Chapter 3 - THE MOTHER WHO DIED TWICE
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I had buried my mother eleven years ago.
A private ceremony.
Closed casket.
No public photographs.
Julian had told me she died peacefully after a stroke.
I had believed him.
Now a photograph dated thirty days earlier showed her standing beside him.
Alive.
Healthy.
Smiling.
The woman in the photograph was unmistakably my mother.
But I needed proof.
“Where was this taken?”
The assistant swallowed.
“New Hampshire.”
“Who took it?”
“Dr. Mason's colleague.”
“Why?”
“He was investigating the research payments.”
I turned toward Dr. Mason.
“You knew my mother was alive.”
He looked ashamed.
“Yes.”
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“Because Julian told me she'd die if I did.”
My blood ran cold.
“Where is she?”
“I don't know.”
“Then find her.”
The assistant pointed toward the photograph.
“She may still be there.”
Marcus assembled a team.
Within an hour, we were driving north.
Mia remained with Hannah, protected by my private security.
I didn't want the child anywhere near what was coming.
But I had barely left Boston when another message arrived.
Stop looking for Evelyn.
No signature.
Then:
You were never supposed to know.
I stared at the screen.
Another message appeared.
Ask yourself why your mother disappeared before your father died.
My father.
I had barely thought about him in years.
He had supposedly died of heart failure when I was twenty-three.
Two parents.
Two deaths.
Both unquestioned.
Both accepted.
Maybe that was the first lie.
We reached the New Hampshire property shortly after midnight.
The house was empty.
But someone had left the lights on.
Inside, I found photographs.
My mother.
Julian.
A younger Dr. Mason.
And my father.
All together.
Years earlier.
I stared.
“This goes deeper.”
Marcus nodded.
A room upstairs contained medical files.
Not mine.
My mother's.
Then a file marked:
Gabriel Vance — Childhood Behavioral Assessment.
I opened it.
My childhood.
My fears.
My sleep patterns.
My temperament.
My weaknesses.
Everything.
The report was written when I was twelve.
By Julian.
Impossible.
He was only thirteen.
I stared at the signature.
Same handwriting.
Same initials.
This wasn't possible.
Unless the report had been fabricated later.
I found the date.
It had been altered.
Marcus looked at it.
“Someone rewrote the archive.”
I turned another page.
There was a family tree.
My father.
My mother.
Me.
And another child.
A daughter.
The name:
Elena.
I froze.
“My mother had another child?”
Marcus read the file.
“No birth record.”
“Then who is she?”
“Maybe she's why your mother disappeared.”
We heard movement downstairs.
Marcus drew his weapon.
I moved toward the staircase.
Then a woman's voice called out.
“Gabriel.”
My blood froze.
“Mom?”
She stepped into the light.
Older.
But unmistakably alive.
Evelyn Vance.
She looked at me for a long time.
Then whispered:
“You shouldn't have come.”
I walked toward her.
“You're alive.”
“Yes.”
“You let me believe you were dead.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“To keep you alive.”
I laughed bitterly.
“Everyone says that.”
She looked at Marcus.
“Who knows you're here?”
“My entire security team.”
She shook her head.
“Then you have minutes.”
“Why?”
“Because Julian knows.”
I froze.
“What does Julian want?”
She looked at me.
“Your daughter.”
“Mia?”
“No.”
A pause.
“Your first daughter.”
I stared.
“My first daughter?”
Evelyn's face broke.
“Gabriel, you had a sister.”
The room went silent.
“What?”
“She was born three years before you.”
“Where is she?”
“She disappeared.”
“Who took her?”
“Your father.”
I couldn't breathe.
“My father?”
“He believed she carried a genetic disorder that threatened the family.”
“What disorder?”
“None.”
She wiped her eyes.
“He lied.”
I stared.
“Why?”
“Because your sister was the original heir.”
My blood went cold.
“To what?”
“The Vance trust.”
“What trust?”
She looked toward Marcus.
“The one Julian has been trying to control.”
I stared at her.
“Why would he need me sick?”
“Because only a legally incapacitated heir can be replaced.”
The truth hit me.
Julian wasn't trying to steal my empire.
He was trying to steal my identity.
Evelyn stepped closer.
“Your sister is alive.”
“Where?”
She whispered:
“Inside the same estate where you grew up.”
My breath stopped.
“She's been there all along?”
“No.”
“She returned six months ago.”
“And Julian?”
“He found her.”
My phone buzzed.
A new message.
A photograph.
Mia.
Sleeping.
In a room I did not recognize.
My blood froze.
The message contained four words:
Bring the ledger. Alone.
I looked at my mother.
“What ledger?”
She closed her eyes.
“The one your father stole.”
I stared.
“From whom?”
May you like
She whispered:
“Your family.”
