Chapter 4 - The Puppet Master
The hospital corridor dissolved around me. My ears rang with high-pitched feedback.
*They set him up. I have to keep Robert safe.*
Julian Vance had been my friend since college. He was the one who introduced me to Mara. When Mara fell ill with idiopathic cardiomyopathy—a sudden, violent heart condition that choked her to death over four months—Julian was the one who handled the specialist appointments. Julian picked up her custom compounded digitalis prescriptions.
And after Mara died, Julian had taken me to a bar, bought me three stiff whiskeys, and leaned in close.
*‘Robert, buddy, look at the bank statements,’* Julian had whispered that dark night ten years ago. *‘Mara’s trust fund was drained—fifty thousand dollars, gone three weeks before her heart failed. And who had the secondary debit card? Ethan. The kid hated that you married her. He was skipping school. He bought that junk car. He’s bleeding you dry, Rob. If you don't cut him loose now, he'll drag you into the gutter.’*
I had believed him. Every rotten, poisoned word. I went home drunk, smashed Mara’s favorite ceramic vase against the fireplace, stormed up the stairs to Ethan’s room, threw his clothes into a duffel bag, and dragged him to the door.
*‘I know what you did!’* I had screamed in Ethan’s face. *‘You killed your mother with stress, you little thief! Get out of my sight before I kill you myself!’*
Ethan hadn't argued. He hadn't defended himself. He had only stared at me, tears streaming down his hollow cheeks, whispering: *‘I love you, Robert. Please remember that I love you.’*
And I had slammed the door in his face.
"Mr. Hale?" Marlow’s voice pulled me back to the hospital hallway. "You’ve turned pale as a sheet. What’s in that book?"
Before I could speak, heavy footsteps echoed down the tiled floor.
"Robert! Good Lord, Robert!"
I snapped my head up.
Walking briskly down the hallway was Julian Vance. Now sixty-four, clad in a tailored charcoal wool coat, silver hair perfectly coiffed, carrying a leather briefcase. His face wore an expression of grave, brotherly concern.
"I called your landline to check in about the estate taxes, and when you didn't answer, I got worried," Julian said, breathing heavily as he reached us. "I used the emergency tracker on your cell network—I was terrified something happened to you! What are you doing in Portland?"
Julian’s eyes flicked to the plate-glass window of Room 408. When his gaze landed on Ethan’s broken, bandaged body, something dark and sharp flickered in his eyes for a split second before vanishing behind a mask of faux shock.
"Is that... is that Ethan?" Julian gasped. "My God. After all these years?"
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I gripped the leather journal hidden beneath my coat, feeling my fingernails dig through the cardboard cover. The wolf was standing right in front of me, wearing the fleece of a brother.
***
