For several seconds, nobody moved.
Daniel’s words seemed to hang in the room.
Thomas Mercer is not our uncle.
He’s our real father.
I stared at him, certain I had misunderstood.
“No.”
Daniel’s breathing was shallow.
Blood darkened the side of his shirt.
Ortiz knelt beside him while another officer pressed gauze against the wound.
I barely noticed.
My mind was trapped on one word.
Father.
Nolan was on the floor with his wrists cuffed behind him.
For the first time since I had known him, he looked small.
Not weak.
Cornered.
“Tell me he’s lying,” I said.
Nolan looked away.
That was my answer.
My stomach twisted.
“Tell me.”
He stayed silent.
I stepped closer.
“Nolan.”
He finally raised his eyes.
“I didn’t know when we met.”
The room disappeared around me.
“What does that mean?”
“I said I didn’t know.”
“When did you find out?”
He hesitated.
“When?”
“About nine years ago.”
I almost stopped breathing.
Nine years.
Nine years of dinners.
Anniversaries.
Vacations.
Birthdays.
Nine years of sleeping beside me.
Nine years of calling me his wife.
And all that time, he had known there was a possibility we shared the same biological father.
“You knew?”
“It wasn’t proven.”
“That did not stop you from hiding it.”
“I was trying to protect our marriage.”
I laughed.
The sound came out broken.
“Our marriage?”
“You would have left.”
“Yes.”
Nolan’s face hardened.
“That is exactly why I didn’t tell you.”
I stared at him.
“You don’t get to say that like it justifies anything.”
Daniel tried to sit up.
Ortiz stopped him.
“Stay down.”
He ignored her.
“Claire.”
I looked at him.
“There was never proof that Thomas was your father.”
“That’s supposed to make me feel better?”
“No.”
He winced.
“I’m telling you because there may be proof now.”
Brianna was finally free from the chair.
An officer had cut the ropes.
She rubbed her wrists and looked toward the old photograph still lying on the floor.
“My father had Thomas’s name everywhere.”
Ortiz glanced at her.
“What do you mean?”
“In his notebooks.”
“Michael Trent’s notebooks?”
“Yes.”
“He believed Thomas controlled Nolan.”
Nolan laughed bitterly.
“You think anyone controlled me?”
Daniel looked at him.
“Thomas did.”
“Shut up.”
“He financed you.”
Nolan’s face changed.
Daniel continued.
“He cleaned up your messes.”
“Shut up.”
“He paid Trent’s partner.”
Ortiz froze.
“What?”
Daniel looked toward her.
“The detective investigating my disappearance had a partner.”
“Yes.”
“Robert Sloan.”
Ortiz’s jaw tightened.
“I know the name.”
“So did Thomas.”
Brianna whispered,
“My father didn’t trust Sloan.”
Ortiz looked at her.
“Why?”
“Because evidence kept disappearing.”
Daniel nodded.
“Thomas was buying him.”
Nolan struggled against the officer holding him.
“This is garbage.”
Daniel looked at his brother.
“Then tell her Thomas didn’t pay Harcourt.”
Nolan went still.
My stomach dropped.
“Harcourt Capital?”
Daniel looked at me.
“The company that issued the loan with your forged signature.”
Everything connected again.
The loan.
The offshore accounts.
The missing money.
The family.
“They weren’t just lenders.”

“No,” Daniel said.
“They were a funnel.”
“For Thomas?”
“Yes.”
I turned toward Nolan.
“You were working with him.”
“No.”
“Then what were you doing?”
Nolan laughed without humor.
“Surviving.”
Daniel’s expression turned cold.
“You call stealing survival?”
“You had no idea what he was capable of.”
“Neither did Claire.”
Nolan looked at me.
And for the first time, there was no arrogance in his face.
Only exhaustion.
“You think I wanted any of this?”
I stared at him.
“Maui?”
He looked away.
“The forgery?”
Silence.
“The millions?”
Silence again.
“You put a five-million-dollar life insurance policy on me.”
