Chapter 2 - The Seven O'Clock Meeting
The grandfather clock in the foyer chimed seven times, its deep tones echoing through the cavernous halls of Ironwood Mansion. The storm had passed, leaving behind a thick, gray fog that rolled off Lake Michigan, swallowing the trees outside.
Nolan Mercer walked into the study with his usual easy confidence. He was younger than Gideon by three years, taller, with a handsome face that smiled easily for the cameras and the politicians. He wore a tailored charcoal suit, his hair perfectly styled despite the damp morning air.
“Morning, brother,” Nolan said, tossing his leather briefcase onto the leather sofa. “The harbor masters are throwing a fit about the new shipping routes, but I think a little grease in the right palms will fix it. Where’s Pierce? Usually, he’s hovering like a vulture.”
Gideon sat behind his massive mahogany desk. He hadn't changed out of his damp clothes. His shirt was still wrinkled, his eyes bloodshot, but his posture was that of a king on a throne of knives.
“Pierce is busy,” Gideon said coldly.
Nolan paused, his smile faltering just a fraction. He was sharp; he could read the temperature of a room instantly. “You look like hell, Gid. Did the Valettis stir up trouble in the south side again?”
“No.” Gideon stood up, walking slowly around the desk. He didn't take his eyes off his brother’s face. “Something else came to light last night. Something personal.”
Nolan laughed, a sound that felt entirely too forced in the heavy silence of the room. “Personal? We don't have personal lives, remember? Just business and the family name.”
“Lydia,” Gideon said.
The name hung in the air like a lethal gas. Nolan’s posture stiffened. The easy charm vanished, replaced by a guarded neutrality. “Gideon... we talked about this. It’s been two years. You can’t keep digging up the past. The car went over the bridge. It was an accident.”
“Was it?” Gideon stopped just two feet from Nolan. He could see the slight twitch in his brother’s jaw. “Last night, a child was left at my gates. A six-month-old girl with gray eyes. She was wearing the silver locket I gave Lydia for our anniversary.”
Nolan’s breath hitched. For a split second, pure, unadulterated terror flashed across his face before he masked it with confusion. “A baby? What are you talking about? Gideon, you’re losing your mind. Someone is playing a sick joke on you. They’re using Lydia’s memory to get under your skin.”
“The note left with her said otherwise,” Gideon continued, his voice dropping to a whisper that was more terrifying than a shout. “It said she survived the bridge. It said she lived long enough to have my child. And it said the person who ordered the hit did it from inside this family.”
Nolan took a step back. “And you think it’s me? Your own brother? I loved Lydia like a sister, Gideon! I was the one who held you together when the cops told us there was no body!”
“You were also the one who insisted we stop searching the river after three days,” Gideon countered, his eyes drilling into Nolan’s soul. “You were the one who took over the shipping manifests that very week. The manifests that control the docks Lydia was investigating before she died.”
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“She was a journalist, Gideon! She was poking her nose where it didn't belong!” Nolan snapped, his anger finally breaking through.
“She was my wife,” Gideon growled, grabbing Nolan by the lapels of his expensive suit and slamming him against the wall. The force rattled the framed paintings on the wall. “Tell me what you did, Nolan. Tell me before I let Pierce have you.”
