Chapter 9 - MAEVE SHERIDAN
Cormac refused to believe the photograph.
That was reasonable.
His family had turned death certificates into fiction.
Still, three deaths for one mother felt excessive.
Nora verified metadata.
Current.
No obvious manipulation.
Evelyn stared until her hands shook.
“I saw her die.”
Cormac looked at her.
“When?”
“Seven years ago.”
“Body?”
“Yes.”
“Face?”
“Yes.”
“Then?”
“Cancer.”
“Could it be twin?”
Nora gave him a look.
“Do not invent another secret relative.”
“Fair.”
Quinn studied photograph.
Maeve sat in a chair.
Older.
Thin.
Oxygen tube.
Behind her, wallpaper.
Blue flowers.
Evelyn went pale.
“No.”
“What?” Quinn asked.
“That house.”
“Where?”
“Cape Ann.”
“Whose?”
“Maeve’s.”
Cormac had never heard of it.
Of course.
They drove north with Nora’s team.
Cormac’s shoulder still healing.
Doctor said no.
Cormac ignored.
Quinn called him irresponsible.
He agreed.
House sat near sea.
Old shingles.
No guards visible.
Too easy.
Nora insisted federal lead.
Cormac accepted.
More progress.
Agents entered.
Clear first floor.
Then basement.
Brendan found tied.
Alive.
Seamus absent.
And upstairs:
Maeve.
Alive.
Cormac stopped in doorway.
She looked at him.
Gray hair.
Same eyes.
Older than photograph from childhood.
But her.
His mother.
No mistake.
“Cormac.”
He could not move.
Quinn stood behind him.
Maeve looked at her.
Then began crying.
“Quinn.”
Quinn froze too.
Maeve held out one hand.
Neither moved.
Finally Cormac said:
“You are terrible at staying dead.”
Maeve laughed weakly.
He hated how familiar it sounded.
Like a memory his body knew before his mind.
“You always used humor when frightened.”
His throat closed.
“You don’t get to know that.”
Her smile disappeared.
“No.”
Good.
She accepted.
“Why?”
One word.
All nineteen years.
Maeve looked toward Quinn.
Then Nora.
Then Cormac.
“Because Seamus found me before cancer did.”
“What?”
“Seven years ago, I was sick. The woman Evelyn saw die was my roommate in hospice.”
Evelyn sat.
Maeve continued.
“Seamus took me that night.”
“Seven years.”
“Yes.”
“Held where?”
“Different places.”
“Why?”
“Harbor Light.”
Of course.
“Why not kill you?”
“He believed I kept a second archive.”
“Did you?”
Maeve smiled faintly.
“Yes.”
Cormac almost laughed.
Family trait.
“Where?”
“Not relevant now.”
“It is if Seamus wants it.”
“He already has what he needs.”
“What?”
“Brendan.”
They turned.
Brendan sat downstairs under guard.
Maeve continued:
“Brendan knows where Patrick kept the black ledger.”
Cormac frowned.
“Different from Harbor Light?”
“Yes.”
“What is it?”
“Names of every person Patrick ordered killed.”
Silence.
Quinn went still.
Her father.
Maybe.
Gabriel? Wrong story. Eamon.
“What does Seamus want with it?” Nora asked.
“Destroy it.”
“Why?”
“Because his name is on half the orders.”
Cormac looked at Maeve.
“Then Brendan is bait.”
“Yes.”
“Seamus wants us to chase him away from ledger.”
Maeve nodded.
“Where is it?”
She looked at Cormac.
“Your house.”
Cormac laughed.
“Of course.”
Sheridan family residence in Beacon Hill.
He rarely used it.
Patrick’s study preserved.
Because Cormac hated touching it.
Another grave.
“Where?”
“Inside his chair.”
Cormac stared.
“Chair.”
Maeve almost smiled.
“Your father trusted furniture more than banks.”
Quinn said quietly:
“Burn the chair.”
Cormac looked at her.
She remembered Maeve’s tape.
He smiled.
“After.”
They moved fast.
Nora took Maeve to secure medical site.
Cormac wanted to stay.
Did not know how.
Maeve saw.
“Go.”
He looked at her.
“You left enough.”
Harsh.
Her face broke.
He regretted.
Still true.
“I know.”
Cormac turned away.
Quinn followed.
In car, silence.
Then she said:
“You can be angry and still go back.”
He looked at her.
“To her?”
“Yes.”
“Can you?”
“To Mom?”
Evelyn.
Quinn thought.
“Maybe.”
They were related by Patrick.
But their real parents were women and men who tried to escape him.
Cormac suddenly understood something.
“Eamon is your father.”
Quinn looked at him.
“Yes.”
“Maeve is my mother.”
“Yes.”
“Patrick is biology.”
“Yes.”
Nothing more.
Good.
At Beacon Hill, Declan met them.
House dark.
Patrick’s office upstairs.
Chair behind desk.
Heavy leather.
Cormac stared.
Sat there as child while father lectured him.
Learned rules.
Loyalty.
Silence.
Blood.
All lies.
Declan brought tools.
They cut chair backing.
Inside:
Black ledger.
And a gun.
Patrick’s.
Cormac lifted ledger.
Names.
Dates.
Orders.
Page after page.
Some signed P.S.
Some S.S.
Seamus Sheridan.
Quinn searched.
Eamon.
Found.
Order:
RETURN SUBJECT. RECOVER ARCHIVE. TERMINATE IF NECESSARY.
Signed S.S.
Seamus ordered Eamon’s death.
Quinn closed her eyes.
Truth.
There.
No revenge.
But truth.
Then another name.
Maeve Sheridan.
Order:
RECOVER. DO NOT TERMINATE.
