CHAPTER 4 — THE SECRET IN THE WEST WING
“Mom!”
Emily’s scream tore through the mansion.
Grace ran up the staircase so quickly that she nearly fell.
“Emily!”
Vincent was right behind her.
Dominic followed with one hand beneath his jacket.
The mansion had changed in less than thirty seconds.
Servants abandoned their stations.
Security guards rushed toward the upper floor.
Doors opened.
Voices echoed through the corridors.
But there was no second scream.
Only silence.
Grace reached the landing first.
“Emily!”
Nothing.
The hallway stretched ahead of her.
Emily's bedroom door stood open.
Grace rushed inside.
The bed was empty.
The window was open.
The curtains moved in the cold December wind.
Grace stopped breathing.
“No…”
Vincent entered behind her.
His eyes immediately scanned the room.
“Where is she?”
Grace couldn't answer.
“Grace.”
“She was here.”
“Where is she?”
“I don't know.”
Vincent walked to the window.
It was locked from the outside.
Impossible.
He examined the frame.
No broken glass.
No damage.
Then he noticed something on the floor.
A white rose.
Freshly cut.
Vincent picked it up.
The stem was wet.
He looked toward the open window.
“Dominic.”
“Yes?”
“Lock down the house.”
Dominic immediately pulled out his phone.
“All exits?”
“All of them.”
“No one leaves.”
Dominic began issuing orders.
Vincent turned back toward the room.
Something had been placed on Emily's pillow.
A small silver bracelet.
Vincent recognized it.
He had seen it in the security footage.
The same bracelet around the wrist of the child carried through the west-wing corridor three years ago.
His fingers tightened around it.
Grace whispered:
“That was hers.”
Vincent looked at her.
“You said Emily wasn't your daughter.”
Grace's face crumpled.
“I never said that.”
“Isabella did.”
“I know.”
“Was she telling the truth?”
Grace looked toward the empty bed.
“I don't know what the truth is anymore.”
Vincent stepped closer.
“You're going to tell me everything.”
Grace shook her head.
“I can't.”
“You can.”
“No.”
“Grace.”
“She'll kill her.”
Vincent's expression hardened.
“Who?”
Grace looked at him.
“The woman who started all of this.”
Vincent froze.
“Sofia?”
Grace shook her head.
“No.”
“Then who?”
Grace's lips trembled.
“I don't know her name.”
Vincent stared at her.
“You've been hiding this for three years, and you don't know her name?”
“She never told me.”
“Then what do you know?”
Grace looked toward the hallway.
“She wears a ring.”
“What kind?”
“A black stone.”
Vincent's eyes narrowed.
“That's it?”
“She has a scar on her left hand.”
Dominic suddenly looked up from his phone.
“Vincent.”
“What?”
“I know that description.”
Vincent turned.
Dominic's expression had changed.
“Where?”
“Security reports.”
“Whose?”
“Three years ago.”
Vincent stared at him.
Dominic continued.
“There was a woman recorded entering the property the night Sofia disappeared.”
Vincent's voice became cold.
“Why wasn't she in the official report?”
“Because I never saw the footage.”
“You just said you knew the description.”
“I remember seeing the image once.”
“Where?”
Dominic hesitated.
“My uncle's archive.”
Vincent's eyes hardened.
“Our uncle?”
Dominic nodded.
“Before he died.”
Vincent said nothing.
Then the mansion lights flickered.
Once.
Twice.
And went out.
The hallway fell into darkness.
Someone screamed downstairs.
A gunshot followed.
Vincent immediately pulled Grace behind him.
“Stay here.”
Dominic drew his weapon.
“Someone breached the security system.”
Vincent looked toward the staircase.
Another gunshot.
Then another.
Dominic whispered:
“That's not our security team.”
Vincent's expression became lethal.
“Find Emily.”
The emergency lights came on thirty seconds later.
Red.
Dim.
Flickering.
The mansion looked like a different place.
Vincent moved through the hallway with Dominic behind him.
Every door was checked.
Every room cleared.
Nothing.
No Emily.
No intruder.
No explanation.
Then they reached the west wing.
Vincent stopped.
The door was open.
He had never seen it open.
Not once.
For three years, the west wing had remained locked.
Dust covered the floor.
The furniture had been removed.
