Chapter 3 - The Man Cormack Thought Was DeadCormack did not draw his weapon.
He simply looked at Leon.
“Interesting.”
Leon smiled.
“You always did hate surprises.”
“I hate unfinished business.”
Leon laughed.
“Still dramatic.”
Sloan looked between them.
“You know him.”
“Yes.”
“How?”
Cormack's voice was flat.
“He tried to kill me.”
Leon sighed.
“That's an exaggeration.”
Cormack finally smiled.
“You shot me in the chest.”
“And you survived.”
“Which disappointed you.”
“Extremely.”
Sloan couldn't believe what she was hearing.
“You're both insane.”
Leon laughed.
“I like her.”
Cormack's gaze sharpened.
“Don't.”
Leon raised his hands.
“All right.”
He looked toward Halloway.
“Where's the drive?”
Sloan held it up.
“Not here.”
Leon smiled.
“Then we negotiate.”
Cormack moved forward.
Three men stepped from the hallway.
Sloan's breath caught.
Cormack raised one finger.
His men appeared from the stairwell.
The office exploded into movement.
No gunfire.
Just bodies.
Fast.
Controlled.
Cormack reached Leon.
Leon escaped through a side door.
Halloway stayed.
Security officers rushed in.
Sloan held the drive against her chest.
Cormack returned.
“You okay?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
Halloway laughed.
“You think this ends here?”
Cormack looked down.
“No.”
Halloway's smile faded.
“I want the files.”
“You'll get them.”
“Why?”
“Because you're going to cooperate.”
Halloway looked at Sloan.
“With what?”
Cormack answered.
“Everything.”
Halloway's resistance lasted thirteen minutes.
After that, he revealed the structure of the conspiracy.
Halloway had been acting for Leon.
Leon had been working with Gideon Marsh.
Gideon had been working with a European syndicate.
The target was Riverline.
But Riverline was not the end goal.
The true target was Cormack himself.
They wanted his legitimate businesses.
His shipping routes.
His political connections.
His financial network.
And the one person standing between them and all of it was a secretary nobody considered important.
Sloan.
Because she had taken minutes from the wrong meeting.
Because she noticed something.
A transfer code.
She had copied it.
The code linked Riverline to a hidden trust.
A trust controlled by one person.
Cormack.
But there was another beneficiary.
Sloan read the document.
Her face changed.
“My name.”
Cormack looked at the page.
“What?”
“I'm listed.”
He took it.
The document was eighteen years old.
A trust established under Sloan's mother's maiden name.
Her mother.
Anna Whitaker.
Cormack stared.
“You knew?”
“No.”
Sloan's hands shook.
“My mother died when I was eight.”
Cormack looked again.
The trust contained millions.
Not billions.
Enough to matter.
More importantly, it contained voting rights.
In three companies.
Including a major piece of Riverline.
Sloan had never known she owned any of it.
Halloway laughed.
“Now you understand.”
Sloan looked at him.
“Understand what?”
“Why your parents died.”
The room became silent.
Cormack turned.
“What did you say?”
Halloway hesitated.
“Your mother discovered the trust.”
Sloan stared at him.
“She wasn't sick?”
“No.”
“She died of cancer.”
Halloway shook his head.
“That's what they told you.”
Cormack's jaw tightened.
“Where's the proof?”
Halloway looked frightened.
“Gideon has it.”
“Where?”
“I don't know.”
Cormack grabbed him by the collar.
“Try.”
Halloway swallowed.
“St. Agnes records.”
Cormack released him.
Sloan was shaking.
“My mother.”
He looked at her.
“We'll find out.”
The next morning, they went to St. Agnes.
Old records.
Basement archives.
Forty years of paper.
A retired clerk remembered Anna Whitaker.
“She came here a few times.”
“For treatment?”
“No.”
“For someone else.”
Sloan frowned.
“For whom?”
The clerk looked at the file.
“For a man named Thomas Vale.”
Cormack froze.
His father.
Sloan looked at him.
“Your father knew my mother.”
Cormack said nothing.
The clerk opened another file.
There was a photograph.
Anna Whitaker.
Thomas Vale.
Standing together.
And a baby.
Sloan.
On the back of the photograph:
If anything happens to us, the children must never meet.
Cormack stared.
“Children?”
The clerk nodded.
“There was another baby.”
Sloan looked at him.
Cormack's face had gone pale.
“Who?”
The clerk searched the record.
Then stopped.
“Michael Vale.”
Cormack's younger brother.
Dead at birth.
Or so Cormack had been told.
Sloan whispered:
“That's impossible.”
Cormack looked at the photograph.
For thirty-five years, he had believed his family secret was simple.
His father was cruel.
His brother died.
His mother left.
Now he understood.
Someone had changed the records.
And whoever had done it had been protecting the truth for decades.
Sloan touched the photograph.
“Why would our mothers know each other?”
Cormack stared at her.
“Because our families were connected long before we were.”
His phone rang.
Fitz.
“Boss.”
“What?”
“We found Gideon.”
“Where?”
“At Mercy Northside.”
Cormack's expression changed.
“Why?”
Fitz hesitated.
“He's with Tobias.”
Sloan stood.
“No.”
May you like
Cormack looked at her.
“We're going.”
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