Chapter 13 - The Night Thomas Broke His Own Rule
By the fifth night in my house, Leo had stopped asking whether the gate was locked.
He still checked it through the security monitor in the kitchen.
But he no longer asked me to prove it.
That was progress.
Maya had begun leaving Toast on furniture without immediately running back to retrieve him.
That was progress too.
Healing, I learned, rarely announced itself.
It appeared in small things.
A bedroom door open six inches instead of twelve.
A child finishing breakfast without hiding half a piece of toast in a napkin.
A laugh from the hallway that did not stop when an adult walked into the room.
I had spent my life noticing threats.
Now I was learning to notice safety.
That night, I almost ruined it.
It started with a call from Marco.
I had allowed him back on the property that afternoon after Ortiz confirmed there was no evidence connecting him to Hale’s payments.
But I had not restored things between us.
Marco knew it.
He kept his distance.
He called me Thomas instead of Boss.
That hurt more than I expected.
At 9:18 p.m., he called my private line.
“I found Martin Voss.”
I stood from my desk.
“Where?”
“Do you remember the old Northline warehouse on Burleson Road?”
“Yes.”
“He went inside twenty minutes ago.”
“How do you know?”
“I have a friend who works nights at the fuel station across the road.”
“What was he driving?”
“Gray pickup.”
“Plate?”
Marco read it to me.
I wrote it down.
“Call Ortiz.”
“I did.”
That surprised me.
“He’s sending units, but Voss may leave before they get there.”
“What is in the warehouse?”
“Northline shut it down last year.”
“That was not my question.”
“I don’t know.”
I looked toward the family wing.
Leo and Maya were asleep.
Elena was in the kitchen.
Two vetted security guards were inside the house.
Four more covered the grounds.
The correct decision was obvious.
Stay.
Let Ortiz handle it.
Be the uncle Ethan needed me to be.
Then Marco said, “Voss is loading boxes into the truck.”
I grabbed my jacket.
That was the moment I broke my own rule.
Not Ethan’s rule about keeping the children away from my world.
My new rule.
The one I had made after Leo reached my door.
I would not leave them to chase a threat.
I walked into the hallway and nearly made it to the stairs before I heard a small voice behind me.
“Where are you going?”
Leo sat in his wheelchair near his bedroom door.
His hair stuck up on one side.
He wore dinosaur pajamas Elena had ordered because apparently six-year-olds required themed sleepwear.
I stopped.
“Why are you awake?”
“You answer first.”
I almost told him it was business.
Then I remembered his question on the terrace.
Are you going to hide stuff from me because it’s dangerous?
I crouched in front of him.
“Detective Ortiz may have found a man who knew your dad.”
“The man with the ring?”
“No.”
“Then who?”
“A security investigator named Martin Voss.”
“Was he mean?”
“I don’t know.”
Leo looked at my jacket.
“You’re going to find out?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because he may have information.”
“Can Detective Ortiz find out?”
I said nothing.
Leo’s eyes narrowed.
“He can.”
“Yes.”
“Then why are you going?”
There are few humiliations greater than being logically dismantled by a child in dinosaur pajamas.
I exhaled.
“Because waiting is difficult for me.”
Leo nodded with surprising seriousness.
“Dad said that.”
“Of course he did.”
“He said you always wanted to fix stuff yourself.”
“That sounds like him.”
“He said sometimes you made it worse.”
I stared at him.
“He was very judgmental.”
Leo smiled faintly.
Then he looked at the jacket again.
“Are you still going?”
I should have said no.
Instead, I said, “I need to make sure evidence does not disappear.”
“What’s evidence?”
“Things that help prove what happened.”
“Like Dad’s note?”
“Yes.”
“Then bring Detective Ortiz.”
Again, six years old.
Again, smarter than several adults I employed.
I called Ortiz.
He was already three minutes from the warehouse.
When I told him I was going too, he made a sound of deep personal disappointment.
“You were doing so well.”
“I am not entering.”
“You are not coming.”
“I am already in the car.”