His eyes snapped back to mine.
“That was not what you think.”
“Then tell me what it was.”
He swallowed.
“Collateral.”
My blood went cold.
“For what?”
“Thomas made me guarantee the Harcourt money personally.”
“With my life?”
“No.”
“Then why was I insured?”
He hesitated too long.
I understood before he spoke.
“Nolan.”
He looked at the floor.
“If I defaulted, Thomas wanted leverage.”
Brianna whispered,
“Oh my God.”
I felt nauseated.
“Leverage against whom?”
Nolan answered,
“You.”
A silence fell over the room.
I took a step backward.
“You used me as insurance.”
“No.”
“You used my life.”
“I never planned to let anything happen to you.”
I laughed.
“Yet someone followed me.”
“That wasn’t me.”
“You sent someone to Union Station.”
“No.”
“Someone came to Samuel’s office.”
“Not me.”
“Then who?”
Nolan stared at me.
“Thomas.”
The name seemed to infect every corner of the room.
Daniel closed his eyes.
“He found her.”
Nolan nodded.
“He probably knew about the locker before I did.”
“How?”
I asked.
Nolan gave a bitter smile.
“Because Mom wasn’t the only one watching people.”
Ortiz stood.
“We need to locate Thomas Mercer immediately.”
Nolan laughed softly.
“You won’t.”
“Why?”
“Because Thomas Mercer technically doesn’t exist.”
She stared at him.
“What does that mean?”
Daniel answered.
“He disappeared legally twenty-four years ago.”
“Declared dead?”
“No.”
“Then?”
“New identity.”
Ortiz looked between them.
“You know the identity?”
Daniel shook his head.
Nolan did not.
That was enough.
Ortiz noticed.
“So you do know.”
“I know one of them.”
“One?”
Nolan gave her a tired look.
“My father has used several names.”
“Give me the current one.”
Nolan stayed silent.
Ortiz crouched beside him.
“You are already facing enough charges to destroy the rest of your life.”
He smiled.
“You think prison scares me more than Thomas?”
That answer changed the room.
Even Ortiz paused.
Daniel looked at Nolan.
“He’s afraid.”
Nolan snapped,
“You should be too.”
Then a paramedic entered with a stretcher.
They lifted Daniel carefully.
As they moved him toward the hallway, he reached for me.
I followed.
“Claire.”
“Yes?”
“Mom left one more thing.”
“What?”
“Not in the safe.”
“Where?”
“The cemetery.”
I stared at him.
“What cemetery?”
“Dad’s grave.”
“Richard’s?”
Daniel nodded.
“There’s a stone box beneath the bench beside his grave.”
My heartbeat quickened.
“What’s inside?”
“Mom said it was for you.”
“Why didn’t she give it to me directly?”
“She didn’t trust herself.”
“What does that mean?”
But the paramedics began moving him away.
“Daniel.”
He looked back.
“Don’t go alone.”
Then he disappeared down the hallway.
I stood frozen.
Ortiz came toward me.
“You’re not going anywhere tonight.”
“I need to know what she left.”
“And you’ll know tomorrow.”
“No.”
“Claire.”
“Thomas may already know.”
“That is exactly why you do not go running to a cemetery.”
Before I could answer, Brianna spoke.
“She’s right.”
I looked at her.
“You nearly got killed today.”
“So did you.”
“Yes.”
“And that’s why I’m done underestimating these people.”
I looked back toward Nolan.
Two officers were lifting him to his feet.
He met my eyes.
“Don’t go to the cemetery.”
I almost laughed.
“You expect me to listen to you?”
“For once, yes.”
“Why?”
His face went pale.
“Because Thomas has been waiting for Mom to die.”
My anger cooled.
“What does her death have to do with it?”
“She was the only person he was afraid of.”
“Why?”
Nolan hesitated.
Then whispered,
“Because Evelyn was the only person alive who knew his real name.”
Ortiz turned sharply.
“What?”
Nolan looked at her.
“Thomas isn’t his real name.”
