Chapter 4 - The Woman Declan Buried
Rebecca survived.
Her left leg was broken in two places, and she had a concussion, but she was conscious by evening.
Sarah sat beside her hospital bed while Declan remained outside.
Rebecca looked at her sister’s pregnant stomach.
“You told him.”
“He found out.”
Rebecca winced.
“That sounds worse.”
“It was.”
Sarah took her hand.
“Who hit you?”
“I didn’t see.”
“Vincent Hayes was following you.”
Rebecca’s eyes widened.
“You know?”
“You photographed him.”
“I didn’t know his name. Mom had an old picture.”
Sarah frowned.
“What picture?”
Rebecca reached toward the hospital drawer.
“My bag.”
Inside was an old photograph.
Patrick Hayes stood beside several union representatives on the Boston docks in 1999.
Evelyn Hayes was beside him.
Sarah’s father stood at the edge of the frame.
And beside Michael Mitchell was another woman.
Sarah stared.
“That’s Mom.”
Their mother, Laura Mitchell, had died five years earlier.
Rebecca nodded.
“She knew them.”
On the back of the photograph, Laura had written:
Michael tried to save a man who did not deserve saving. If my daughters ever meet the Hayes family, God help them.
Sarah closed her eyes.
All those years, their mother had known.
Declan entered only after Rebecca agreed.
When she saw him, hostility filled her face.
“You have your father’s eyes.”
Declan stopped.
“I’ve been told.”
“He murdered ours.”
“We don’t know that.”
Rebecca laughed painfully.
“Of course.”
Sarah intervened.
“Becca.”
“No. She deserves to hear this.”
Rebecca looked at Declan.
“Our father discovered the Hayeses were importing weapons through the docks. He wanted out.”
Declan’s jaw tightened.
“Where did you get that?”
“Mom’s files.”
“She had evidence?”
“Some.”
Rebecca explained that after their mother’s death, she had stored several unopened boxes in her attic. Weeks earlier, while looking for old photographs for Lucy’s school project, she found Michael’s notebooks.
One entry repeatedly mentioned “P.H.” and “E.H.”
Patrick Hayes.
Evelyn Hayes.
But another set of initials appeared near the end.
M.R. knows everything.
Declan asked, “Who is M.R.?”
Rebecca shook her head.
Before anyone could speculate, Nolan entered.
“Vincent is at the Hayes estate.”
Declan’s family mansion sat outside Boston in Weston.
Evelyn still lived there.
Vincent used the east wing whenever he was in Massachusetts.
Declan turned toward the door.
Sarah stood.
“I’m coming.”
“No.”
She gave him a look.
Declan corrected himself.
“I would prefer you remain here.”
“Better.”
“But still no.”
Sarah crossed her arms.
“You said things would change.”
“They will.”
“Start now.”
Declan stared at her for several seconds.
“Fine.”
At Hayes Manor, Evelyn received them in the library.
At sixty-three, she remained elegant, severe and physically imposing despite her age.
Her silver hair was swept into a flawless knot.
She noticed Sarah’s pregnancy immediately.
Her expression hardened.
“So it is true.”
Declan’s eyes narrowed.
“How did you know?”
Evelyn smiled.
“Boston talks.”
“No one knew.”
“Apparently someone did.”
Sarah watched her carefully.
Vincent entered carrying a drink.
At thirty-nine, he looked like the version of Declan that enjoyed being cruel.
He smiled when he saw Sarah.
“Congratulations.”
Declan crossed the room and struck him once.
Vincent crashed into a bookshelf.
Evelyn shouted, “Declan!”
He ignored her.
He lifted Vincent by the collar.
“Why were you following Rebecca Mitchell?”
Vincent looked genuinely confused.
“Who?”
Sarah showed the photograph.
Vincent stared at it.
Then laughed.
“That’s not me.”
“It is your face,” Declan said.
“It is my coat.”
Silence.
Vincent wiped blood from his lip.
