Blackwood

The Brother's Bullet

Vincent's gun was aimed at George's chest.

Arthur lay on the concrete between them, blood pooling beneath his body. His eyes were still open. His mouth was moving, but no sound came out.

George looked at his oldest brother. Then at his middle brother.

"You just killed Arthur," George said.

"I just saved you." Vincent's voice was calm. Too calm. "He was going to shoot you. I saw it."

"He dropped the gun. He was surrendering."

Vincent shrugged. "Looked different from where I was standing."

George's hands curled into fists. "You've been waiting for this. For years. A reason to take him out."

"Arthur was weak. He always was. He couldn't lead the family. Couldn't protect the business. Couldn't even keep his own wife happy." Vincent stepped closer. The gun didn't waver. "I'm not weak."

"No. You're just a coward who shoots unarmed men."

Vincent's jaw tightened. "Watch your mouth, George."

"Or what? You'll shoot me too? Go ahead. Then you'll have killed both your brothers in one night. That'll look great at the family dinner."

Vincent's finger tightened on the trigger.

George didn't flinch.

For a long moment, neither of them moved. The parking garage was silent except for Arthur's ragged breathing.

Then Vincent lowered the gun. Just slightly.

"Where's Christopher?" Vincent asked again.

"Why do you care? You've never cared about him before."

"He's my son."

"No. He's Elizabeth's son. You're just the man who provided half his DNA and then walked away." George took a step toward Vincent. "You didn't want him then. You don't want him now. You want him because he's leverage."

"Leverage for what?"

"Leverage against Elizabeth. Against Mom. Against anyone who might use Christopher to take away what you think is yours."

Vincent's face twisted. "You don't know anything."

"I know you've been stealing from the company. I know you tipped off the federal investigators to make Arthur look bad. I know you've been playing everyone—including Maya—to position yourself as the last man standing." George took another step. "The only question is whether you're smart enough to walk away before it's too late."

"Too late for what?"

"Too late for you to have any future at all."

Vincent laughed. It was a sharp, bitter sound. "You think I care about the future? I care about now. I care about getting what I deserve."

"And what do you deserve?"

"Everything. Everything Arthur had. Everything Dad promised me. Everything you ran away from." Vincent's voice rose. "I stayed. I worked. I did everything they asked. And what did I get? Nothing. Because I wasn't the firstborn. I wasn't the favorite. I was just the middle child they tolerated."

George looked at his brother. Really looked at him.

Vincent wasn't angry. He wasn't scared. He was empty. Hollowed out by years of resentment and entitlement.

"Where's Christopher?" Vincent said for the third time.

"I'm not telling you."

Vincent raised the gun again. "I'll shoot you, George. Don't think I won't."

"I know you will. But you'll have to find Christopher yourself. And by the time you do, the police will be here."

Vincent's eyes narrowed. "You called the police?"

"I called them an hour ago. About the shooting at the cabin. I gave them the address. They'll find Maya. They'll find evidence linking back to Arthur. And to you."

"You're lying."

"Am I?" George pulled out his burner phone. "Check the call log. 911. Thirty-two minutes ago. They're probably at the cabin right now."

Vincent stared at the phone. For a moment, doubt flickered across his face.

Then he smiled.

"Doesn't matter. The police are in my pocket. Same as Arthur's. Same as Dad's." Vincent lowered the gun. "You think you're smart, George. But you're not. You're just naive."

"Maybe. But I'm not the one standing over my brother's body with a gun in my hand."

Vincent looked down at Arthur. Arthur's eyes had closed. His breathing was shallow. He was losing blood fast.

"He's dying," Vincent said. Like he was talking about the weather.

"Then call an ambulance."

"Why? Let him die. It's cleaner that way."

George couldn't believe what he was hearing. This was his brother. His family. And Vincent was ready to let Arthur bleed out on the concrete.

"You're worse than Dad," George said. "Than Arthur. Than anyone. At least they had reasons. You're just cruel."

Vincent's face went red. "I'm not cruel. I'm practical."

"There's a difference?"

Vincent didn't answer. He looked at Arthur one more time, then turned and walked toward the stairwell.

"I'll find Christopher myself," Vincent said over his shoulder. "And when I do, I'll make sure Elizabeth never sees him again."

He disappeared into the stairwell.

George stood frozen for a moment. Then he ran to Arthur.

His brother's shirt was soaked with blood. The wound was in his chest, just below the collarbone. Too close to the heart.

"Arthur. Can you hear me?"

Arthur's eyes fluttered open. His lips moved.

"George?"

"Don't talk. Save your strength."

"It hurts."

"I know. But you're going to be okay. I'm going to call an ambulance."

Arthur grabbed George's wrist. His grip was weak.

