Chapter 7 - The Daughter Who Was Lying
Yara had lied to me.
But not about everything.
That made her more dangerous and more useful.
She called again twelve minutes later from a burner phone.
“I need protection.”
Royce laughed.
She heard him.
“Go to hell, Royce.”
“After you.”
I interrupted.
“Talk.”
Yara admitted she had known about Brin’s pregnancy for months.
She had offered Brin money.
Threatened her.
Followed her.
Every ugly accusation was true.
But Yara claimed she never ordered anyone to harm her.
“I wanted her gone from Chicago.”
“Why?”
“Because I wanted you.”
At least that answer was believable.
“But my father wanted her alive.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“No. I expect you to believe I’m terrified.”
I looked through the ICU glass at Brin.
She was holding our son for the first time.
Everything else suddenly felt distant.
Then Yara said:
“My father isn’t Elias Vane.”
I turned away from the glass.
“Brin has proof.”
“She has photographs.”
“Pierce recognized him.”
“Pierce recognized who my father wanted him to recognize.”
Another layer.
“Who is Rafael?”
“I don’t know.”
I almost hung up.
Then she said:
“But I know where Elias Vane is.”
Silence.
“My father visits him every Sunday.”
“Where?”
Yara gave me an address.
Private residence north of Chicago.
Royce ran it.
Property owner: Holloway Medical Holdings.
Brin’s company.
I returned to her room.
She was staring at our son.
“He has your angry forehead,” she said.
“He’s twelve hours old.”
“He’s already disappointed in you.”
“Reasonable.”
For half a second, she smiled.
Then I told her about the house.
Her smile disappeared.
“That property belonged to my mother.”
“Did you know?”
“No.”
“Yara says Elias Vane is there.”
Brin looked at the baby.
“My mother told me Vane killed your father.”
“Everyone did.”
“She also told me something else.”
“What?”
“That your father discovered something inside Lakefront before he died.”
“What?”
“She never said.”
Brin’s fingers tightened around the blanket.
Then she looked at me.
“Cormack, why did your father go to war with Vane?”
“Money.”
“That’s what you were told.”
“By everyone.”
“Everyone can repeat the same lie.”
Fair.
We decided to go to the property without Brin.
She objected.
I refused.
“You almost died.”
“You don’t control me.”
“No.”
I looked at our son.
“But somebody needs to stay with him.”
That ended the argument.
Three hours later, Royce and I entered the Holloway property with federal agents.
No guards.
No alarms.
One elderly man sat beside a fireplace.
He looked up.
My heart stopped.
I had seen his photograph for seventeen years.
Dr. Elias Vane.
Alive.
He smiled sadly.
“Cormack Hale.”
I stepped forward.
“You killed my father.”
“No.”
He glanced toward the agents.
“Your father died protecting Brin Holloway.”
I froze.
May you like
Vane continued:
“And if you want to know why, ask Brin who her father was.”
