“We have about twenty minutes before Garrett realizes something is wrong,” he said. “Maybe less. If you want to survive the night, you need to listen first.”
I hated that he was right.
So I listened.
“After our parents died, the doctors told everyone I had suffered a spinal injury that left me unable to move my legs. That part was true. I couldn’t walk for almost a year. But my injury wasn’t permanent.”
He paused.
“About fourteen months after the accident, I began regaining movement. At first, it was just my toes. Then my knees. Eventually, I could stand with support.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because someone was watching our house.”
He reached into the lining of his jacket and pulled out a small waterproof pouch.
Inside were a folded photograph, a flash drive, and a thin envelope sealed in plastic.
“The night before our parents died, Dad called me into his study. He told me he had discovered financial irregularities at the shipyard. Millions of dollars had been moved through shell companies connected to the Whitmore family.”
