Chapter 3 - THE MAN WHO WASN'T SUPPOSED TO EXIST
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The Glass House system contained more than money.
It contained people.
Every name connected to my father's operations.
Every secret agreement.
Every hidden debt.
Every illegal transaction.
But one file was locked.
SUBJECT ZERO.
I spent six hours trying to open it.
Nothing.
Then Marcus found a second authorization.
Bloodline confirmation.
I pressed my thumb against the scanner.
The file opened.
A photograph appeared.
A man.
About forty.
Dark hair.
Gray eyes.
The resemblance to my father was unmistakable.
I stared.
“Who is that?”
Marcus looked shocked.
“I don't know.”
I zoomed in.
The name appeared beneath the photograph.
Elliot Hale.
I frowned.
“I don't have an uncle named Elliot.”
Marcus searched the records.
Nothing.
No birth certificate.
No school history.
No Social Security record.
No death record.
Nothing.
A ghost.
I looked at the photograph again.
Then I noticed the date.
It had been taken thirty years ago.
Beside Elliot stood my father.
And a baby.
Me.
My stomach dropped.
Why had I never seen him?
We searched deeper.
A hidden adoption record surfaced.
Elliot Hale had been born twelve years before me.
Biological parents:
Richard Hale.
Evelyn Hale.
My parents.
I sat down.
“That's my brother.”
Marcus nodded slowly.
“But why was he erased?”
We found the answer in an old court file.
Elliot had been diagnosed with a rare neurological disease as a child.
My grandfather believed the diagnosis threatened the family reputation.
He sent Elliot away.
My father disagreed.
He created Project Glass House to protect Elliot.
But my grandfather discovered it.
He ordered Elliot disappeared.
Not killed.
Hidden.
My father continued searching.
Then came the strange part.
The last recorded location of Elliot was dated four years ago.
Seattle.
I stared.
“Four years ago?”
Marcus nodded.
“He was alive.”
“Where?”
“Private neurological clinic.”
I knew the clinic.
I had audited it years ago.
It was owned by Northstar Helix.
My blood ran cold.
“Nathaniel knew.”
Marcus looked at me.
“Probably.”
“No.”
I pulled up the clinic records.
Every patient was classified.
Except one.
A pseudonym.
E. Hale.
Marcus stared.
“Nathaniel has been tracking your brother.”
“Why?”
Another file opened.
Nathaniel had transferred $3.7 million into the clinic.
For medical research.
But the money was routed through the same shell accounts involved in my father's estate.
This wasn't just embezzlement.
Nathaniel had been financing the search for my brother.
I looked at Marcus.
“Why would he care about Elliot?”
Marcus opened another file.
The trust agreement.
The Glass House heir clause had two beneficiaries.
Me.
And Elliot.
If both were alive, ownership would remain split.
If one died—
the surviving heir inherited everything.
My throat tightened.
“He wanted Elliot dead.”
Marcus nodded.
“And me blamed.”
I stared at the crash report.
The brakes.
The assault.
The forged documents.
It all connected.
Nathaniel didn't simply want my money.
He wanted me to be the only surviving heir.
And then he would control me.
Or eliminate me.
I stood.
“Find Elliot.”
Marcus nodded.
“We'll locate him.”
“No.”
I grabbed my coat.
“I'll find him.”
“Valerie, you're injured.”
“I don't care.”
“You almost died.”
“I know.”
I looked at him.
“That's why I can't wait.”
We drove to the clinic.
The building had been shut down.
Abandoned.
But the basement still had power.
We entered.
Files covered the floors.
Medical records.
Research notes.
Photographs.
Then we found a security room.
A monitor flickered.
A video played.
Nathaniel stood in the room.
He was talking to a doctor.
“Where is Elliot?”
The doctor looked terrified.
“He escaped.”
“When?”
“Yesterday.”
Nathaniel slammed his fist into the table.
“Find him.”
The video ended.
Marcus stared at me.
“He knew Elliot was alive.”
“Yes.”
“And he knew he escaped.”
I nodded.
“Which means Elliot is probably the one person who can destroy Nathaniel.”
Then a phone rang.
An old landline.
Marcus answered.
No one spoke.
Then a man's voice whispered:
“Valerie.”
I froze.
“Who is this?”
The voice sounded older.
Tired.
But familiar.
“It's Elliot.”
My brother.
Alive.
His next words made my blood run cold.
“Don't trust Marcus.”
I looked at Marcus.
May you like
He stared back.
Then the line went dead.
