Chapter 3 - The Man Inside His Own House
Emmett stared at Faye.
“Who paid him?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then what do you know?”
“Enough to get shot.”
She sat carefully.
“Six months ago, Ashgrove started replacing its records system. Old audit files were being transferred. I found medication entries under my login on nights I wasn’t working.”
“Why didn’t you report it?”
“I did.”
“To whom?”
“Vale.”
Sully muttered, “That went well.”
Faye gave him a tired look.
“I was naive.”
“What happened?”
“He smiled. Told me it was probably a technical problem.”
“And then?”
“Two days later, my supervisor warned me to stop asking questions.”
Emmett crossed his arms.
“You kept asking.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because dead patients don’t get to ask for themselves.”
That silenced him.
Faye continued.
“I copied everything. Yesterday I found payment records tied to a shell company.”
She looked toward the laptop.
“One payment was made two days before your mother died.”
Emmett opened the financial file.
The company was called Harbor Meridian Consulting.
Sully leaned over him.
“I know that company.”
Emmett did too.
Harbor Meridian controlled several warehouses near the south docks.
Warehouses managed by someone Emmett had trusted for fourteen years.
“Patrick Doyle,” Emmett said.
Sully’s face darkened.
Patrick was Emmett’s operations chief.
His friend.
The man who had stood beside him at Maeve’s funeral.
Faye watched him.
“You know him?”
“He works for me.”
“No.”
Emmett looked at her.
Faye spoke carefully.
“He works near you.”
The distinction landed hard.
That evening, Emmett called Patrick to his house.
Patrick arrived smiling.
“You wanted me?”
Emmett poured two glasses of whiskey.
“One question.”
“Anything.”
“Do you remember my mother’s funeral?”
Patrick’s smile faded slightly.
“Of course.”
“You carried her coffin.”
“I did.”
“You told me she finally had peace.”
Patrick slowly set down his glass.
“Where is this going?”
Emmett slid a printed financial record across the desk.
Patrick looked at it.
For one second.
That was enough.
Emmett saw recognition.
“Explain.”
Patrick recovered quickly.
“Never seen it.”
“You looked scared.”
“I looked confused.”
“Wrong answer.”
Patrick’s jaw tightened.
“Where did you get this?”
Emmett leaned back.
“That’s your second wrong answer.”
Patrick stood.
“Emmett—”
“Sit.”
Patrick sat.
“You paid Nathan Vale.”
“No.”
“Two days before my mother died.”
“No.”
“Then why is your company attached to the transfer?”
“It isn’t my company.”
“You signed the incorporation papers.”
Patrick stopped speaking.
Emmett leaned forward.
“Why?”
Patrick’s face changed.
Fear disappeared.
Something uglier replaced it.
“Because Maeve was going to destroy everything.”
Emmett’s eyes narrowed.
“What?”
“Your mother discovered what your father built before he died.”
“My father had been dead eleven years.”
“But his accounts weren’t.”
Patrick laughed bitterly.
“She found records. Names. Politicians. Judges. Police.”
“And?”
“She wanted you to shut everything down.”
Emmett remembered his mother asking to meet privately days before she entered the hospital.
She never got the chance.
Patrick continued.
“If she handed those records over, all of us went down.”
“You killed my mother to protect yourself.”
“To protect everyone!”
Emmett rose.
Patrick stood too.
“You think you became king because you were smarter than everybody?”
“Careful.”
“I protected this organization while you sat beside her hospital bed pretending you were still somebody’s little boy.”
Emmett’s hand closed around the edge of the desk.
Then Faye appeared at the doorway.
“Don’t.”
Patrick turned.
His face drained of color.
“You.”
Faye stared at him.
Patrick backed toward the door.
“You were supposed to be dead.”
Emmett’s expression went cold.
Faye whispered:
May you like
“Now we know who sent them.”
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