Chapter 2 - The Man Richard Trusted Most
Richard had trusted Thomas Reed for eleven years.
The man had driven Oliver to school.
He had stood outside Caroline's hospital room when Oliver was born.
He had carried Richard's father's coffin.
Now he was aiming a gun at Richard's heart.
"Move away from the boy," Thomas ordered.
Richard kept one arm around Oliver.
"No."
"Don't make me do this."
"Then put the gun down."
Thomas's jaw tightened.
A distant siren rose beyond the mansion walls.
"Andrew said you'd cooperate."
"Andrew lied."
Thomas gave a bitter laugh.
"He told me you'd say that."
Richard glanced at the metal door beside the staircase.
A laundry chute opened into the service area.
Too narrow for him.
Large enough for Oliver.
He leaned down.
"Buddy, remember the game we played at Grandma's house?"
Oliver looked at him through tears.
"The secret tunnel?"
"Exactly."
Thomas took another step.
"Richard, don't."
Richard whispered into Oliver's ear.
"Run when I tell you."
Thomas lifted the gun higher.
"I said move."
Richard grabbed a steel serving tray from the shelf beside him and hurled it at the flashlight.
The beam shattered.
Thomas fired.
The bullet tore into the wooden railing.
Richard shoved Oliver through the laundry opening.
"GO!"
The boy slid into darkness.
Richard charged Thomas.
They collided against the concrete wall.
The gun discharged again.
Pain exploded across Richard's upper arm.
He slammed Thomas's wrist against the stair rail.
Once.
Twice.
The weapon fell.
Richard kicked it beneath a heavy storage cabinet.
Thomas drove a fist into his wounded shoulder.
Richard staggered.
Then footsteps thundered above them.
"POLICE!"
Detective Brooks appeared with two officers.
"Hands where I can see them!"
Thomas immediately raised his hands.
"He's attacking me!"
Richard pressed his bleeding arm against his chest.
"He shot me."
Brooks looked at the damaged railing.
Then at Thomas.
"Get on your knees."
Thomas hesitated.
An officer moved forward.
"Now."
As Thomas was handcuffed, Richard dropped beside the laundry opening.
"Oliver!"
No answer.
His stomach turned.
"OLIVER!"
A small voice floated up from below.
"Daddy?"
Richard almost collapsed with relief.
"Stay there. I'm coming."
Brooks knelt beside him.
"You're injured."
"My son comes first."
She signaled an officer to search the lower service area.
Then she looked at Thomas.
"Where's Victoria Blackwood?"
Thomas said nothing.
"And where's Andrew?"
Still nothing.
Richard stepped toward him.
"Where is Caroline?"
Thomas finally met his eyes.
For the first time, Richard saw genuine fear.
"You're asking the wrong question."
Richard grabbed his collar.
"What does that mean?"
Thomas whispered.
"Ask why she was never allowed to die."
Brooks pulled Richard away.
"Enough."
Richard stared at the handcuffed man.
Thomas looked past him.
Toward the lower hallway.
"Andrew wasn't the one who started this."
Before Richard could demand an explanation, an officer emerged from below carrying Oliver.
The boy reached for his father.
Richard pulled him close with his uninjured arm.
"You're okay."
Oliver nodded against his neck.
"Please don't leave me again."
"I won't."
He meant it.
But he had made promises before.
Three years earlier, after Caroline's funeral, Richard had promised Oliver everything would be okay.
Then he had buried himself in work.
He had let Victoria manage the household.
He had allowed Andrew to supervise security.
He had mistaken his son's silence for healing.
Now he wondered how many times Oliver had tried to tell him the truth.
Brooks guided them toward a waiting ambulance.
Outside, blue lights flashed against the mansion's stone walls.
Reporters had already gathered beyond the gates.
The evening's guests were being questioned.
Andrew and Victoria were nowhere to be found.
As a paramedic examined Richard's arm, Oliver refused to release his hand.
"Does it hurt?"
"A little."
"Did Uncle Thomas hurt you?"
Richard nodded.
Oliver's face crumpled.
"I thought he was nice."
"So did I."
A paramedic gently checked the bruises around Oliver's wrists.
The boy flinched.
Richard fought the urge to break something.
"Who tied you up?"
"Victoria."
"Why?"
"Because I found the door."
"What door?"
Oliver looked toward the mansion.
"The one behind the wine shelves."
Richard leaned closer.
"Did you see Mommy?"
The boy shook his head.
"I heard her."
"What did she say?"
Oliver's voice became very small.
"She kept saying my name."
Richard closed his eyes.
Three years.
Three years of birthdays.
Christmas mornings.
School concerts.
Bedtime stories.
Caroline had missed all of them.
Or had she been close enough to hear their laughter through the mansion walls?
His phone buzzed.
A message from an unknown number.
It contained a photograph.
Caroline sat in a metal chair, looking thin and exhausted.
Her wrists were secured to the armrests.
A newspaper dated that morning rested on her lap.
Below the image was a message.
SIGN THE TRANSFER BY MIDNIGHT. COME ALONE. OR OLIVER WILL WATCH HIS MOTHER DIE.
Richard showed Brooks.
She immediately photographed the screen.
Then another message arrived.
AND DON'T TRUST THE DETECTIVE.
Richard looked up.
Brooks was speaking into her radio.
Requesting assistance.
Securing evidence.
Arranging protection.
Everything a good detective should do.
Then his phone vibrated one more time.
A video began playing automatically.
It showed Caroline in the same metal chair.
A man's hand entered the frame.
He held up a photograph of Richard and Oliver.
Caroline began crying.
The man behind the camera spoke.
"Tell him what you did."
Caroline shook her head.
"Please."
"Tell him."
She looked directly into the lens.
"Richard..."
Her voice broke.
"Your brother didn't kill me."
May you like
She swallowed.
"I helped him."