Daniel’s stretcher stopped briefly in the hallway.
Even he turned his head.
I looked back at Nolan.
“Then who is he?”
Nolan said nothing.
An officer pushed him toward the stairs.
“Nolan!”
He looked over his shoulder.
And smiled sadly.
“Ask what happened at Saint Agnes Hospital in 1963.”
Then he was gone.
That night, Ortiz moved me to a secure hotel under a different name.
Brianna stayed in another room on the same floor.
Samuel went home under police escort.
Daniel underwent surgery.
Nolan was taken into custody.
And I lay awake staring at the ceiling.
Saint Agnes Hospital.
1963.
A year before Nolan was born.
Long before I existed.
Long before Mercer Holdings.
Long before the money.
Something had happened there that connected Evelyn to Thomas before any of us were born.
At 3:17 in the morning, my room phone rang.
I sat up instantly.
No one knew my room number.
I answered without speaking.
A man breathed quietly on the other end.
Then he said,
“Claire.”
My blood froze.
It was an older voice.
Calm.
Almost gentle.
“Who is this?”
He chuckled.
“You already know.”
“Thomas?”
A pause.
Then,
“That is one of my names.”
My hand tightened around the receiver.
“What do you want?”
“To save you from making your mother-in-law’s final mistake.”
“What mistake?”
“Believing Daniel.”
I stood.
“You followed me.”
“Yes.”
“You sent the man to Union Station.”
“Yes.”
“You went to Samuel’s office.”
“No.”
I froze.
“If that wasn’t you, who was it?”
He ignored the question.
“You’re looking for answers.”
“Yes.”
“Then stop asking lawyers.”
“Tell me yourself.”
“I intend to.”
“When?”
“Tomorrow.”
“Where?”
“The cemetery.”
My heart began pounding.
Richard’s grave.
He knew.
“What’s in the stone box?”
The man laughed softly.
“Something Evelyn stole from me thirty-two years ago.”
“What?”
“My daughter.”
I couldn’t speak.
He continued.
“Or rather, proof of who she is.”
My legs weakened.
“You’re saying I’m your daughter.”
“I’m saying Evelyn knew exactly who your father was.”
“But her letter said she didn’t know.”
“She lied.”
My eyes burned.
“Why?”
“Because the truth was worse.”
“What truth?”
His voice dropped.
“Margaret Hale was never your mother.”
Everything inside me stopped.
“What?”
“Go to the cemetery tomorrow.”
“No.”
“You want the truth?”
“Yes.”
“Then come alone.”
The line went dead.
I stood in the dark hotel room holding the receiver.
Margaret was not my mother.
That was impossible.
I had photographs.
Birth records.
School papers.
Memories.
Or at least I thought I did.
Then I remembered something Evelyn had written.
There is one person who knows the truth.
Thomas Mercer.
I slowly placed the phone down.
A second later, someone knocked softly on my door.
Three times.
I froze.
No one was supposed to come to my room.
“Who is it?”
A woman answered.
“Claire, it’s Brianna.”
I unlocked the door.
She slipped inside carrying an old brown notebook.
“What happened?”
I asked.
She looked terrified.
“I found this in my father’s things years ago.”
“What is it?”
“His original case notebook.”
She opened it to a page near the center.
One sentence had been underlined three times.
INFANT FEMALE — SAINT AGNES — IDENTITY ALTERED.
My heart slammed against my ribs.
Below it was a date.
October 3, 1963.
Then another line.
EVELYN KNOWS.
THOMAS ARRANGED TRANSFER.
And beneath that, written in red ink:
CHILD’S IDENTITY LATER USED AGAIN IN 1994.
I stared at the page.
1994.
The year printed on the photograph with my mother.
“What does ‘used again’ mean?”
Brianna swallowed.
“I don’t know.”
Then she turned the page.
A photograph had been taped inside.
Two newborn babies lay side by side in a hospital nursery.
On the back, my father had written:
ONE CHILD DIED.
ONE CHILD DISAPPEARED.
I felt the room spin.
