Chapter 3 - Fiona Thought Weston’s Wife and Brother Were the Traitors—Until a Twenty-Year-Old Recording Revealed Someone Had Been Teaching the Kingsley Brothers to Hate Each Other Since They Were TeenagersHoweran did not run.
That frightened Fiona more than if he had.
He simply looked at Weston and asked:
“What happened?”
Weston held out his phone.
“Beckett found a recording.”
Howeran’s expression remained controlled.
“What recording?”
“My father.”
A pause.
“He claims I gave him my mother’s route the night she died.”
Howeran looked at Fiona.
Then Weston.
“That recording should have been destroyed.”
Silence.
Weston drew his gun.
Fiona’s stomach dropped.
“Howeran.”
The older man slowly raised his hands.
“Boss.”
“You knew.”
“Yes.”
“Start talking.”
Howeran sat.
Twenty years earlier, Victor Kingsley had been more dangerous than either son understood.
Weston and Beckett’s mother, Evelyn, discovered Victor was laundering money through charitable trusts.
She planned to leave.
She also planned to cooperate with federal investigators.
Victor learned.
He ordered her killed.
Weston overheard part of the plan.
But Victor threatened Beckett.
If Weston warned his mother, his little brother would die instead.
“So he stayed silent,” Howeran said.
Weston stared at the floor.
“I was nineteen.”
Fiona heard the boy inside the man.
Howeran continued.
“Your father recorded conversations constantly.”
“He made the recording?”
“He edited it.”
Weston looked up.
“What?”
“He took a conversation where you told him your mother was going to a charity dinner and rearranged it to sound like you knowingly gave him her route.”
“Why?”
“Insurance.”
“Against what?”
“You.”
Victor knew Weston might eventually turn against him.
If that happened, he would show Beckett the recording.
Divide the brothers.
Protect himself.
“But Father died before he used it.”
Howeran nodded.
“And you knew?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn't you destroy it?”
“I thought I did.”
Silence.
Weston lowered the gun.
“Where was it?”
“Your father kept a second archive.”
“Who had access?”
Howeran hesitated.
“Mercer.”
Everything connected again.
Elias Mercer.
The financial adviser.
The man who escaped.
Mercer had found the recording.
Fed it to Beckett.
Encouraged resentment.
Then Karen entered.
Fiona frowned.
“How long has Karen known Mercer?”
Howeran looked at her.
“Longer than Weston.”
Weston’s head snapped up.
“What?”
Howeran retrieved an old file.
Karen’s maiden name was not Karen Adler, as Weston believed.
It was Karen Mercer.
Elias Mercer was her uncle.
Weston stared at the document.
His entire marriage had been engineered.
Karen had met him at a charity event six years earlier.
Or supposedly met him.
In reality, Mercer positioned her there.
The plan had taken years.
Gain Weston’s trust.
Marry him.
Drive Beckett further away.
Eventually remove Weston.
Take the Kingsley fortune.
Fiona felt sick.
“This isn't an affair that became a murder plot.”
“No,” Howeran said.
“The marriage was part of the murder plot.”
Weston sat.
For once, he had nothing to say.
Fiona watched him.
Betrayal from a wife hurt.
Betrayal from a brother cut deeper.
But discovering six years of marriage had been manufactured was something else.
She sat beside him.
Not touching.
Just there.
After a moment Weston asked:
“Did you ever love her?”
Fiona blinked.
“What?”
“If you were me.”
“That’s not what you asked.”
He looked at her.
“Did I ever love Karen?”
“I can't answer that.”
“I don't know anymore.”
Fiona thought.
“You probably loved who you believed she was.”
Weston nodded slowly.
“That might be worse.”
“Probably.”
He looked at her.
“You're terrible at comforting people.”
“So I've been told.”
A faint smile appeared.
Then disappeared.
“We need Beckett.”
“Yes.”
“Alive.”
Fiona was surprised.
“You don't want to kill him?”
“I want the truth.”
That was progress.
They traced Beckett through the recording.
Metadata pointed toward an abandoned Kingsley property in Wisconsin.
The family lake house.
Weston had not visited since his mother died.
They arrived at dusk.
Fiona insisted on going.
Weston argued for twenty minutes.
Lost.
Beckett waited inside.
Alone.
He looked exhausted.
Gun in hand.
“Fiona.”
“Beckett.”
“You really are everywhere now.”
“I spent three years cleaning up after you.”
Weston entered.
Beckett raised the weapon.
“Don't.”
Weston stopped.
“I know about the recording.”
“Congratulations.”
“It's fake.”
“Of course you'd say that.”
“Howeran confirmed it.”
Beckett laughed bitterly.
“Howeran serves you.”
Fiona stepped forward.
“Then don't trust Howeran.”
Beckett looked at her.
“Trust me.”
“Why?”
“Because you know I had no reason to protect Weston.”
That stopped him.
“I heard you and Karen planning to kill him.”
“Yes.”
“I could have stayed silent.”
Beckett’s jaw tightened.
“I didn't.”
She held up a tablet.
“Listen to the original.”
