A Powerful Secret

by Dr. Kevin Leman

  It was the first time Sean could remember hearing those words from his brother. His own eyes brimmed and spilled over.

  Shock, grief, and the release of pent-up emotions skittered down Will’s spine as he embraced his brother. Sean was alive. Home.

  All too soon, though, Will’s thoughts raced. Where has he been all this time? He wanted the details, had to know the details, to make sense of the situation.

  Not yet, the still small voice said. The answers will come. Be patient.

  So instead he stood with his brother in the private space outside his front door. Never had Will been more grateful that only his family and Drew’s family knew the code to get to their penthouse suite. Here they could talk unimpeded.

  At last Sean broke free. “You know, don’t you? About Thomas? Now I understand why you walked away from the Senate bid.”

  Will blinked. So Sean thought that was the sole reason. He didn’t know the rest of the story.

  Not yet, the voice said again. For today this is enough.

  Someday Will would have to tell him, but now wasn’t the time. As important as it was for him to be in control, he was learning to trust that voice. “Yes,” Will replied. “A brother’s love.”

  “All this time,” Sean whispered, “I was angry at you. I had no idea.”

  “I promised Mom I would do all I could to protect you.”

  “So you gave up your dream for me.” Sean stated it directly, but there was pain in the words.

  “No, I gave up one dream.”

  “I should have trusted you.”

  Will looked him in the eye. “Yes.”

  “Does Dad know?”

  Will nodded. “He does now.”

  “He didn’t before?” Sean asked.

  “Not for sure, though he had some guesses over the years.”

  “I see. And Sarah?”

  “I don’t think so. Mom didn’t tell her. Dad doesn’t want us to tell her, so I haven’t. He wants to protect her.”

  He saw the acknowledgment in Sean’s eyes. “I understand.”

  “So are you going to let Mom know you’re alive? And Sarah? Right away?” Will pressed.

  Sean laughed. “Now you’re sounding like my brother.”

  56

  Sean stopped by his place at One Madison to drop off his backpack, take a shower, shave, and grab fresh clothes before heading to Chautauqua. Both he and Will had agreed it would be best if their mother saw him in person.

  He leafed through the stack of mail that his housekeeper had brought in while he was away. One envelope with no return address and handwriting he didn’t recognize stood out. He opened it out of curiosity.

  Think twice about running for governor. Secrets have a way of becoming public.

  The text was written in blue ballpoint pen.

  He turned the note over. Blank. Weird.

  So who else knew that Worthington blood didn’t run through his veins? That had to be it. It was the only secret he had. Thank goodness he’d already decided that politics wasn’t for him. The note only confirmed it. He would never put his family—especially his mom—through the scrutiny the family would face now if he ran for public office.

  Still, the note grated. He balled it up in his fist. Sean hated bullies. He wasn’t about to let them get the upper hand. His brother was the only human he’d allow to play that ace-card role in his life. Sean acknowledged that now. He would have made a lot fewer mistakes if he’d listened to Will instead of trying to compete with him as they grew up.

  His eyes flicked back to the note in his hand, now a mangled ball. Maybe he should keep it. He spread it out on the desk, smoothing out the wrinkles and tears, and slipped it inside a book. Who else knew about his birth father? Only Thomas himself, as far as Sean could figure it. Then a flash of recall hit. Just before his brother had announced he wouldn’t run, Sean had seen Jason Carson standing by the stage. Had Carson somehow found out about Sean and threatened Will with releasing that knowledge? Was that the entire truth about why Will stepped out? Because not only had their mother told Will, but Carson had dangled the secret in front of Will like a hangman’s noose?

  The idea incensed Sean. The slime! What exactly did Carson have against the Worthingtons anyway? Or was he merely a puppet, with his master behind the scenes pulling the strings? Had Sandstrom been behind that too?

  “Will,” Laura cautioned, “let it go. You can’t control things in this situation. You have to let Sean handle it—alone.”

