Page 67 of A Game of Deception
Just as I was merging onto the highway, my phone buzzed, the screen flashing a picture of a familiar, grinning face.
Sean.
I almost ignored it. The last thing I wanted was to drag him into this.
“Who is it?” Tara asked quietly.
“My brother.”
“You should answer it,” she said. “Maybe you need to talk to him.”
I took a breath and hit the speakerphone button. “Hey. Fair warning, you’re on speaker, and I’ve got company.”
“There he is!” Sean’s voice was disgustingly cheerful, the charismatic energy he used on stage bleeding through the phone. “I heard you were transferred to Miami. Figured I’d check in, see if you’ve been behaving yourself.”
“Something like that,” I mumbled, my eyes fixed on the road.
Sean’s tone shifted instantly, the public persona dropping away. “Cut the bullshit, Zan. I know that tone. That’s the ‘world’s ending but it’s my own damn fault’ voice. What’s really going on?”
“It’s nothing, Sean. Just… stuff.”
“Stuff,” he repeated flatly. “Listen to yourself. You sound like you’re carrying a mountain. You carry every problem like you’re the only one strong enough, and you refuse to let anyone help you hold the damn thing up.”
I flinched. His words, a perfect blend of his professional motivational speaking and brotherly love, hit their mark.
“I don’t want to bother you with my shit,” I said, my voice low.
“You’re my twin, you idiot. Your shit is my shit,” Sean said, his voice softening. “Listen to me. It’s time to let us in. Let the family help. It’s not a burden. It’s what we do. Stop trying to be the hero in your own tragedy and let someone else share the load for once.”
The dam cracked. I looked over at Tara, at her determined, beautiful face, and knew he was right. I couldn’t do this alone anymore.
“It’s about the accident,” I said, the words feeling heavy in my mouth. “Jimmy’s death, remember? I just spoke with the lead detective. He accidentally let it slip that he had ‘original notes’ thatcouldprove I wasn’t driving.”
Sean was silent for a beat, processing. When he spoke again, his voice was calm and strategic, the “Commander” personality taking over. “Okay. And these notes are where?”
“Hi Sean. This is Tara, Jimmy’s sister. The notes must be in the police archive in Palo Alto,” Tara answered for me. “We can’t get to them without tipping off my father.”
“You can’t,” Sean corrected. “But Cory can.”
The suggestion was so simple, so obvious, I felt like an idiot for not thinking of it myself. Cory. Our older half-brother. The quiet, workaholic investor who lived right there in Stanford.
“He’s a research machine. He can dig into anything without leaving a trace. He’s local. Call him. Tell him everything. He’ll help. You know he will.”
Sean was right. I’d just been isolating myself.
“Alright. Thank you, Sean,” I said, my voice thick.
“Trust me,” he said, his voice quiet but certain. “Now go make the call. It’s about damn time you let your brothers have your back.”
He hung up, leaving a profound silence in the car.
Tara turned to me, hope flickering in her eyes. “That’s good news. It sounds like Cory’s in your corner.”
Of course. It wasn’t a question of if he’d help, but whether I should finally let him. For all these years, I’d deliberately kept my family out of this.
“I’m from a big, blended family,” I said, no hesitation in my voice. “Half, step, cousin—it doesn’t matter. We always have each other’s backs. Cory will help. The real question is whether he’ll forgive me for not asking sooner.
“Then call him,” Tara said, her decision made. “We need those notes. They could be the key to everything.”
