Chapter 16 - Matthew's Brother
Daniel Hayes died at twenty-five.
Officially, a boating accident off Long Island.
His body was recovered two days later.
Matthew was twenty-three.
Margaret said the family never discussed him because Samuel demanded silence.
"Why?"
I asked.
"Daniel had discovered the payments."
"What payments?"
"Jonathan's payments to Samuel."
Margaret wiped her face.
"He confronted his father."
"Samuel denied everything."
"Then Daniel went to Jonathan."
My father leaned forward.
"Why?"
"He wanted proof."
"Instead?"
"He died."
"Evidence Jonathan killed him?"
Margaret shook her head.
"Nothing police accepted."
"Then why are you certain?"
She removed a second item from her purse.
A letter.
Daniel's handwriting.
Mom, if something happens, it was not an accident.
J.S. knows I copied the records.
Dad is protecting him.
My stomach turned.
"Where has this been?"
"In my safe."
"For twenty-three years?"
"Yes."
My mother stared at her.
"You had this and said nothing?"
Margaret broke.
"Samuel told me Matthew would be next."
"So you protected Matthew."
"Yes."
"By letting Samuel keep working with Jonathan?"
"I didn't know he did."
"Did Matthew know about the letter?"
"No."
I looked at her.
"Why tell us now?"
"Because Samuel is still lying."
"And because yesterday Matthew called me."
My chest tightened.
"What did he say?"
"He asked me to burn Daniel's letters."
Silence.
"He knows now?"
"Apparently."
"Did you?"
"No."
She looked at me.
"For once, I didn't do what the men in my family told me."
Matthew wanted the letters destroyed because they connected Samuel and Jonathan.
But why protect either man now?
Naomi asked the question.
"Why would Matthew still protect Jonathan?"
Margaret shook her head.
"I don't know."
We found out that night.
Matthew contacted federal investigators.
Voluntarily.
He offered information.
Not confession.
Cooperation.
His lawyers proposed a deal.
Evidence against Jonathan Shaw in exchange for consideration on corporate charges.
The assault case remained outside the negotiation.
Prosecutors refused to touch it.
Matthew would still face me in court.
But on fraud, extortion, and conspiracy, he had something valuable.
Jonathan's current location.
A compound in northern Connecticut owned through Harbor Ridge subsidiaries.
Federal agents prepared a search.
At 4:00 a.m., they entered.
Jonathan was gone.
But the compound contained evidence.
Servers.
Records.
Photographs.
Audio.
Copies of my phone data.
Sterling Meridian files.
NexusCore archives.
Medical documents.
Twenty years of obsession organized into labeled boxes.
And one room.
A recreation of Amelia's bedroom.
My father could not look at the photographs.
Jonathan had preserved her clothes.
Books.
Desk.
Even the lamp beside her bed.
A shrine.
Or a prison.
Investigators found journals.
Amelia's handwriting.
The last months of her life.
The entries contradicted Jonathan's version completely.
Dad grabbed me again.
Samuel says I need rest.
Harrison asked if I am safe.
I lied.
Another.
Dad says Harrison wants to destroy our family.
I think Dad is the one destroying it.
Another.
Daniel Hayes says he found payments.
My skin prickled.
Daniel knew Amelia.
More than knew.
They had been helping each other.
One final entry.
Two days before Amelia died.
Daniel says he has a plan.
He wants us both to go to police.
I am afraid Dad will kill him.
Margaret collapsed when she read it.
Daniel died three months later.
Amelia died first.
Samuel buried records.
Jonathan disappeared.
Then supposedly died.
The entire history was a chain of adults choosing silence until silence became inheritance.
Matthew grew up inside it.
That explained him.
It did not excuse him.
At noon, Matthew requested to speak to me through counsel.
Naomi asked what I wanted.
"No."
He sent a written message.
I read it anyway.
Clare, I know you hate me.
You should.
But Jonathan will come for you.
He always wanted a Sterling to suffer the way he thinks Amelia suffered.
I thought I could control him.
I was wrong.
Then:
The night I hurt you, I believed you had the red folder.
Jonathan had threatened to release evidence that would put my father in prison and destroy NexusCore.
I panicked.
I stared at the page.
Panic.
The word people use when they want violence to sound temporary.
His message continued.
That is not an excuse.
I stopped.
Matthew had never said those words before.
Not once.
There is no excuse for what I did.
I became everything I hated in Jonathan and my father.
My throat tightened despite myself.
Then:
Do not forgive me.
Just survive me.
I put the letter down.
My mother asked,
"What do you feel?"
"Nothing simple."
That was the truth.
Hatred would have been easier.
But Matthew was not a monster born in darkness.
He was a frightened, ambitious man who repeatedly chose cruelty when truth became expensive.
That was worse because it was human.
At 3:20 p.m., federal agents traced Jonathan to New York.
Not Manhattan.
Queens.
Near our old apartment.
The place where NexusCore began.
Thomas studied the map.
"Why go there?"
I knew before anyone else.
"The original backup."
"What backup?"
my father asked.
Seven years ago, I kept hard copies of every early document in a safe-deposit box at a neighborhood bank.
Matthew thought it was ridiculous.
I had forgotten about it.
Jonathan had not.
The box contained the one thing that could settle NexusCore ownership permanently.
Original stock certificates.
Original signatures.
Original investor ledger.
Possibly documents proving exactly what Jonathan owned.
"We need to call the bank."
Thomas was already dialing.
Nobody answered.
It was Sunday.
Closed.
Then Detective Ortiz's phone rang.
She listened.
Her face changed.
"What?"
I asked.
She looked at me.
"The bank alarm just triggered."
May you like
Jonathan had reached the box first.
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