There was silence.
I was not actually in the car.
Leo looked at me.
I looked at him.
He whispered, “That was a lie.”
I covered the phone.
“Do not learn from me.”
Ortiz sighed.
“Stay outside the perimeter.”
“Agreed.”
“Do not approach Voss.”
“Agreed.”
“Do not bring an army.”
“I am bringing a driver.”
“That sentence worries me less than it should.”
I ended the call.
Leo pointed toward the bedroom.
“I’ll stay with Maya.”
“No.”
He frowned.
“Why?”
“Because you are not responsible for guarding her.”
“But—”
“Elena will stay in the middle.”
He looked toward Maya’s room.
“Door open?”
“Yes.”
“Hall light?”
“Yes.”
“You coming back?”
I held his gaze.
“Yes.”
This time, the promise felt heavier.
I reached the warehouse twenty-five minutes later.
Police cruisers were positioned without lights along the service road.
Ortiz stood beside an unmarked vehicle wearing a jacket over his shirt.
He looked at me as I approached.
“You lied about being in the car.”
“How do you know?”
“You live twelve minutes farther away than your arrival time suggested.”
“I dislike how observant you are.”
“You should.”
Marco stood across the road near a fuel station, exactly where he had been told to remain.
He did not approach me.
That was probably wise.
The warehouse was a long concrete building with broken signage and one loading door open six inches.
A gray pickup sat near the dock.
Two officers moved toward the side entrance.
Ortiz spoke quietly into his radio.
Then the warehouse lights went out.
Every muscle in my body tightened.
“Power?” I asked.
“No.”
Ortiz looked toward the pole.
“Building lights only.”
A truck engine started.
The gray pickup lurched away from the loading dock.
Police lights came alive.
The pickup accelerated toward the opposite exit.
For half a second, the old part of me wanted to move.
Block the road.
Use my car.
End it myself.
I stayed where I was.
Ortiz glanced at me once.
He noticed.
The pickup did not make it far.
A police vehicle blocked the second gate.
The driver stopped.
Hands appeared through the open window.
No chase.
No dramatic collision.
Just a man realizing the exits had closed.
Martin Voss stepped out.
He was taller than I expected.
Gray hair.
Plain jacket.
The face of someone who could stand behind you in a grocery line without being remembered.
Police searched the truck under warrant related to evidence destruction.
They found six boxes.
Inside were old Larkspur case files.
Computer drives.
Paper invoices.
And one sealed evidence bag marked MORETTI.
Ortiz looked at me across the parking lot.
I saw the change in his face.
“What?” I asked.
He walked over.
“Your brother’s missing phone.”
Ethan’s primary phone had never been found after his death.
Rebecca said he must have lost it before the medical emergency.
Police had accepted that because there had been no reason to treat the house as a crime scene.
Until now.
“It was in Voss’s warehouse?”
“In his truck.”
“Why?”
“We’ll ask.”
I looked toward Voss.
He was handcuffed near a patrol car.
He turned his head.
Our eyes met.
I expected fear.
Instead, he smiled.
Not a big smile.
Barely anything.
Enough.
He said something to the officer beside him.
The officer frowned, then walked toward Ortiz.
“He says he’ll speak only if Moretti is present.”
Ortiz immediately said, “No.”
Voss raised his voice from twenty feet away.
“Thomas.”
I looked at him.
“You want to know why Ethan died?”
Ortiz stepped between us.
“Do not answer.”
Voss kept talking.
“Ask Marco what he did the night before.”
Across the road, Marco went perfectly still.
I looked at him.
His face had changed.
Not guilt.
Recognition.
Ortiz noticed too.
“What happened the night before Ethan died?” I called.
Marco did not answer.
Voss laughed once.
Then he said the sentence that made every officer in the parking lot turn.
“Ethan gave Marco the real file.”
My eyes moved back to Marco.
He looked at me across the road.
May you like
And for the second time in two days, I realized my oldest friend had not told me everything.
THE DOOR THOMAS OPENED
