“You’re North Harbor,” I said.
Kellan’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Bree was a problem. Your sister tried to solve it. Bree tried to get heroic. Then she got unlucky.” He said it like the hit-and-run had been weather.
My hands shook harder. “You hit her.”
Kellan’s expression didn’t change, but something dark flickered behind his eyes. “I don’t drive.”
That was worse, somehow.
Kellan stepped closer, lowering his voice as if he was offering advice. “Here’s what’s going to happen, Matthew. You’re going to stop digging. Alyssa is going to finish what she started. The account opens. The paperwork clears. Bree stays quiet. You get to keep playing husband-of-the-century.”
The rage that surged up was so intense it made my vision blur. “And if I don’t?”
Kellan’s gaze slid past me, down the hall, toward Bree’s room. “Then we stop being careful.”
My blood turned to ice.
He reached into his jacket and pulled out a small device—black, rectangular. A key fob. He clicked it once, casually.
From Bree’s room, the steady clicking of the feeding pump stuttered—paused—then started again, faster.
Panic punched me in the gut.
“What did you do?” I barked, turning toward her room.
Kellan’s voice stayed calm. “Nothing permanent. Yet. But you see how easy it is to change a setting? A dose? A rate? A life?”
I was trembling now, barely holding myself together. “Get out,” I hissed.
Kellan watched me like I was a bug pinned to cardboard. “Tomorrow,” he said. “You’ll find the ledger Bree hid. You’ll give it to Alyssa. And you’ll forget you ever saw my face.”
He stepped back toward the basement door. “Be smart, Matthew. Devotion is cute until it gets you killed.”
Then he disappeared into the basement and the door shut softly behind him, like a polite goodbye.
I stood in the hallway, shaking, listening to my wife’s pump clicking too fast, my heartbeat matching it in awful sync.
I ran into Bree’s room and checked the settings with clumsy hands, adjusting the flow until it steadied. I leaned over Bree, my forehead nearly touching hers.
“Bree,” I whispered, voice ragged. “Where’s the ledger?”
Her eyes flicked once. Left. Toward the wall.
The wall behind her dresser.
My hands moved without thinking. I yanked the dresser away from the wall, the legs scraping the floor. The plaster smelled dusty. My fingers found something—an uneven spot, a faint seam.
A hidden panel.
I pried it open with shaking hands and pulled out a thin black notebook wrapped in plastic.
Ledger.
My throat tightened. “This is what he wants.”
Bree’s lips trembled. A tear slid down her temple, slow and silent.
I stared at her, the notebook heavy in my hands, and felt my world tilt.
Was Bree warning me because she was finally fighting back… or because she needed me to hand over the one thing that could save her and Alyssa?
Before I could decide, my phone buzzed with a text from Alyssa:
He came by, right? Don’t be scared. Bring the ledger to me tonight, or he’ll hurt her.
My stomach dropped as a new fear crashed over me.
How did Alyssa know I’d already found it—and what was she willing to do to make sure I gave it to her?
Part 6
When you live with the constant hum of machines, you start believing you can control everything with the right setting.
Kellan proved how wrong that is.
I sat at the kitchen table with the ledger in front of me, still wrapped in plastic, like it might bite. Bree’s whisper—He knows—echoed in my head. Alyssa’s text glowed on my phone like a threat dressed up as concern.
Mrs. Powell would be here in the morning. The police would ask a thousand questions. Dr. Ellison would talk about protocols and timelines.
None of that helped me tonight.
I went back to Bree’s room and sat close enough to feel her warmth through the blanket. Her eyes were open again, drifting, struggling like she was pushing through thick water.
“I’m not giving it to her,” I whispered. “Not without knowing why.”
Bree’s throat worked. Her voice was a frayed thread. “Alyssa… doesn’t… choose.”
That sentence landed like a punch.
“She’s scared,” I said, angry despite myself. “I’m scared too. That doesn’t mean you drug my wife and steal her signature.”
Bree’s eyes squeezed shut for a second, and when she opened them, they looked wet. A tear slid down her cheek and disappeared into her hairline.
“You…” she rasped. “You… can’t… trust… me.”
The honesty of it shocked me more than any threat. My breath caught.
“Why?” I demanded, voice cracking. “Why didn’t you tell me any of this before? Why is Alyssa’s name in your work folder? Why is Kellan in our lives?”
Bree’s lips trembled. She swallowed hard, like swallowing glass.
“I… started… it.”
The room felt suddenly too small, the air too thick.
“What did you start?” I whispered.
Bree stared at the ceiling, her eyes unfocused with effort. “Money… moved. I… used… your name.”
My stomach turned.
