THE EMPTY CHAIR
POV: Evelyn
Leo's chair was empty and I noticed it before anything else.
Third row, a little to the left, the seat he'd claimed for years whenever I performed. One leg stretched into the aisle, coffee balanced between his knees, jacket thrown over the back. He complained about rehearsals, about the music, about how long I took to pack up, then stayed until the end anyway. Tonight there was nobody in it.
My bow kept moving while the Dvorak filled the hall and the stage lights burned hot on my face. My fingertips were stinging against the strings. Audition results were due Friday and six months of rehearsals had led to tonight. If I messed this up Dad would say I was throwing away my future again. I couldn't afford to miss, but every time I looked up, that chair was still empty.
My finger slipped and the bow skittered. Heat shot up the back of my neck as I missed half a beat and had to dig my thumb harder into the neck to catch the next phrase.
Leo was late. He was always late. Once he showed up forty minutes late carrying coffee and fries, completely unapologetic. "Relax, you're still playing," he'd grinned when I glared, and I'd ended up laughing. Maybe that was all this was. Maybe his phone died and he'd walk in before the final piece.
It didn't stop the tightness in my chest.
I played through to the final note. Silence, then applause. I lowered the bow, chest rising too fast, throat dry. Smile, nod, step back. I did it on autopilot, eyes going straight to the third row.
Nothing.
Backstage someone caught my arm. "That was beautiful."
"Thank you," I said, my palms damp, sweater sticking to my back.
My phone buzzed. Dad: Where is your brother? Then Mom: He promised the donors he'd be there. I typed I don't know with shaking fingers. They always expected me to know where Leo was, like I was his keeper.
The parking lot was almost empty. Rain starting, cold on my bare arms. I called Leo and got voicemail. Called again. Voicemail again. He forgot appointments, borrowed money, turned simple problems into disasters. But he always came back.
"Leo, it's me. This isn't funny. Call me back," I said, my throat tightening until the words scraped.
I drove home. Downstairs lights were still on and for a second I sat behind the wheel telling myself he was inside, eating something in the kitchen like he always did when he ignored my calls.
"Leo?" I called, pushing the door open. Silence. Kitchen empty. Living room empty. Upstairs his bedroom door was half open. I pushed it wider and stopped cold. Bed made. Leo never made his bed. Jacket gone, wallet on the desk. I picked it up. Cash, cards, license, everything still there. My knuckles hurt from gripping the leather, because if he'd left willingly, why leave his wallet?
My phone buzzed. Unknown number.
Your brother owes us.
$80,000.
Steel Skulls want to talk.
That name. I'd heard it at the country club, Dad's friends leaning in over drinks, voices low. Outlaw club. Dangerous. The kind of name Mom told me never to repeat.
Then a photo came through. Metal chair. Concrete floor. Hands tied behind a back. My brain didn't process it until I saw the watch. Leo's watch. The one Dad gave him for graduation.
My lungs locked as I zoomed in, fingers shaking so bad I almost dropped the phone. Head hanging forward, dark bruise on his jaw, red lines around his wrists.
"Leo," I whispered as my knees gave out and I had to catch the desk to stay standing.
48 hours.
Hands shaking, I called back. It rang twice.
"Steel Skulls," a man answered, voice flat.
"I'm Evelyn Thorne. That's my brother," I managed, voice breaking apart.
Pause. "Then you're calling the right people."
"Where is he? Is he hurt?" My breath came too fast.
"He's there. He'll live. Come to the clubhouse," he said.
"Let me talk to him, just for a minute," I pleaded, pressing my hand flat against my stomach.
"No."
"I can get the money," I blurted. I didn't have eighty thousand. My cello was worth maybe fifteen if I sold it, and that would kill me.
"You can bring the money, or you can bring yourself," he said.
"What does that mean?" My grip tightened until my hand ached.
"You'll understand when you get here," he said, and the line went dead.
I called back. No answer. I stared at the screen until my eyes burned, then opened his laptop. Gambling site filled the screen, bright and ugly.
"Of course," I muttered, stomach turning over.
Transactions and dates and names. $80,000 to Steel Skulls Entertainment LLC. Smaller payments too, and the amounts weren't random. I'd grown up around Dad's business, accountants arguing at our table about missing invoices. Dad had me balance the family books since I was sixteen because he said it built discipline. I knew when numbers were lying. These were lying.
At the bottom was a note: I found something. It's not just money.
I read it twice and my fingertips went cold.
My hand went to Dad's contact, then stopped. If I called him he'd take over, send people, turn this into a war before I understood what it was. Maybe that's what Leo needed. Or maybe that's what they expected.
I shoved the folder into my bag, grabbed my keys.
On my way down I stopped beside my cello case where I'd left it that morning. Leo watched me practice the same eight measures for an hour. "You're gonna marry that cello one day," he'd said, and I'd thrown a pencil at him. I touched the case, then let go. No time to fall apart.
My phone buzzed. Steel Skulls Clubhouse. West Port. Come alone.
I looked at Dad's name one last time, thumb hovering. I didn't call. Locked the house and went to the car, key slipping through damp fingers.
Headlights swept the driveway. For one second I looked back at the house, the piano, the cello, everything ordinary that morning.
Then I backed out.
I didn't know Ryder Vance. I'd heard his name once, whispered at the country club, the rogue president who answered to no one. I didn't know what he had to do with Leo.
All I knew was my brother was alive when that photo was taken, and I had forty eight hours to find him before they stopped keeping him alive.