"Don't. Let me go."

"No. Arthur—"

"I deserve this. For what I did to Maya. To Mom. To you." Arthur's voice was barely a whisper. "I'm sorry, George. I'm so sorry."

"Save your apologies. You can tell me later."

"There won't be a later."

George pulled out his phone and dialed 911.

"Providence Police. What's your emergency?"

"I need an ambulance. Parking garage on Broad Street. My brother's been shot."

"Sir, is the shooter still there?"

"No. He's gone. Just send help."

"An ambulance is on the way. Stay on the line."

George stayed on the line. But he wasn't listening anymore. He was watching Arthur's face.

His brother's eyes were closing.

"Stay awake, Arthur. Look at me."

Arthur's eyes opened again. They were glassy.

"I never meant for any of this," Arthur said. "I just wanted to protect everyone."

"I know."

"Do you forgive me?"

George didn't answer.

Arthur smiled. A small, sad smile.

"I didn't think so."

His eyes closed.

George pressed his hand against Arthur's wound, trying to stop the bleeding. Blood seeped between his fingers.

"Stay with me, Arthur. Please."

But Arthur didn't respond.

---

The ambulance arrived seven minutes later.

George heard the sirens first, then the screech of tires. Two paramedics ran into the parking garage. They pushed George aside and went to work on Arthur.

George stood back, his hands covered in blood.

Another paramedic approached him. "Sir, are you hurt?"

"No. This isn't my blood."

"Are you sure? Let me check."

George let the paramedic examine him. He wasn't hurt. Not physically.

The police arrived a minute later. Two patrol cars. Four officers. They asked George questions he couldn't answer. Where was the shooter? What did he look like? Why was he here?

George gave them Vincent's name. His description. Everything.

Then they took him outside and sat him on the curb.

The sun was fully up now. The city was awake. People were walking past the police tape, staring at the commotion.

George watched them. Normal people. Going to work. Buying coffee. Living their lives.

He would never be one of them again.

A detective arrived. She was tall, with dark hair and sharp eyes. She looked at George like she knew him.

"George Blackwood?"

"Yes."

"I'm Detective Evelyn Reid." She showed him her badge. "I've been waiting to meet you."

"Have you?"

"I've been investigating your family for six months. Your father tipped me off. Did you know that?"

George nodded. "He told me last night."

"Where is your father now?"

George's heart sank. He'd forgotten. Julian was still in the car. The car he'd parked in the alley behind Elizabeth's apartment.

But Elizabeth's apartment was empty. Arthur had been there. Vincent was there now, maybe.

"I don't know," George said. "He was in my car. But I left the car."

"Where?"

George told her. Evelyn sent officers to check.

While they waited, Evelyn sat next to George on the curb.

"Your brother Arthur. Is he going to make it?"

"The paramedics didn't say."

"I saw his wound. It's bad." Evelyn's voice was gentle. "You should prepare yourself."

George looked at his hands. The blood was drying, turning brown.

"I'm not sure I want him to make it," George said quietly.

Evelyn didn't react. She'd probably heard worse.

"That's between you and your conscience," she said. "My job is to find out who shot him and why."

"Vincent. My other brother. He's the shooter."

"And why did Vincent shoot Arthur?"

"Because Arthur was going to surrender. And Vincent couldn't let that happen."

Evelyn wrote something in her notebook. "You're going to need to come to the station. Give a formal statement."

"I know."

"Anything else you want to tell me before we go?"

George thought about it. The money. The kidnapping. Elizabeth. Christopher. His mother.

"Yes," he said. "But not here. Not now. I need to make sure some people are safe first."

"Who?"

"My mother. A woman named Elizabeth Vale. Her son."

Evelyn's eyes widened. Just a fraction. "Elizabeth Vale. The nurse?"

"You know her?"

"I know of her. She's filed three complaints against your father's company. Harassment. Stalking. Threats." Evelyn leaned closer. "No one took her seriously."

"They should have."

"Why?"

"Because everything she said was true."

Evelyn stood up. "Come on. We'll go to the station. You can tell me everything there."

George stood up too. His legs were unsteady.

"One more thing," George said. "Maya Chen. She works for my family. She was shot tonight at a cabin north of the city. I called it in."

Evelyn checked her phone. "We have officers en route. No confirmation yet."

"She might be dead."

"Or she might be alive. We'll know soon."

George walked with Evelyn to her car. The sun was bright now. Too bright. He squinted.

Before he got in, he looked back at the parking garage.

The ambulance was pulling away, lights flashing.

He couldn't see if Arthur was in it.

He wasn't sure he wanted to know.

---

The police station was a gray building on the edge of downtown.