Patrick.
He wanted wife back.
Property.
Cormac kept reading.
One entry:
QUINN SUTHERLAND — HOLD. NO FACIAL DAMAGE. USE FOR LEVERAGE.
Signed P.S.
Cormac slammed ledger shut.
Quinn’s face emptied.
He said:
“Enough.”
She nodded.
They had proof.
Nora could use it.
Then sound downstairs.
Glass.
Seamus.
Of course.
Cormac drew gun.
Quinn grabbed ledger.
Declan covered hall.
Seamus entered office alone.
Wet coat.
No weapon visible.
“Family.”
Cormac said:
“Stop.”
Seamus looked at chair.
Cut open.
Smiled sadly.
“Patrick really did love hiding things.”
“Hands.”
Seamus raised them.
“Give me ledger.”
“No.”
“It will destroy the family.”
“Yes.”
Seamus looked surprised.
Cormac continued.
“That is no longer a threat.”
“Your businesses.”
“Legal ones survive.”
“Your name.”
“Not important.”
Seamus’s face changed.
“What did they do to you?”
Cormac looked at Quinn.
“Truth.”
Seamus laughed.
Then moved fast.
Gun from ankle.
Declan fired.
Miss.
Cormac shoved Quinn down.
Shot struck wall.
Nora’s agents stormed stairs.
Seamus grabbed Cormac.
Gun under jaw.
Cormac froze.
Seamus whispered:
“Patrick was right. Love makes men slow.”
Cormac looked at Quinn.
His sister.
Not lover.
Family.
He smiled.
“No.”
Then drove elbow back.
Shot fired.
Ceiling.
Agents tackled Seamus.
Done.
Actually done.
No tunnel.
No escape.
No convenient darkness.
Cuffed.
Bleeding.
Alive.
Quinn stood holding black ledger.
Seamus looked at her.
“You think this gives you peace?”
Quinn answered:
“No.”
Then:
“It gives me evidence.”
Better.
Nora took ledger.
Federal custody.
Cormac looked at Patrick’s ruined chair.
“Declan.”
“Yes?”
“Burn it.”
Nora said, “Evidence.”
Cormac sighed.
“After evidence.”
Quinn almost smiled.
The next morning, Cormac returned to hospital where Maeve waited.
He stood in doorway.
She looked up.
“You came back.”
“Yes.”
“I am sorry.”
“I know.”
“I do not expect forgiveness.”
“Good.”
She smiled sadly.
He sat.
Not close.
Not far.
“Tell me about Harbor Light.”
So she did.
Not all at once.
That would take years.
Maybe they had them.
Maybe not.
Across the hall, Quinn sat with Evelyn.
Also talking.
Two children of Patrick Sheridan choosing which parents counted.
Later, Cormac found Quinn near vending machine.
“My mother wants family dinner.”
Quinn looked horrified.
“Which mother?”
“Maeve.”
“With Nora?”
“Yes.”
“And Evelyn?”
“Apparently.”
“Declan?”
“Invited.”
“Rory?”
“Somehow.”
Quinn stared.
“Absolutely not.”
Cormac smiled.
“Too late.”
She sighed.
Then:
“Fine.”
He looked at her.
“Sister.”
Quinn’s face twisted.
“Do not call me that.”
“Why?”
“It sounds wrong.”
“It is accurate.”
“You are unbearable.”
“Genetic.”
She laughed.
The sound still mattered.
Different now.
Cleaner.
Family.
Then Nora appeared holding another file.
Cormac groaned.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“What now?”
“Patrick’s ledger has one account still active.”
“Whose?”
Nora looked at both.
“Cormac’s.”
He frowned.
“I have many.”
“Not this.”
She handed file.
Account created the day he turned eighteen.
Balance:
$48,000,000.
Cormac stared.
“Never seen it.”
Quinn read terms.
Her face changed.
“What?”
She looked at him.
“The money releases when you leave organized crime voluntarily.”
Cormac laughed.
His mother.
Again.
No.
Account settlor:
EAMON SUTHERLAND.
Quinn stopped breathing.
Her father created an exit fund for Cormac.
The son of the man torturing his daughter.
Cormac whispered:
“Why?”
Quinn’s eyes filled.
Because Eamon believed children did not inherit fathers’ sins.
That was the only explanation needed.
And for the first time, Cormac Sheridan understood exactly what he was supposed to do next.
After Seamus was taken away, Cormac did not immediately leave Patrick’s study.
Quinn remained too.
The black ledger sat in an evidence bag on the desk.
The ruined chair leaned open behind it.
Cormac looked at the room where his father had shaped half his life.
“Do you want to know something embarrassing?”
Quinn leaned against the wall.
“Always.”
“I used to think this room was impressive.”
“It is expensive.”
“That is not the same.”
“No.”
“I thought men came in here because Patrick mattered.”
Quinn looked at the ledger.
“They came because they were afraid.”
“Yes.”
Cormac touched the edge of the desk.
“I confused fear with respect for years.”
“So did everyone around you.”
“That does not excuse me.”
“I did not say it did.”
He nodded.
That was why he trusted her.
No flattery.
No absolution.
Just facts.
Cormac looked at the chair.
“I’m not burning it.”
Quinn raised an eyebrow.
“Evidence?”
“No.”
“Then?”
“I want to auction it.”
She stared.
“What?”
“Sell it.”
“To who?”
“Some idiot who likes mob memorabilia.”
Quinn laughed.
“And the money?”
“Harbor House.”
“That is obnoxiously symbolic.”
“Yes.”
“I approve.”
Cormac smiled.
May you like
Patrick’s chair sold six months later for an absurd amount.
The buyer never learned that the family found the transaction hilarious.