The walls were bare.
But tonight—
there were fresh footprints.
Small ones.
A child's.
Vincent stared.
“Emily.”
Dominic raised his weapon.
“Wait.”
Vincent ignored him.
He stepped inside.
The footprints continued down the hallway.
Then disappeared.
Dominic followed.
“Something's wrong.”
Vincent looked at him.
“Everything is wrong.”
They reached the final door.
It was reinforced steel.
Vincent tried the handle.
Locked.
Dominic examined the keypad.
“No power.”
Vincent looked down.
A tiny fingerprint sensor had been installed beneath it.
He stared.
“Who has access?”
Dominic shook his head.
“No idea.”
Vincent placed his hand against the sensor.
Nothing.
Then—
the door unlocked.
Dominic stared at him.
“How?”
Vincent didn't answer.
The door opened.
Inside was a small room.
Not an office.
Not a storage room.
A nursery.
Vincent stopped.
There was a crib.
A small wooden table.
A faded stuffed rabbit.
And dozens of photographs covering the walls.
Every photograph showed the same child.
Emily.
At different ages.
But not eight.
Six.
Four.
Three.
Two.
One.
Vincent slowly walked toward the wall.
His breathing became shallow.
The photographs had dates.
All of them.
The earliest was dated three years before Emily was supposedly born.
Vincent stared at it.
A baby.
Wrapped in a white blanket.
In Sofia's arms.
His wife was smiling.
Beside her stood Grace.
And in the background—
Charles Bellamy.
Vincent felt sick.
Dominic walked toward another photograph.
“Vincent…”
“What?”
“This room wasn't abandoned.”
Vincent looked around.
Dust covered the furniture.
But the floor was clean.
Someone had been here recently.
Then he saw something on the table.
A cassette recorder.
An old one.
Beside it was a handwritten note.
Vincent picked it up.
The handwriting was unmistakable.
Sofia.
His hands began to shake.
He unfolded the note.
Only one sentence was written.
If Vincent finds this room, tell him I never betrayed him.
Vincent closed his eyes.
Dominic watched silently.
Then Vincent noticed another line beneath it.
But don't tell him who Emily's father is until he remembers the night she was born.
Vincent looked up.
“Dominic.”
“Yes?”
“Where was I eight years ago?”
Dominic frowned.
“What do you mean?”
“My memory.”
“What about it?”
“I was told I was in Boston.”
Dominic went still.
“You were.”
“Why?”
“A business meeting.”
“With whom?”
“I don't remember.”
Vincent stared at him.
“You don't?”
“No.”
“Neither do I.”
Dominic looked uncomfortable.
Vincent walked to the cassette recorder.
“Let's see what Sofia left us.”
He pressed Play.
Static.
Then Sofia's voice.
Older.
Tired.
But unmistakable.
“If you're hearing this, Vincent…”
A pause.
“I failed.”
Vincent's eyes closed.
“I failed to protect you.”
Static.
“I thought I could solve it alone.”
A shaky breath.
“I was wrong.”
Vincent's hand tightened around the recorder.
“Sofia…”
Her voice continued.
“Three years ago, I discovered Bellamy had been moving money through accounts you didn't know existed.”
Vincent opened his eyes.
Dominic stared at him.
“He wasn't stealing from you,” Sofia said.
“He was preparing something much bigger.”
The tape crackled.
“He was building a second empire.”
Vincent's face hardened.
“An empire inside yours.”
A pause.
“People inside the Moretti organization were already working for him.”
Dominic looked away.
Vincent noticed.
Sofia continued.
“Then I discovered something worse.”
The tape became quiet.
“I found records of children.”
Vincent's expression changed.
“Children?”
“Children whose identities had been altered.”
Dominic stepped closer.
Sofia's voice trembled.
“Children who were being moved between families.”
Vincent looked at the photographs.
“Emily was one of them.”
Silence.
Then Sofia whispered:
“But she was never supposed to become part of Bellamy's plan.”
Vincent's heart pounded.
“Why?”
The tape hissed.
“Because Emily was my daughter.”
Vincent stopped breathing.
Dominic stared at him.
Sofia continued.
“I gave birth to her eight years ago.”
Vincent looked at Grace.
She had tears running down her face.