“That picture was taken three days ago, yes?”
Sarah nodded.
“My coat disappeared from the club two weeks ago.”
Declan did not release him.
“You expect me to believe someone dressed as you?”
“I expect you to look at the man’s hand.”
Sarah enlarged the photograph.
The figure beside the SUV held a phone in his right hand.
There was a clear scar across his thumb.
Vincent raised both hands.
No scar.
Sarah’s stomach dropped.
Someone had wanted them to blame Vincent.
A planted trail.
Declan released his cousin.
Evelyn poured herself a drink.
“This is what happens when emotion replaces discipline.”
Sarah turned toward her.
“Were you in the office three weeks ago?”
Evelyn stopped.
Declan watched.
She slowly set down the glass.
“Yes.”
“You lied to me,” Declan said.
“I had a reason.”
“Give me one.”
Evelyn looked at Sarah.
“I went there to investigate her.”
Sarah felt cold.
“Why?”
“Because I knew she was pregnant.”
Declan moved forward.
Evelyn raised one hand.
“I did not poison her.”
“How did you know?”
“Because I had her followed.”
Sarah’s face flushed with anger.
“You had me followed?”
“You spent three days alone with Declan in Miami.”
“That gave you the right to invade my life?”
“No. It gave me the suspicion that my nephew had finally done something reckless enough to create an heir with someone whose history he had never investigated.”
Sarah laughed bitterly.
“And what did you discover?”
Evelyn’s expression changed.
Something almost like regret appeared.
“Your father.”
Declan looked sharply at her.
“You knew.”
“Yes.”
“Did my father kill Michael Mitchell?”
Evelyn did not answer.
Declan’s voice became colder.
“Aunt Evelyn.”
“No.”
Sarah blinked.
Evelyn looked directly at her.
“Patrick did not kill your father.”
“Then who did?”
Evelyn’s gaze moved to a framed photograph on the library wall.
Three men stood beside Patrick Hayes.
One was a younger Nolan Price.
Another was Declan’s late uncle.
The third was Martin Rourke, the syndicate’s longtime accountant and chief financial officer of Hayes Global Logistics.
M.R.
Sarah whispered the initials.
Declan followed her gaze.
Evelyn said, “Michael Mitchell discovered Martin was stealing from my brother while moving weapons through unauthorized routes.”
Declan’s face hardened.
“Martin killed him?”
“He arranged the crane failure.”
Sarah could barely breathe.
“And my mother?”
“She knew enough to become dangerous.”
“What did you do?”
“Nothing.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
Evelyn stared at her.
“I paid her.”
Sarah recoiled.
“To stay silent?”
“To disappear.”
Evelyn’s voice softened.
“Patrick wanted Martin dead. Your mother begged us not to start another war. She had two young daughters. She wanted you safe.”
Declan looked toward the door.
“Where is Martin?”
Nobody answered.
Then Sarah realized something.
Martin Rourke had attended executive meetings every Tuesday.
He drank coffee from the same break room.
He controlled vendor contracts.
He could access the water deliveries.
“He poisoned me.”
Declan reached for his phone.
Evelyn shook her head.
“Martin disappeared this afternoon.”
Declan stopped.
“Why?”
“Because someone warned him.”
Everyone looked at Nolan.
Nolan’s face drained.
“I didn’t.”
A shot exploded through the library window.
Evelyn jerked backward.
Blood appeared across her shoulder.
Declan threw Sarah to the floor as a second bullet shattered the lamp behind them.
Security rushed inside.
Vincent drew his weapon.
Nolan covered the window.
Outside, tires screamed across the driveway.
Declan shielded Sarah with his body.
Then he noticed something on the shattered glass.
A small white card had been taped to the bulletproof outer pane before the shot broke through the weakened section.
Three words were printed on it.
STOP DIGGING, SARAH.
May you like
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The killer was no longer hiding.
And Martin Rourke was only one piece of the conspiracy.