  Will knew she was right, but he felt helpless. He hated that feeling. He wanted to control the situation, halt his mom’s grief and Sarah’s by letting them know immediately that Sean was alive.

  Laura hugged him. “I know. You’re a fixer. This goes against your grain. But Sean isn’t little anymore. Big brother can’t and shouldn’t fix things in his life now.”

  So Will painfully relinquished control. He couldn’t do anything but that, since Laura had taken his cell phone from his pocket. He knew she was right, though.

  “Okay, okay, I promise I won’t call.”

  Laura stepped back. “Good for you. And I’ll help you keep that promise.” She smiled, waggled his cell phone in her hand, and made her way into the kitchen.

  He felt limp. Emotion had never been easy for him. Things that could be quantified—numbers, statistics—were much more comfortable.

  He absentmindedly picked up the morning paper from the foyer table. He’d been about to start reading it after waking up late when Sean knocked on the door.

  Jason Carson seemed unstoppable. The whistle-blower was still being painted as a good guy whose conscience had led him to reveal Sandstrom’s dirty dealings. Will wondered what Carson’s next revelation would be. Not only had he derailed Will from the Senate race by holding a photo of his brother with the Polar Bear Bomber over his head, but Carson still held that power. At any time he could choose to destroy Sean—and the Worthington family as a whole in the eyes of the world—by revealing that photo. And what better way to do it than in the eyes of a primed public? Especially with the speculation about Sean running for governor of New York?

  Will it happen all over again—what happened to me? Except hold my brother hostage this time?

  Other than his father and Laura, Will didn’t care what people thought of him. But Sean’s network was critically important to him. He thrived on what other people thought of him. That was why he’d been so upset and embarrassed when Will conceded the race. So what would it do to Sean to have his own neck in a noose?

  Will’s big-brother protectiveness rose to the forefront again. He couldn’t let that happen to Sean. He knew exactly who to contact.

  CORVO

  At last the man had gotten answers. The contact had wangled the information out of a local fisherman that he’d transported a well-paying red-haired American to Flores.

  Irritated, the man ordered his pilot to ready the plane for an immediate departure.

  He took Sean’s book with him.

  57

  NEW YORK CITY

  Once Sean was in his Jeep, he paused before he put it into gear. Might as well get it over with, he chided himself. Stop being a chicken.

  He phoned Sarah.

  “Sean?” She sounded out of breath.

  “Yup.”

  There was a deathly silence. Then he heard a door slam so hard that windows rattled. She came back on the line. “How could you! Let us think you were dead?”

  Sean listened painfully as his sister let him have it with both barrels. When at last she was done, he said, “Okay, I deserved that.”

  “You bet you do, and a lot more too,” she retorted. “Where on earth have you—”

  “Hey, I’ll explain as soon as I can. I promise. But I wanted you to know I’m okay. I’m home. But I need to talk to Mom first.”

  “She’s in Chautauqua, mourning,” she snapped. “Because she thinks you’re dead. Dead, Sean.”

  “I know. I understood that the first time you said
it. Will told me she’s there. Listen—I have to get on the road now, but I’ll call you back soon, when I’m not driving. Okay?”

  “Make that double soon,” she said. “You owe me. Big.” And she hung up.

  He shook his head. Sarah never had been big on patience, and she was a fireball to boot. He chuckled. Sounded like someone else—himself. Maybe he was more a Worthington than he knew.

  One more down. Two to go.

  And they would be the two hardest.

  EN ROUTE FROM CORVO TO FLORES

  Once his jet was in the air, the man smacked the table next to him in frustration.

  His contact winced. The reason didn’t need to be stated. They were once again behind on Sean Worthington’s movements.

  “Track that cell,” the man ordered.

  “On it already.” As they neared Flores, he added, “Got it. Satellite GPS photo coming through now.”

  The grainy photo of a Jeep and a man in the driver’s seat popped up on the jet’s computer screen.

  The man nodded. Sean Worthington. No doubt. He was alive.

