Chapter 7 - THE SISTER WHO VANISHED TWICE
Sophia ran back toward the ballroom.
Elizabeth cursed and followed.
“Sophia!”
She ignored her.
If Isabella had been taken, she wasn’t leaving.
Not after walking into the ballroom as a maid.
Not after being slapped.
Not after discovering that the woman who had humiliated her might not even be her biological sister.
Because none of that changed one fact.
Isabella had looked just as betrayed as Sophia felt.
The ballroom was nearly empty now.
Sprinklers rained over overturned tables.
Champagne mixed with water across the marble.
Security officers pushed guests toward exits.
Sophia grabbed one.
“Where is Isabella Hawthorne?”
“I don’t know.”
“Find out.”
“Ma’am, you need to evacuate.”
“I’m not leaving without her.”
Arthur Bennett appeared through the smoke.
“Sophia!”
She rushed to him.
“Where is Isabella?”
“I thought she was with Eleanor.”
“She isn’t.”
Arthur’s face changed.
“What?”
“Elizabeth says she was taken.”
Arthur looked past her.
Elizabeth stood near the doorway.
His face emptied.
“My God.”
Elizabeth’s expression hardened.
“Arthur.”
“You’re alive.”
“Apparently this family has difficulty keeping track.”
Sophia cut them off.
“Where is Eleanor?”
Arthur pointed toward the north corridor.
“She went after Charles.”
“And Isabella?”
“Last time I saw her, she was near the stage.”
They searched.
No Isabella.
Sophia found one of her shoes near a service elevator.
The strap had been torn.
Her stomach dropped.
“Someone dragged her.”
Arthur contacted hotel security.
The cameras had gone offline thirty seconds before the alarm.
Not all cameras.
Only those covering the service elevator.
Sophia looked at Elizabeth.
“Thomas?”
“His style.”
“How would you know?”
“I lived with him.”
“You said he disappeared.”
Elizabeth stared.
“I disappeared with him.”
Another lie.
Sophia’s anger flashed.
“You said you were protecting me from him.”
“Eventually.”
“Eventually?”
Elizabeth looked away.
“Thomas wasn’t always the man he became.”
Sophia laughed bitterly.
“No one in this family ever is.”
Charles entered the ballroom with two guards.
He saw Elizabeth.
Stopped.
The entire room seemed to narrow around them.
Twenty years of fear crossed Charles’s face.
“Elizabeth.”
She looked at him.
“Charles.”
Sophia expected emotion.
Instead, Charles raised his cane and pointed at her like a weapon.
“You.”
Elizabeth didn’t flinch.
“You still blame the wrong person.”
“Jonathan is dead because of you.”
“No.”
“Thomas came back because you contacted him.”
Elizabeth’s jaw tightened.
“Because Jonathan needed the truth.”
Charles turned toward Sophia.
“Do not believe a word she says.”
Sophia snapped:
“Then give me a reason to believe you.”
Charles said nothing.
She stepped closer.
“Is she my mother?”
His silence confirmed it.
“Did you know?”
“Yes.”
The word cut through her.
“For how long?”
“From the beginning.”
Sophia felt suddenly calm.
A dangerous calm.
“So everyone knew who I was except me.”
Charles lowered his cane.
“I tried to protect you.”
“You all keep saying that.”
“We did.”
“You paid Margaret to hide me.”
“Yes.”
“And never told me.”
“Yes.”
“You faked your own death.”
“Yes.”
“You let Eleanor raise Isabella alone.”
His eyes sharpened.
“That was Eleanor’s choice.”
Eleanor’s voice came from behind him.
“No.”
Everyone turned.
She stood at the ballroom entrance soaking wet.
A cut marked her forehead.
“She was taken.”
Sophia ran toward her.
“Isabella?”
Eleanor nodded.
“There was a man near the service elevator.”
“Did you see him?”
“Only from behind.”
“Thomas?”
Eleanor looked at Elizabeth.
“I don’t know.”
Elizabeth whispered:
“It’s him.”
Charles shook his head.
“You cannot know that.”
Elizabeth reached into her black dress and pulled out a phone.
She opened a message.
A photograph.
Isabella sat in the back seat of a vehicle.
Hands bound.
Mouth uncovered.
Eyes furious, not crying.
Beside her was an older man with dark hair streaked with gray.
Sophia stared at him.
Something about his face felt disturbingly familiar.
Elizabeth whispered:
“Thomas Vale.”
Beneath the image was one sentence.
BRING SOPHIA TO THE OLD HAWTHORNE HOUSE.
Sophia looked up.
“What old house?”
Charles’s face went white.
“No.”
Eleanor turned.
“What?”
Charles whispered:
“The lake house.”
Arthur frowned.
“I thought it was demolished.”
“It was supposed to be.”
Elizabeth looked at Sophia.
“That’s where you were born.”
Sophia’s heart pounded.
Charles grabbed her arm.
“You are not going.”
She pulled free.
“My sister is there.”
Eleanor stared at her.
Sophia looked back.
The word had come naturally.
Sister.
Biology suddenly mattered less than twenty years stolen from them.
Charles stepped closer.
“If Thomas has Isabella, taking you there gives him both of you.”
Sophia’s voice was steady.
“Then tell me what he wants.”
Charles looked toward the phone.
“He wants the thing Jonathan hid.”
“What thing?”
Silence.
Sophia shouted:
“What did my father hide?”
Elizabeth answered.
“Not your father.”
She looked toward Charles.
“Jonathan was your brother.”
Sophia froze again.
Elizabeth continued.
“And before Jonathan died, he created a trust in your name worth more than Hawthorne Holdings itself.”
Charles closed his eyes.
Sophia whispered:
“How much?”
Arthur answered after checking the document Charles carried.
“Current estimate?”
He looked stunned.
“Nearly four hundred million dollars.”
Sophia stared.
A maid earning hourly wages that morning.
An heiress by midnight.
Then Isabella’s phone sent one more message.
A live location.
And beneath it:
May you like
ONE HOUR.
OR ISABELLA LEARNS WHICH HAWTHORNE ORDERED JONATHAN’S DEATH.