“Who were they?”
Brianna looked at me.
“I think one of them was Evelyn’s.”
My mouth went dry.
“And the other?”
She hesitated.
Then whispered,
“Claire, I think the other baby was the beginning of your identity.”
I stared at her.
Before I could answer, every light in the hotel room went out.
Darkness swallowed us.
Then the hallway alarm began screaming.
Brianna grabbed my arm.
“What’s happening?”
I moved toward the window.
The hotel across the street still had power.
This wasn’t an outage.
Someone had cut electricity to our floor.
Then my phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
One message.
YOU SHOULD HAVE COME ALONE.
And beneath it was a photograph taken only seconds earlier.
Brianna and me standing inside the hotel room.
Photographed through the window.
Someone was watching us.
From across the street.

PART 7 — THE CHILD WHO DISAPPEARED FROM SAINT AGNES

Brianna and I dropped away from the window at the same time.
“Get down,” she whispered.
The photograph on my phone had been taken from somewhere across the street.
Close enough to see us clearly.
Close enough to know which room we were in.
The lights remained dead.
The alarm screamed through the hallway.
Then came pounding footsteps outside.
Brianna grabbed the notebook and shoved it beneath her coat.
“Bathroom,” I whispered.
We moved toward it in the darkness.
Someone hit the hotel room door.
Once.
Hard.
Then again.
“Police!” a man shouted.
I froze.
Brianna grabbed my wrist.
“Don’t.”
“What?”
“My father wrote about people pretending to be police.”
Another impact shook the door.
“Mrs. Mercer! Open the door!”
Only a handful of people knew I was here under another name.
Whoever was outside had just used my real name.
Brianna’s face went pale.
“That’s not Ortiz.”
My phone vibrated again.
DON’T OPEN IT.
I stared at the message.
Thomas?
Or someone else?
The door shook a third time.
Then suddenly—
Gunshots.
Two sharp cracks from the hallway.
Brianna covered her mouth.
A man screamed.
Then everything went quiet.
I heard a woman shout.
“Claire!”
Ortiz.
I ran toward the door.
Brianna stopped me.
“Wait.”
“Claire, it’s Ortiz! Stay inside!”
This time I recognized her voice.
I unlocked the deadbolt.
Ortiz pushed in immediately with two officers behind her.
“Are you hurt?”
“No.”
“Brianna?”
“I’m fine.”
Ortiz looked toward the window.
“Get away from the glass.”
“What happened?”
“Someone impersonated hotel security.”
“Who?”
“One man is in custody. Another escaped through the stairwell.”
My stomach tightened.
“Thomas?”
“We don’t know.”
I handed her my phone.
“Someone photographed us.”
Ortiz studied the image.
Her expression changed.
“This angle.”
“What?”
“It wasn’t taken from across the street.”
Brianna frowned.
“Then where?”
Ortiz walked toward the window but stayed against the wall.
She looked up.
“The roof.”
A cold wave passed through me.
Someone had been directly above our room.
Not across the street.
Inside the same hotel.
Ortiz turned to an officer.
“Lock the building down.”
Then she faced me.
“You are moving again.”
“No.”
Her expression hardened.
“Claire.”
“If Thomas knows where I am every time you move me, running isn’t helping.”
“He may have someone inside law enforcement.”
“Exactly.”
Ortiz went silent.
Brianna pulled out her father’s notebook.
“We need to find out what happened at Saint Agnes.”
Ortiz looked at it.
“Now?”
“Yes.”
I stepped closer.
“Nolan mentioned Saint Agnes before Thomas did.”
Ortiz’s eyes narrowed.
“Which means they both think it matters.”
Brianna opened the notebook.
“My father thought an infant identity was altered there in 1963.”
Ortiz read the page.
“And somehow that identity was used again in 1994.”
“The year Claire appeared in that photograph with Margaret Hale.”
I looked at her.
“Appeared?”
Brianna hesitated.
“I’m sorry.”
“No. Say it.”
“Your records may not be what you think.”