Evelyn led George through the back entrance, past the booking desks and holding cells, to an interview room on the second floor. The room was small. A table. Three chairs. A camera in the corner.

"Can I get you anything?" Evelyn asked. "Coffee? Water?"

"Coffee. Black."

Evelyn left. George sat alone in the room.

He looked at his reflection in the two-way mirror. He looked terrible. Dark circles under his eyes. Blood on his shirt. His hair was a mess.

He didn't care.

Evelyn came back with two cups of coffee. She set one in front of George and sat across from him.

"Before we start," Evelyn said, "I need to tell you something. Your father was found."

George's heart jumped. "Is he okay?"

"He's fine. He was in your car, just like you said. Officers picked him up twenty minutes ago. He's in another interview room."

"Does he have a lawyer?"

"He asked for one. We're waiting."

George nodded. "Good. He'll need one."

"So will you, probably." Evelyn took a sip of her coffee. "But before lawyers get involved, I want to hear what you have to say. Off the record. Just between us."

"Why would you do that?"

"Because I've been waiting six months for someone in your family to tell the truth. And I think you're that person."

George stared at her. She seemed genuine. But so had Maya.

"I need assurances," George said.

"Such as?"

"Protection for Elizabeth Vale and her son. And my mother. Vincent is looking for them. He's dangerous."

"I can arrange protection."

"And I want immunity for Elizabeth. She was involved in my father's kidnapping. But she was trying to protect my mother."

Evelyn's eyebrows rose. "Kidnapping?"

"It's a long story."

"I have time."

George took a breath. Then he started talking.

He told her about the phone call from Arthur. About the missing money. About the photographs in the study. About Elizabeth and Christopher and the truth about Vincent.

He told her about the cabin. About Maya. About Arthur's confession.

He told her everything.

Evelyn listened without interrupting. She took notes. Her face didn't change.

When George finished, she sat back in her chair.

"That's quite a story," Evelyn said.

"It's the truth."

"I believe you. Mostly." Evelyn stood up. "But I need evidence. Documents. Recordings. Something I can take to a judge."

"Elizabeth has evidence. Files she's been collecting for months. She'll give them to you. But only if you guarantee her safety."

"I can do that."

"Then get her here. Get my mother here. Get Christopher here. And I'll make sure they cooperate."

Evelyn nodded. She walked to the door.

"One more thing," George said.

Evelyn turned.

"Vincent is still out there. He has resources. He has connections inside the police department. He might try to stop this."

"Let him try," Evelyn said. "I've been waiting for a reason to take down your family. This is it."

She left.

George sat alone in the interview room.

He looked at his coffee. It was cold.

He drank it anyway.

---

Two hours later, Elizabeth arrived.

She came through the back entrance, flanked by two uniformed officers. Christopher was with her, holding her hand. Eleanor was behind them, leaning on a nurse's arm.

George stood up when they entered the interview room.

Elizabeth's face was pale. She looked at George with a mix of fear and hope.

"Are we safe here?" she asked.

"For now." George pulled out a chair for her. "Detective Reid is on our side. She's going to help us."

"I hope you're right."

"Me too."

Christopher sat next to his mother. He looked at George. "Is my father really dead?"

George's heart broke. "No. Arthur isn't your father. He was your uncle."

"Then who is my father?"

George looked at Elizabeth. She nodded.

"Vincent," George said. "Vincent is your father. The same Vincent who's trying to find you right now."

Christopher's face crumpled. He started to cry.

Elizabeth pulled him close.

George turned away. He couldn't watch.

The door opened. Evelyn stepped inside.

"Elizabeth Vale? I'm Detective Reid. I need to ask you some questions."

Elizabeth nodded. She kissed Christopher's head and stood up.

"George," Elizabeth said. "Will you stay with Christopher?"

"Of course."

Elizabeth left with Evelyn. George sat down next to Christopher.

The boy was crying quietly. George didn't know what to say. He'd never been good with children.

But he put his hand on Christopher's shoulder.

"Your mother is very brave," George said. "And so are you."

Christopher looked up. His eyes were red. "Is Vincent going to find us?"

"No. I won't let him."

"How can you stop him? You're just an accountant."

George almost laughed. "I've been asking myself that same question."

He looked at the door. At the mirror. At the camera in the corner.

"I don't know how," George said. "But I'll figure it out. I promise."

Christopher wiped his eyes. "Everyone breaks promises."

"Not this one."

The door opened again.

A uniformed officer stepped inside. His face was serious.

"Mr. Blackwood? There's a phone call for you. From your brother Vincent."

George's blood ran cold.

"Tell him I'm not here."

"He knows you are. He says if you don't talk to him, he'll release the files."

"What files?"

"The ones that prove your mother tried to kill your father."

George stood up.

He took the phone.