.m.
“You're calling very early.”
“My mother couldn't sleep.”
I smiled.
“Is she okay?”
“She kept talking about the chocolate tart.”
I laughed.
“She liked it.”
“She loved it.”
There was a pause.
“She also told me you risked your job for her.”
“I did my job.”
“My mother disagrees.”
I didn't know what to say.
Then he said:
“I'd like to offer you another job.”
My stomach tightened.
“What kind?”
“My personal hospitality office.”
“I don't understand.”
“I own several restaurants.”
“I know.”
“One of them needs someone who understands that guests aren't bank accounts.”
I smiled.
“That sounds suspiciously like a compliment.”
“It is.”
I thought about my mother.
Her medical bills.
My rent.
My bank balance.
“When would I start?”
“Tomorrow.”
I laughed.
“That's not much notice.”
“I don't believe in unnecessary waiting.”
That was how I became Nathaniel Whitmore's private hospitality director.
The salary was triple my old one.
Benefits included.
My mother's treatment was covered.
I thought I had won the lottery.
Then I discovered Nathaniel wasn't hiring me because of charity.
He was investigating something.
The first week passed normally.
Then Rose called me.
“Emma?”
“Yes?”
“I need a favor.”
“Anything.”
“Come to my house.”
I visited the Whitmore estate that afternoon.
It was enormous.
Beautiful.
Cold.
Rose greeted me herself.
No staff.
No diamonds.
No performance.
Just an older woman in a cardigan.
“I wanted to show you something.”
She led me upstairs.
Into a private bedroom.
She opened a drawer.
Inside was an old envelope.
“What's this?”
“Your employer's father gave it to me.”
I frowned.
“Why?”
“I don't know.”
“What does it say?”
Rose looked nervous.
“That's why I asked you here.”
Inside was an old photograph.
Nathaniel as a teenager.
His younger brother Julian.
Their father.
And a woman I didn't recognize.
On the back:
MAISON GREER — PRIVATE ACCOUNT
I stared.
“What is this?”
Rose sat.
“My husband died twenty-five years ago.”
“I know.”
“Everyone believes his business empire came from shipping.”
“Yes.”
“It didn't.”
I looked at her.
“It began here.”
At Maison Greer.
I didn't understand.
“My husband used the restaurant to meet people.”
“Business?”
“Sometimes.”
“Politics?”
“Sometimes.”
“And?”
Rose lowered her voice.
“People who shouldn't have known each other.”
I stared at the photograph.
“Criminals?”
She nodded.
“But I never knew details.”
“Then why show me?”
“Because I remember one night.”
“What night?”
“The night Nathaniel's younger brother disappeared.”
I froze.
“Julian?”
“Yes.”
“What happened?”
Rose looked toward the window.
“He was sixteen.”
“There was an argument.”
“With his father?”
“With someone at the restaurant.”
“Who?”
“I don't know.”
She whispered:
“But I remember a woman screaming.”
I felt a chill.
“What woman?”
“I thought she was a waitress.”
“What did she say?”
Rose closed her eyes.
“Don't take the boy.”
I stared.
“Then what?”
“Gunfire.”
“Police came.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because my husband made a phone call.”
I understood.
He had controlled the police.
“What happened to Julian?”
“We were told he ran away.”
“Did he?”
Rose shook her head.
“No.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I found his shoes.”
My stomach dropped.
“Where?”
“Under the stairs.”
“Then why didn't you tell anyone?”
“My husband threatened me.”
I was silent.
Then Rose looked at me.
“Do you know why I went to Maison Greer last night?”
“No.”
“Because I remembered something.”
“What?”
“A man.”
“Who?”
She looked directly at me.
“Your manager.”
My heart stopped.
“Preston?”
“He was there that night.”
I stood.
“That was twenty-five years ago.”
“He was younger.”
“Are you sure?”
“I remember his voice.”
“What did he do?”
Rose whispered:
“He helped take my son.”
I couldn't breathe.
That same evening, I went to Nathaniel.
I told him everything.
He didn't interrupt.
When I finished, he stood by the window.
“Why didn't my mother tell me this before?”
“Fear.”
He nodded.
“She has spent twenty-five years believing Julian is dead.”
I stared.
“Do you?”
“No.”
He looked at me.
“I never did.”
“What makes you think he's alive?”
“I have received anonymous messages for years.”
“What kind?”
“Photographs.”
“Of Julian?”
“Sometimes.”
He showed me his phone.
An image.
A young man.
Older.
Standing in a foreign city.
I stared.
“That's him.”
Nathaniel nodded.
“Julian.”
“Where was it taken?”
“Chicago.”
“Recently?”
“Three months ago.”
I frowned.
“Then why haven't you found him?”
“Because whoever is moving him doesn't want him found.”
I understood.
“Preston?”
“Maybe.”
“Who else?”
Nathaniel handed me another photograph.
A man stood beside Preston.
I recognized him.
Marcus Hale.
Preston's father.
Owner of Maison Greer.
I looked at Nathaniel.
“He still owns the restaurant.”
“Yes.”
“Then Vanessa?”
“She is irrelevant.”
I frowned.
“Why?”
“She married into the family.”
“She knew?”
“Perhaps.”
Nathaniel looked at me.
“But there is something else.”
“What?”
“My father left one condition in his will.”
“Which was?”
“Maison Greer could not be sold until Julian returned.”
My stomach dropped.
“So my restaurant…”
“Was part of your family's history.”
“No.”
He shook his head.
“Our family.”
I stared.
“Why did you hire me?”
“Because my mother trusted you.”
“Only that?”
“No.”
He stepped closer.
“Because my investigators told me someone had been asking questions about your family.”
I froze.
“Mine?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I don't know.”
Then my phone rang.
Unknown number.
I answered.
A man's voice whispered:
“Tell Nathaniel to stop looking for Julian.”
“Who are you?”
The line went dead.
Nathaniel watched me.
“What did they say?”
I looked at him.
“He's alive.”
“Yes.”
“They're afraid we'll find him.”
Nathaniel nodded.
Then said:
“Tomorrow, we go back to Maison Greer.”
“Why?”
“Because I think my brother was never taken from the restaurant.”
May you like
I stared.
“He was taken from somewhere underneath it.”
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