That sentence hurt.
Because I already knew.
My childhood records suddenly felt like props.
Photographs.
Certificates.
Stories repeated so often I had accepted them without question.
“What do we do?”
I asked.
Ortiz answered,
“We stop guessing.”
Two hours later, we were in the basement records room of Saint Agnes Hospital.
The hospital had been renovated twice since 1963.
Most early records had been transferred to microfilm.
Some had been digitized.
Many had disappeared.
But Brianna’s father had written one name beside the 1963 entry.
SISTER HELENA MORROW.
Ortiz searched the hospital archive.
Helena Morrow had been a maternity nurse at Saint Agnes.
She retired in 2001.
And according to a public directory, she was still alive.
Ninety-one years old.
Living in a convent-run retirement residence forty minutes away.
We arrived shortly after sunrise.
The residence sat behind a small stone church surrounded by maple trees.
I barely spoke during the drive.
Brianna kept her father’s notebook on her lap.
Ortiz sat beside the driver.
When we entered, a nurse led us toward a sunroom.
Sister Helena sat near the window wrapped in a blue blanket.
Tiny.
Silver-haired.
Alert.
Her eyes moved immediately toward me.
Then widened.
She whispered something I couldn’t hear.
I stepped closer.
“My name is Claire Mercer.”
Her fingers tightened around the blanket.
“No.”
I stopped.
“What?”
She stared at my face.
“You shouldn’t have come back.”
My skin went cold.
“Back?”
Ortiz moved forward.
“Sister Helena, I’m Detective Lena Ortiz.”
The old woman ignored her.
Her eyes never left me.
“You have Margaret’s eyes.”
My chest tightened.
“You knew Margaret Hale?”
Her expression changed.
Fear.
“Who told you that name?”
“She raised me.”
Sister Helena closed her eyes.
“No.”
I felt sick.
“What do you mean no?”
“She didn’t raise you.”
My legs weakened.
“Then who did?”
The old woman looked toward the door.
“Is Thomas dead?”
“No.”
Her hand began trembling.
“He found you.”
“I found him.”
“That’s worse.”
Brianna stepped forward.
“My father was Detective Michael Trent.”
Sister Helena stared at her.
Then tears filled her eyes.
“Michael.”
“You knew him?”
“Yes.”
“What did he discover?”
The old woman pressed one hand against her mouth.
“He should have left it alone.”
“My father died.”
“I know.”
Brianna’s voice cracked.
“Was it because of this?”
Sister Helena looked away.
That was enough.
Brianna’s eyes filled.
I sat beside the old woman.
“Please.”
She shook her head.
“Too many people died because of that night.”
“What night?”
“October third, 1963.”
The date from the notebook.
“What happened?”
Sister Helena stared through the window.
“Two children were born.”
“To Evelyn?”
“No.”
“Then who?”
She swallowed.
“One belonged to Margaret Hale.”
My heartbeat increased.
“And the other?”
“Anna Vale.”
The name meant nothing to me.
“Who was Anna?”
“A seventeen-year-old girl.”
“Father?”
Helena’s expression hardened.
“Thomas.”
I stopped breathing.
“So Thomas fathered Anna’s baby?”
“Yes.”
“And Margaret’s?”
She nodded slowly.
“Richard.”
My head spun.
Richard Mercer.
Evelyn’s husband.
“So both Mercer brothers had children born the same night.”
“Yes.”
“What happened?”
“One baby was healthy.”
“And the other?”
“Very sick.”
“Which one?”
Helena closed her eyes.
“Anna’s.”
Brianna opened the notebook.
“It says one child died and one disappeared.”
Helena began crying.
“That was the lie.”
“What lie?”
“No child died that night.”
I stared at her.
“But the records—”
“Were changed.”
“By who?”
“Thomas.”
My heartbeat thundered.
“Why?”
The old woman looked directly into my eyes.
“Because he wanted Richard’s child.”
I felt the room tilt.
“What?”
“Thomas hated his brother.”
