Chapter 18 - THE LAKE HOUSE
Emily did not go alone.
She did something almost as bad.
She lied about where she was going.
Matthew thought she was in a conference room with Rachel.
Rachel thought Emily was in the bathroom.
Marcus thought she was asleep in a side office.
Emily slipped out a service entrance wearing a baseball cap borrowed from Danielle.
It was childish.
It was reckless.
It was her choice.
That mattered less than she wanted it to.
She rented a car using a digital wallet and drove north.
Halfway to the lake house, guilt started chewing through the adrenaline.
She almost called Matthew.
Then remembered how many people had been hurt because information leaked.
She kept driving.
The lake house had belonged to her grandparents.
Emily had not visited since she was fourteen.
The dock leaned to one side now.
Weeds grew through cracks in the stone path.
The porch light was on.
Helen opened the front door before Emily knocked.
She looked exhausted.
No weapon.
No mask.
Just Helen.
“You came.”
“Where’s Peter?”
“Inside.”
Emily stayed on the porch.
“Show me.”
Helen stepped aside.
Peter Lang sat at the kitchen table.
Untied.
Bruised.
Alive.
Emily stared.
“Peter?”
He stood.
“Oh, thank God.”
Emily looked at Helen.
“You kidnapped him?”
Helen laughed once.
“No.”
“Your message said you had him.”
“I do.”
“That sounded like kidnapping.”
“I panicked.”
Peter said, “She pulled me out of Ambrose’s ambulance.”
Emily frowned.
“What?”
Helen closed the door.
“Graham’s men intercepted the ambulance after the fire.”
“You were with them?”
“No.”
“Then how did you know?”
Helen’s face tightened.
“Because I have been feeding Graham information for eighteen years.”
Emily felt the floor move under her.
Peter whispered, “Helen.”
“No. She needs it straight.”
Helen looked at Emily.
“I betrayed your mother.”
The words were almost identical to the tape.
Emily’s hands curled.
“Why?”
“I was in debt.”
“That’s it?”
“No.”
Helen swallowed.
“I was in love with your father.”
Emily stared.
Peter looked away.
Helen continued quickly, as if stopping would make it impossible.
“I had been for years. He never knew. Or maybe he did. It doesn’t matter.”
“What did you do?”
“Graham knew I was gambling. He paid my debts in exchange for schedules. Meetings. Travel.”
“You told him where my mother was.”
“I told him where Evelyn planned to meet a reporter.”
Emily’s eyes burned.
“You got her killed.”
Helen’s face broke.
“Yes.”
Peter said, “Emily—”
She held up a hand.
“Don’t.”
Helen did not ask forgiveness.
Emily was glad.
“What happened to my mother?”
Helen sat slowly.
“Graham’s men found the safe house. Evelyn escaped the first time. Margaret moved her north.”
“And then?”
“Seven months later, Evelyn tried to meet Arthur.”
“My father?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t he bring her home?”
“Because Graham had people watching you.”
Emily felt sick.
“She stayed away to protect me.”
“Yes.”
“How did she die?”
Helen’s eyes filled.
“A man followed her car on an icy road in Maine. She lost control.”
“Ambrose?”
“One of his men.”
“Did my father know?”
“Not for two years.”
Emily looked toward the old family photographs on the wall.
Her father had spent two years believing Evelyn might still be alive.
Then years knowing she was not.
And he had never told Emily.
Love had become another kind of lie.
“What did you do after?”
“I kept working for Arthur.”
“How?”
Helen looked ashamed.
“Cowardice is surprisingly durable.”
That sentence stayed in the room.
Peter rubbed both hands over his face.
“Helen started helping Arthur gather evidence five years ago.”
Emily laughed bitterly.
“So that fixes it?”
“No,” Helen said.
“Good.”
“No.”
Helen met her eyes.
“It does not.”
Emily sat opposite her.
“Why lure me here?”
“Because Graham thinks I’m still working for him.”
“Are you?”
“Sometimes.”
Emily stared.
Helen gave a tired, broken smile.
“That was the truthful answer.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means I have kept him informed enough to stay useful.”
“And he trusts you?”
“Not completely.”
“Where is he?”
Helen looked toward Peter.
Peter nodded.
“River terminal,” Helen said.
“Which one?”
“Carter Meridian’s old East Dock warehouse.”
Emily went still.
Matthew’s company.
Helen continued.
“Graham moved records there years ago because no one searched properties tied to Victor Carter.”
Emily’s phone rang.
Matthew.
She stared at the screen.
Helen said, “Answer it.”
Emily did.
Matthew’s voice was controlled.
“Where are you?”
“At the lake house.”
Silence.
When he spoke again, he sounded furious.
Not loud.
Worse.
“You left without telling anyone.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because people keep leaking things.”
“And you thought driving alone to a location sent by a suspected murderer was the solution?”
Emily flinched.
He was right.
She hated it.
“I made a bad call.”
“Yes.”
No softening.
Good.
Then he exhaled.
“Are you safe?”
“For the moment.”
“Who is there?”
“Helen and Peter.”
Matthew swore.
Helen raised one eyebrow.
Emily almost smiled.
“Matthew, listen. Ambrose is using the old East Dock warehouse.”
Silence.
Then Matthew said, “That property is empty.”
“No, it isn’t.”
“Emily, we sold East Dock three years ago.”
“To who?”
Matthew was quiet.
She already knew she would hate the answer.
“A holding company.”
“What holding company?”
He said the name.
EHW Holdings.
Emily looked at Helen.
Helen’s face drained of color.
Emily whispered, “Those are my mother’s initials.”
A floorboard creaked upstairs.
Everyone in the kitchen froze.
Peter whispered, “Is someone else here?”
May you like
Helen slowly shook her head.
Then the lights went out.