  The computer screen switched to a map and a blinking red dot. So Sean was back in New York City. But he was driving out of the city, heading for . . .

  “Keep following him on the GPS,” the man barked. The orders weren’t necessary. He knew where Sean was going. “Set course for Western New York. Chautauqua Institution in particular.”

  58

  NEW YORK CITY

  Sarah had plunged into her least favorite task—cleaning out her bedroom closet—as a distraction after hearing from Sean. Doing anything else was hopeless. Clothing, shoes, purses, and scarves were strewn over her bedroom floor and bed. She ricocheted between joy that he was alive and an intense desire to kill him.

  He’d made her promise two things—not to call their mom, and not to come to Chautauqua that weekend. He’d explain later, he said. As angry as she was, she still honored his requests.

  Now she flopped back on the bed and stared at the ceiling.

  Her cell rang a little after 6:00. Convinced it was Sean again, making sure she was keeping her promises while he drove to Chautauqua, she fired at him, “What now?”

  “Wow,” a male voice said. “That was some greeting.”

  “Jon! I’m so sorry. I was . . . annoyed at somebody. I didn’t know it was you.”

  A good-natured chuckle resounded on the other end of the line. “That somebody couldn’t be Sean, could it?”

  She sat up. “You know? That Sean’s alive? Did he call you?”

  “Yes, yes, and yes.”

  “When?”

  There was a slight pause, then, “Yesterday.”

  “You mean you knew he was alive yesterday, and you didn’t tell me? How could you not tell me?” Now she was ticked.

  “Let me in, and I’ll explain,” Jon said.

  “What do you mean, ‘Let me in’? Where are you?” she asked.

  “At your door.”

  She eyed her mess of a room, then her own clothing—her oldest sweats and an old Yale sweatshirt. Oh well, it was just Jon. “Okay, but your explanation better be good.”

  He was in sweats himself and held out a bag in one hand as a peace offering. It was hard to stay mad at a guy like Jon for long.

  “Come on in.”

  He placed the bag on her kitchen counter.

  Her stomach growled, as if on cue. “What’s in the bag?”

  “Ethiopian cuisine.” He winked at her. “Lamb, rice, veggies, and sourdough flatbread.”

  Yes, it was impossible to stay mad at him. He knew what she liked. “Jon, why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I couldn’t. I promised Sean that I’d let him tell you and work the details out in his own way.”

  She crossed her arms and glared at him. “You tried to distract me so I wouldn’t worry.”

  “Yup. I think it worked—at least for the night until he could call you today.” His eyes twinkled.

  She smacked him in the bicep.

  “Whoa there, little missy,” he said with a John Wayne swagger and voice.

  She rolled her eyes. “You’ve been hanging around Sean way too long.”

  His gaze was kind, knowing. “I wanted to make sure you were okay last night and then today, once you knew.”

  “I just want to know why, and he couldn’t tell me.” Her voice wavered.

  “He didn’t tell me either, and I didn’t ask. For now, it’s enough that he’s back.”

  She nodded. “Don’t know what’s wrong with me lately.”

  He studied her. “Sure you do. You’ve been on a roller coaster since Sean disappeared. Even rock-solid Worthingtons have feelings.”

  “Yes,” she threw back, “but we’re not allowed to show them in public. Dad taught us that.”

  He turned in a circle, gesturing widely around her apartment. “Is this public?”

  “No, but—”

  “Sarah, you can trust me. Always.”

  CHAUTAUQUA INSTITUTION

  Sean hurriedly pulled his Jeep up to the front of the estate. He’d driven the 400 miles from the city in an hour’s less time than usual. He didn’t bother going into the house. This time of day, his mother would only be one place—sitting in a rocker among the grasses by the water.

  He hurried down the path, looking for her. He’d wasted enough time. She didn’t deserve what he’d dished out over the past two weeks. Now that he’d seen the weakness, the loneliness, in himself, he understood the desperation that had driven her into her university friend’s arms. He could no longer judge her for that, because he’d almost been guilty of the same thing. If it hadn’t been for the gentle voice telling him to stop . . .

