Chapter 2 - The Family That Was Watching Me
I barely slept that night.
Every sound in the small room the household staff had assigned me seemed amplified.
Pipes.
Floorboards.
Wind against the windows.
A distant elevator.
At three in the morning, I gave up and sat beside the window.
I kept thinking about Maxwell's foot.
The movement had lasted less than a second.
But it had been real.
And if Maxwell had been pretending to be paralyzed for three months, there had to be a reason.
By six thirty, I was back downstairs.
Miss Delaney was already in the kitchen.
She looked at me once.
Then returned to chopping carrots.
“You're early.”
“I couldn't sleep.”
She nodded.
After a few seconds, she asked:
“Did Mr. Rourke seem… unusual last night?”
I paused.
“Why?”
“No reason.”
She continued chopping.
Her hands were shaking.
“You knew,” I said.
She stopped.
“Knew what?”
“That he could move.”
She looked toward the kitchen door.
“Keep your voice down.”
“So you did know.”
Miss Delaney sighed.
“I know enough to know that asking questions in this house can get people hurt.”
“Is Maxwell in danger?”
“You are.”
I stared at her.
“What happened to the last maid?”
She resumed chopping.
“She quit.”
“That isn't what I asked.”
“You should learn quickly, Martha.”
“Learn what?”
“That this house survives on silence.”
Before I could respond, the kitchen door opened.
Julian Rourke walked in.
He was tall, impeccably dressed, and looked nothing like his brother.
Maxwell carried darkness like a weapon.
Julian carried charm.
That almost made him worse.
“Good morning.”
His smile was warm.
I didn't trust it.
“Martha,” Miss Delaney said quietly, “this is Mr. Julian Rourke.”
“I know.”
Julian smiled.
“Most people do.”
He poured himself coffee.
“You work upstairs?”
“No.”
“Good.”
His eyes met mine.
“Keep it that way.”
I said nothing.
He walked out.
Miss Delaney exhaled.
“He knows.”
“About Maxwell?”
“No.”
She looked at me.
“About everything.”
That morning, I was assigned to organize the linen room.
The job should have been boring.
Instead, I found a photograph.
It had fallen behind a cabinet.
Three men stood beside a dock.
Maxwell.
Julian.
And another man.
I didn't recognize him.
But there was something familiar about his face.
I turned the photograph over.
A date.
November 18.
Two years ago.
I froze.
That was the week my brother died.
I stared at the photograph until my hands went cold.
My brother, Daniel, had worked at the Providence docks.
He'd been a forklift operator.
One night, he had been found near a shipping container.
The official report said accidental trauma.
I had never believed it.
Neither had my mother.
But we had been told the investigation was closed.
I carried the photograph downstairs.
Maxwell was waiting in the study.
“How did you get this?”
He looked at the photograph.
Then at me.
“Where did you find it?”
“Linen room.”
He took it.
His face changed.
“Who is this?”
“My brother.”
Maxwell looked at me for several seconds.
“Daniel Bell.”
“Yes.”
“You knew him?”
“No.”
The lie came too quickly.
I noticed.
“You're lying.”
He stood.
“I met him once.”
“When?”
“The night he died.”
My heart pounded.
“What happened?”
“He was trying to stop a shipment.”
“What shipment?”
Maxwell's eyes moved toward the window.
“A shipment that never reached the docks.”
“And my brother?”
“He did.”
“What?”
“He reached the docks.”
“But he died.”
“Yes.”
“How?”
Maxwell's jaw tightened.
“Your brother found something.”
“What?”
He walked toward the fireplace.
“Evidence.”
“Of what?”
“Human trafficking.”
My stomach turned.
The room went silent.
“Daniel was going to expose it?”
“Yes.”
“And you stopped him?”
“No.”
Maxwell looked directly at me.
“I was trying to protect him.”
“Then why did he die?”
“Because I was too late.”
I didn't know whether to believe him.
“Who killed him?”
“I don't know.”
“That's a lie.”
“Yes.”
My chest tightened.
“You do know.”
He didn't answer.
“Tell me.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because if I say his name, he will know that I told you.”
“Maybe he should know.”
Maxwell's expression hardened.
“You don't understand what you're dealing with.”
“Then explain it.”
He walked toward me.
“You think this is about organized crime.”
“Isn't it?”
“That's the surface.”
“What is underneath?”
He stopped inches from me.
“Control.”
My breath caught.
“Control of what?”
“Everything.”
He turned away.
“My father built this organization.”
“And you inherited it.”
“Yes.”
“Julian?”
“My brother thinks he should have.”
“Your mother?”
“She thinks it belongs to the family.”
I swallowed.
“And you?”
“I want out.”
That surprised me.
“You're the head of it.”
“Because if I leave, people die.”
I stared at him.
“Why pretend to be paralyzed?”
“Because I needed time.”
“For what?”
“To find the person inside this house who has been feeding information to my enemies.”
The words chilled me.
“You think someone here is a traitor.”
“I know someone is.”
I suddenly thought of Miss Delaney.
Julian.
Mrs. Bell.
The guards.
Even me.
Maxwell watched my face.
“Yes,” he said quietly.
“You are on the list too.”
I stiffened.
“You think I'm working against you?”
“No.”
“Then why tell me?”
“Because someone else thinks you are.”
He walked toward his desk.
“There was another reason I hired you.”
“What?”
He handed me a file.
I opened it.
Inside was my brother's death report.
But several pages were missing.
A handwritten note had been attached.
Daniel Bell had secretly copied shipping manifests before he died.
One of those manifests was connected to Rourke Holdings.
My hands trembled.
“Where is the rest?”
“Missing.”
“Who took it?”
“I don't know.”
“You're asking me to find it?”
“No.”
“What do you want?”
“To help you find out why your brother died.”
I looked up.
“And what do I get?”
“The truth.”
I almost laughed.
“The truth doesn't pay rent.”
“No.”
His expression softened slightly.
“But sometimes it keeps you alive.”
A scream came from upstairs.
We both turned.
Maxwell moved quickly.
Far too quickly for someone who had spent fourteen months pretending his legs were useless.
He pushed past me.
We ran to the third floor.
Mrs. Bell lay on the carpet outside Maxwell's bedroom.
A broken teacup beside her.
Blood stained her forehead.
Julian stood at the end of the hall.
“Mother slipped.”
Maxwell stared at him.
Then at me.
He bent toward his mother.
I knelt beside her.
She was breathing.
But barely.
“Get the doctor,” I said.
Julian smiled.
“There won't be a need.”
I looked up.
“She's unconscious.”
“I said there won't be a need.”
Maxwell slowly stood.
“Leave.”
Julian laughed.
“I'm family.”
“Leave.”
The smile disappeared.
Julian walked away.
I checked Mrs. Bell's pulse.
Then I noticed something.
A faint puncture mark on her neck.
I looked at Maxwell.
“She didn't fall.”
He nodded.
“I know.”
I glanced toward the stairs.
“Who did this?”
May you like
Maxwell's eyes followed Julian.
“I think I finally know.”