Six years of me wiping her mouth, turning her body to keep her from sores, fighting insurance battles, telling myself love meant staying—while my name was being used like a clean glove to handle dirty things.
I stood up so fast the chair scraped.
“Matt,” Bree croaked, voice pleading now. “I… tried… to stop.”
I stared at her, my hands shaking, fury and grief twisting together until I couldn’t tell which was which.
“You didn’t trust me,” I said, voice low and raw. “You didn’t protect me. You used me.”
Bree’s eyes filled again. “I… loved—”
“Stop,” I snapped, the word sharp enough to cut. “Don’t say it like it fixes anything.”
The truth hit me with brutal clarity: even if Bree had been coerced, even if Alyssa had been threatened, they had still made choices. They had still dragged me into their mess and called it love.
I took the ledger and walked back into the kitchen.
Then I did the one thing I should’ve done months ago: I called Detective Harper.
She’d been the one who occasionally checked in on Bree’s hit-and-run case, her tone always sympathetic, always slightly doubtful—like she’d suspected the story had holes.
When she answered, her voice was groggy but alert. “Harper.”
“This is Matthew Rourke,” I said. “Someone broke into my house tonight. He threatened my wife. I have evidence tied to North Harbor Group. I need you here now.”
There was a pause, then a sharper edge entered her voice. “Are you safe?”
“No,” I said honestly. “But I’m done being quiet.”
I told her about Kellan. About Alyssa. About the sedatives. About the forged signatures. I didn’t soften anything, because softening is what got me here.
Within twenty minutes, blue lights washed across my living room walls. The front yard filled with officers moving fast and quiet. Detective Harper stepped inside, hair pulled back, coat thrown over pajamas like she’d come straight from bed.
Her eyes took in my face, the cameras on my laptop, the ledger on the table.
“You weren’t exaggerating,” she said softly.
“No,” I replied. “And I’m not negotiating.”
We set a plan so quickly it felt unreal: Harper would hold the ledger as evidence, use it to bring in financial crimes, and set a sting for Alyssa and Kellan. If Alyssa showed up tonight expecting the ledger, officers would be ready.
Part of me felt sick at the idea of trapping my own sister. Another part felt like I’d been drowning for years and someone finally threw me a rope.
At 11:58 p.m., my phone buzzed again.
Alyssa: I’m outside. Don’t make this harder.
My throat tightened. Harper glanced at me.
“Let her in,” she murmured.
My legs felt like they belonged to someone else as I walked to the door. I opened it.
Alyssa stood on the porch, hood up, cheeks flushed from the cold. Her eyes darted past me into the house, searching.
“You got it?” she asked, too quickly.
I swallowed. “Yeah.”
Relief flashed across her face—then guilt, then a hard mask she slapped on like she was used to it.
“Give it to me,” she said, stepping inside.
Behind her, the street looked empty. Too empty.
I kept my voice steady. “Why, Alyssa?”
Her jaw tightened. “Because if I don’t, he kills her.”
“And if you do?” I pushed. “What happens to Bree? To me?”
Alyssa’s eyes flicked toward the hallway like she could see Bree through walls. “We survive,” she said, as if that was the only moral that mattered.
Harper was hidden in the back room with two officers. I could feel their presence like pressure in the air.
I held Alyssa’s gaze. “You’ve been drugging my wife.”
Alyssa flinched like I’d slapped her. “Don’t—don’t say it like that.”
“How else do I say it?” My voice rose despite my effort. “You’ve been forging her signature. You’ve been letting some man with a key to my house threaten us.”
Alyssa’s eyes flashed with anger. “You think I wanted this?” she hissed. “You think I woke up one day and decided to ruin your life? Bree started moving money. She dragged me in. Kellan dragged both of us deeper. And you… you just sat here playing martyr, acting like love fixes everything!”
The words hit because they were partly true, and I hated that.
“Where’s the ledger?” Alyssa demanded, stepping closer.
I lifted my chin. “It’s not yours.”
Alyssa’s face hardened. Her hand went into her pocket.
For a split second, I thought she was reaching for her phone.
Then metal flashed.
A small handgun—something she’d probably never held until fear taught her how.
My blood turned to ice.
“Alyssa,” I whispered, barely able to form the sound. “Put it down.”
Her hand shook, but the barrel stayed pointed at my chest.
“I can’t,” she said, voice cracking. “You don’t get it. If I go back without it, I’m dead. If I leave you with it, you tell the cops, and I’m dead anyway.”
Tears pooled in her eyes, and for a heartbeat I saw my little sister again—the kid who used to follow me on my bike, begging me to teach her tricks.
Then her jaw clenched and the mask snapped back into place.