“Why steal his baby?”
“To control him.”
Ortiz stepped closer.
“Explain.”
Helena breathed slowly.
“Richard wanted to leave the family business.”
“Because of Margaret?”
“Yes.”
“He planned to take Margaret and their baby away.”
My hands went cold.
“And Thomas stopped him.”
“He arranged a switch.”
I could barely breathe.
“What kind of switch?”
Helena whispered,
“Babies.”
Silence.
Everyone stared at her.
“Thomas switched the infants?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“He wanted Richard to believe his child had died.”
I gripped the chair.
“But you just said neither baby died.”
“That’s right.”
“So where did they go?”
Helena looked at me.
“One child left Saint Agnes with Margaret.”
My heartbeat slowed.
“And the other?”
“With Thomas.”
Brianna flipped pages rapidly.
“Which child did Margaret take?”
Helena closed her eyes.
“Anna’s.”
I felt as though the floor had vanished.
“Then Margaret raised Thomas’s daughter.”
“Yes.”
I whispered,
“Me?”
Helena didn’t answer.
I stood.
“Was I that baby?”
“Claire—”
“Tell me.”
She began crying harder.
“Yes.”
My world broke again.
Thomas was my biological father.
Margaret Hale had raised me.
But Margaret was not my biological mother.
Anna Vale was.
I gripped the back of the chair.
“So Richard’s baby…”
Helena looked terrified.
“What happened to her?”
She whispered,
“Thomas kept her hidden.”
“Where?”
“For years, I didn’t know.”
“And then?”
“Evelyn found out.”
I stared at her.
“When?”
“1994.”
The date from the photograph.
Everything returned to 1994.
My stomach tightened.
“What did Evelyn do?”
“She confronted Thomas.”
“And?”
“She demanded Richard’s daughter be returned.”
“Was she?”
Sister Helena shook her head.
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because by then, it was too late.”
“What does that mean?”
Helena reached for my hand.
The moment her fingers touched mine, I felt dread.
“Claire, Thomas had given the child another identity.”
“What identity?”
She hesitated.
Brianna whispered,
“Oh no.”
I looked at her.
“What?”
She had reached the final pages of her father’s notebook.
A family photograph was taped there.
Evelyn.
Richard.
Nolan.
Daniel.
And a young girl standing slightly apart.
Maybe fourteen years old.
I had never seen her before.
“Who is that?”
Brianna turned the page toward Helena.
The old woman gasped.
“That’s her.”
My skin prickled.
“Richard’s daughter?”
“Yes.”
“Who is she?”
Helena looked at me.
“Rebecca.”
I stared at the photograph.
“I’ve never heard of Rebecca Mercer.”
“That wasn’t her last name.”
“What was it?”
Helena whispered,
“Cole.”
Brianna stopped breathing.
I turned toward her.
“Cole?”
Her face had gone completely white.
“My mother’s maiden name was Cole.”
The room fell silent.
Brianna stared at the girl in the photograph.
Then at Sister Helena.
“Rebecca Cole was my mother.”
No one moved.
I felt my chest tighten.
If that was true…
Brianna and I were connected long before Maui.
Long before Nolan.
Long before Detective Trent.
Sister Helena covered her mouth.
“Michael married her?”
Brianna nodded slowly.
“Yes.”
The old woman began crying.
“Oh, God.”
Brianna stepped forward.
“What?”
“Your father didn’t start investigating the Mercers because of Daniel.”
Her voice shook.
“Then why?”
Helena looked at Brianna.
“Because he discovered who your mother really was.”
Brianna’s face crumpled.
“My mother died when I was six.”
“I know.”
“How?”
“A car accident.”
Helena shook her head.
“No.”
Brianna stared.
“No?”
“The car was tampered with.”
Ortiz’s expression hardened instantly.
“Who did it?”
Helena whispered,
“Thomas.”
Brianna stumbled backward.
“No.”
“He found out Rebecca had begun asking questions.”
“No.”
“She wanted Richard.”
“My mother thought her father was dead.”