  Now he needed to find his mother—to tell her that he didn’t hate her, that he understood.

  At last he spotted her sitting in one of the rockers, her face turned wistfully toward Chautauqua Lake as the day edged toward evening.

  When his jet landed in Jamestown, a luxury car waited on the tarmac to drive him the 15 miles to Chautauqua Institution. His contact had arranged for a sleek boat to take him out on the lake. The man would be his own pilot.

  This time he was satisfied. He’d guessed right and had arrived early enough. He’d left his contact on shore, awaiting further instructions via cell phone. What he had to do next, he wanted no one but himself privy to.

  The man watched the estate through high-powered binoculars as Sean arrived in his Jeep. Then he swept the binoculars to scan the interior of the home. No movement. Good. It matched the satellite intel he’d been provided.

  He followed the stone path around the house, toward the water. At last his vision landed on a woman in a weathered rocker.

  His focus wavered, and he sank onto the driver’s seat of the boat. His hand fell on the bulky package he’d carried with him.

  59

  “Mom?” Sean called softly as soon as he was close enough for her to hear him.

  Ava tilted her head upward, as if she’d only heard his voice in the wind or in her imagination.

  “It’s me, Sean,” he said, now only yards from her.

  She froze, then slowly turned his way. The minute her eyes lit with recognition, she leaped from her chair and embraced him. Together they rocked, standing up, as she cried.

  Then she drew back and touched his wet cheek. “It really is you. I thought I was dreaming.”

  She didn’t ask where he’d been all this time. He knew his presence was enough.

  “I’m so sorry,” he said. “I didn’t think. Or I did, but only about myself, not about how you might feel.”

  She reached to shush him, but he caught her hand. “I need to say this. I understand now why you had the affair—the loneliness, the desperation, the craving for love. I’ve felt those myself.”

  Her eyes brimmed with sorrow.

  “Maybe I understand for the first time how hard it is to be a Worthington—the expectations, being in the limelight, continually needing to be strong. You di
d a desperate thing. I did a desperate thing. I ran away—from you, from everything. We all do what we need to do to survive.”

  “I was so lonely,” she murmured. “Nothing like a family vacation without your husband. It was the first of many I would have after that, but somehow the first was the hardest. And when Thomas comforted me, I . . .” She sighed. “These many years I’ve held in the pain, wondering when the truth would be revealed, knowing it would change our family. That I might lose Bill.”

  Sean ached for his mother. Until a short while ago, she’d always been cheerful, holding the family together. Yet she’d lived for years with intense loneliness. “I know it hasn’t been easy. Living with Dad—or any of us.” Strange how easily he continued to think of and speak of Bill as his father.

  “Your father . . . when I told him, he didn’t show any emotion. Took the news like he would the announcement of any business deal. Then he walked out the door.” A single tear traced down her cheek. “Took Will’s Land Rover and was gone for a long time.”

  Sean closed his eyes. So the truth of his existence had separated his parents. He would have to live with that for a lifetime.

  Her gentle hands cradled his face. “Oh, son, he came back. Told me how sorry he was for not being there for me when I needed him. Thanked me for telling him the truth.”

  “So he didn’t know?” Sean had to ask.

  “I never told him. But he said sometimes he wondered. Because you were supposedly born early but didn’t look like a preemie. Because we’d tried so long to get pregnant with Will and then had failed in our attempts to have a second baby. Then suddenly, after Camp David, you were in our lives. Later, he saw flickers of his friend in the way you smiled, your mannerisms, the color of your hair. You were so different from your siblings in the way you approached life.”

  So Bill had guessed. Was it any wonder he’d called Sean “the boy” and never “son”? Little clues—his treating Sean differently, his dissatisfaction with anything Sean did, his focus on Will as his son—made sense now. Yet out of love and loyalty to Ava he had provided for Sean. It was no wonder he had cut off any contact with Thomas.