Howeran had found an archived backup.
Weston at nineteen.
Victor’s voice.
“Where is your mother going?”
“Charity dinner.”
“What route?”
“I don't know.”
Then Victor threatening him.
“If you warn her, Beckett dies.”
Young Weston crying.
Actually crying.
“Please don't hurt him.”
Present-day Beckett went pale.
The gun lowered.
“No.”
The recording continued.
“Please. He's fifteen.”
Beckett sat down.
“No.”
Weston stood silently.
Beckett looked at him.
“You knew.”
“Yes.”
“You knew Dad was going to kill her.”
“Yes.”
“And you didn't tell her.”
“No.”
Beckett’s eyes filled.
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“Because I was ashamed.”
“You let me hate you for twenty years.”
“I thought hatred was easier than telling you I was a coward.”
Beckett stood.
“You weren't a coward.”
Weston stared.
“You were nineteen.”
The same words Fiona had told him.
Beckett began crying.
Weston approached slowly.
For twenty years, the brothers had lived inside a dead man’s manipulation.
Then Beckett did something unexpected.
He dropped the gun.
Weston embraced him.
Not forgiveness.
Not yet.
But the beginning.
Then the window exploded.
Fiona screamed.
Beckett jerked backward.
Blood appeared across his chest.
“Beckett!”
Weston caught him.
Another shot.
Fiona dragged both men behind the wall.
Sniper.
Mercer.
Beckett struggled to breathe.
“Karen…”
Weston pressed against the wound.
“What?”
“She doesn't know.”
“Know what?”
“Mercer plans to kill her too.”
Beckett coughed.
“He needs all Kingsleys dead.”
Fiona stared.
“Why?”
Beckett whispered:
“Because he isn't stealing the empire.”
Blood touched his lips.
“He thinks it belongs to him.”
Then he lost consciousness.
Beckett survived.
Barely.
The bullet missed his heart.
While surgeons operated, Fiona and Weston investigated Mercer’s history.
What they found changed everything.
Elias Mercer’s mother had been Victor Kingsley’s first wife.
The marriage was annulled secretly before Weston was born.
Mercer believed Victor stole his mother’s inheritance and built the Kingsley empire using her family’s money.
In his mind, Weston and Beckett were living on stolen wealth.
This was not only greed.
It was revenge.
Mercer wanted every Kingsley erased.
Karen included.
“She's his niece,” Fiona said.
“Disposable niece,” Weston answered.
Karen was still being held.
When told the truth, she refused to believe it.
“Uncle Elias raised me.”
“He used you,” Fiona said.
“He loves me.”
“He put you inside a marriage so you could help murder your husband.”
Karen stared.
“He promised Beckett and me the organization.”
“No.”
Fiona placed documents on the table.
“He transferred the accounts to himself.”
Karen’s face collapsed.
For years she had believed herself a player.
She had been another piece.
“Help us,” Fiona said.
Karen looked at Weston.
“Why would he let me live?”
Weston answered from the doorway.
“Because I’m done letting other people decide who dies.”
Karen stared at him.
“You've changed.”
His eyes moved toward Fiona.
“Yes.”
Karen noticed.
Something painful crossed her face.
Not jealousy.
Regret.
“You love her.”
Fiona froze.
Weston said nothing.
Karen laughed softly.
“You do.”
Fiona stood.
“This isn't relevant.”
“It is to me.”
Karen looked at her.
“I spent six years trying to make that man look at me the way he just looked at you.”
Weston’s jaw tightened.
“Karen.”
She raised her hand.
“I'll help.”
Mercer contacted her that night.
He believed she had escaped.
Karen arranged a meeting.
Navy Pier.
Midnight.
Federal authorities remained out.
Weston still had too many compromised connections.
Howeran coordinated trusted security.
Fiona stayed in the command vehicle.
Or she was supposed to.
At 12:17, Karen entered the warehouse.
Mercer appeared.
“You failed.”
“I can fix it.”
“Beckett?”
“Alive.”
Mercer slapped her.
Karen nearly fell.
“You were supposed to kill him.”
“I love him.”
Mercer laughed.
“You were never supposed to love anybody.”
Karen stared.
That sentence finally broke whatever remained between them.
“What about me?”
“What about you?”
“You promised—”
“I promised what I needed to promise.”
Mercer raised his gun.
Weston stepped from the shadows.
“Put it down.”
Mercer smiled.
“Weston.”
Karen ran.
Gunfire erupted.
Mercer’s men attacked.
Weston took cover.
Howeran’s team responded.
Then Fiona saw a second vehicle approaching the command van.
Wrong plates.
She grabbed the radio.
“Weston, get out!”
Too late.
Explosion.
The warehouse shook.
Flames climbed.
Fiona’s vehicle rolled sideways.
Her head struck glass.
Everything disappeared.
When she woke, someone was dragging her.
She tried to fight.
A cloth covered her mouth.
The last face she saw before darkness returned was Mercer’s.
He smiled.
“Finally.”
May you like
Then he whispered:
“Now I have the only person Weston Kingsley will trade his empire to save.”
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