“Because Thomas told her that.”
Brianna wiped tears from her face.
“So my mother was Richard Mercer’s daughter.”
“Yes.”
“And Nolan and Daniel…”
Helena shook her head.
“Not Richard’s.”
I remembered Daniel’s revelation.
Thomas was their real father.
The family tree finally began to form.
Thomas had fathered Nolan.
Daniel.
Me.
Richard had fathered Rebecca.
Which meant—
I looked at Brianna.
She looked at me.
“Nolan isn’t my blood relative through Richard,” I whispered.
“No,” Helena said.
“But Nolan and you share Thomas.”
I closed my eyes.
My marriage had been exactly what I feared.
Nolan and I shared the same biological father.
Half-siblings.
I felt sick.
Brianna grabbed my arm before I fell.
Then Sister Helena said something even worse.
“There is one more child.”
I opened my eyes.
“What?”
“Thomas had four.”
Nolan.
Daniel.
Me.
“One more?”
“Yes.”
“Who?”
She looked toward the door.
“I never knew the name.”
“Boy or girl?”
“A son.”
My heartbeat changed.
“How old?”
“Born in 1972.”
I stared at her.
“Where?”
“Saint Agnes.”
Ortiz immediately asked,
“Mother?”
Helena whispered,
“Evelyn.”
Silence.
I thought I had misunderstood.
“Evelyn had Thomas’s child?”
“Yes.”
“But Nolan and Daniel—”
“Were already his.”
“So she had another son?”
“Yes.”
“What happened to him?”
Helena started shaking.
“Evelyn gave him away.”
“Why?”
“Because Thomas was becoming dangerous.”
“Where did the baby go?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did Thomas?”
“No.”
That answer seemed impossible.
“He spent years looking.”
“For his own son?”
“Yes.”
“And Evelyn never told him?”
“Never.”
I suddenly remembered something.
Someone had come to Samuel’s office.
Someone Thomas claimed he hadn’t sent.
Someone still unidentified.
“What if he found himself?”
Brianna looked at me.
“What?”
“The fourth son.”
Ortiz’s phone rang.
She answered.
“Yes?”
Her expression changed instantly.
“When?”
She looked at me.
“We’re coming.”
She hung up.
“What happened?”
“Nolan disappeared.”
My blood froze.
“What?”
“He was being transported from the courthouse holding area.”
“How does someone in custody disappear?”
“Someone attacked the transport.”
“Who?”
Ortiz looked grim.
“We don’t know.”
My phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
Another photo.
Nolan.
Sitting in a chair.
Hands tied.
Blood running from his forehead.
Behind him stood a man.
Gray jacket.
The same man who followed me at Union Station.
My pulse exploded.
Then a message appeared.
HE LIED TO ALL OF YOU.
ASK EVELYN WHO HER YOUNGEST SON WAS.
I stared at the photograph.
The man in gray was no longer hiding his face.
Sister Helena looked over my shoulder.
The moment she saw him, her entire body stiffened.
Her cup slipped from her fingers and shattered on the floor.
“No.”
I looked at her.
“You know him?”
Tears filled her eyes.
“He has Evelyn’s face.”
“What?”
She pointed at the photograph with a trembling finger.
“That man.”
Her voice broke.
“That has to be the baby.”
The fourth son.
The child Evelyn gave away.
The man who had followed me from the beginning.
And now he had Nolan.
Another message appeared.
COME TO THE CEMETERY.
BRING THE KEY.
THIS ENDS WHERE OUR MOTHER BURIED THE TRUTH.
I read it twice.
Our mother.
Not his mother.
Our.
And suddenly I realized the cemetery meeting Thomas wanted and the cemetery meeting this stranger wanted were scheduled for the same place.
The same grave.
The same hidden box.
Two men were waiting for me.
One was Thomas Mercer.
The father who had destroyed generations of lives.
The other was Evelyn’s secret son.
And somewhere beneath Richard Mercer’s grave was the one piece of evidence both of them were willing to kill for.

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