“She was born at St. Catherine's Hospital.”
Vincent whispered:
“Eight years ago.”
“Yes.”
“Why don't I remember?”
The recording seemed to answer him.
“Because you were never there.”
Vincent stared at the recorder.
“I told you I was going to Boston,” Sofia said.
“I lied.”
Vincent's eyes widened.
“I went to the hospital alone.”
A pause.
“Because someone had threatened to kill you.”
Vincent's hands trembled.
“I knew the baby would be used against you.”
The tape crackled.
“So I made a decision.”
Sofia's voice broke.
“I gave Emily to Grace.”
Grace covered her mouth.
Vincent looked at her.
“She was never supposed to know the truth.”
Another pause.
“I wanted her to grow up believing she was ordinary.”
Vincent whispered:
“Why?”
“Because extraordinary children attract dangerous people.”
Then Sofia's voice became softer.
“But Emily has something Bellamy needs.”
Vincent leaned closer.
“What?”
The recording stopped.
The tape clicked.
Silence.
Dominic pressed Play again.
Nothing.
The tape was finished.
Vincent stared at the recorder.
“What does she have?”
Grace shook her head.
“I don't know.”
“You knew she was Sofia's daughter.”
“Yes.”
“You knew she was being hunted.”
“Yes.”
“You knew Bellamy was involved.”
“Yes.”
Vincent turned toward her.
“And you said nothing.”
Grace's tears fell.
“I was trying to keep her alive.”
Vincent's voice cracked.
“You let me believe my wife abandoned me.”
“I had no choice.”
“You always had a choice.”
Grace looked at him.
“No.”
Her voice was quiet.
“I didn't.”
She reached into her uniform pocket.
Pulled out another folded piece of paper.
“I was given this the night Sofia disappeared.”
Vincent took it.
His eyes moved across the words.
IF THEY COME FOR EMILY, TAKE HER TO THE CHURCH ON MERCER STREET.
Below it was an address.
And beneath the address—
a name.
Father Gabriel.
Vincent looked at Grace.
“Who's Father Gabriel?”
Grace whispered:
“The only man Sofia trusted after she disappeared.”
Dominic suddenly looked toward the hallway.
“Vincent.”
“What?”
“I heard something.”
They went silent.
A faint sound came from the darkness.
A child's breathing.
Vincent moved toward it.
“Emily?”
No answer.
He followed the sound into a smaller room.
Empty.
Then—
a television screen flickered on.
Static.
A video appeared.
Emily sat in a chair.
Her hands were not tied.
But she was crying.
Vincent stepped forward.
“Emily.”
The video changed.
A man appeared.
His face was hidden in shadow.
His voice was distorted.
“You should have signed the papers.”
Vincent's jaw tightened.
“Where is she?”
The man ignored him.
“You were given three years to forget.”
Vincent stared at the screen.
“You made a mistake by listening to the dead.”
“She isn't dead.”
The man laughed.
“No.”
A pause.
“She wishes she were.”
Vincent's eyes turned cold.
“Touch my family and I'll—”
“You still don't understand.”
The man leaned toward the camera.
“This isn't about Sofia.”
Vincent froze.
“It never was.”
The screen showed another image.
A hospital photograph.
Sofia.
Holding a newborn baby.
And standing beside her—
Vincent.
Alive.
Present.
Smiling.
Vincent stared at the photograph.
His mind refused to process it.
“I wasn't there.”
Dominic stepped closer.
“You were.”
Vincent shook his head.
“No.”
The man on the screen spoke.
“You were there, Vincent.”
The image changed.
A second photograph.
Vincent holding the newborn.
Sofia crying beside him.
Then another.
A document.
PATERNITY TEST — 99.99%
Vincent's face drained of color.
The man said:
“Emily isn't just Sofia's daughter.”
The screen went black.
Then one final sentence appeared.
SHE IS YOURS.
Vincent stopped breathing.
Behind him, Grace whispered:
“I knew.”
Vincent slowly turned.
“You knew?”
Grace couldn't answer.
He stepped toward her.
“You knew she was my daughter?”
“Yes.”
“For eight years?”
Grace nodded.
Vincent's eyes filled with something between rage and grief.
“Why?”
Grace cried.
“Because Sofia made me promise.”
“What promise?”
“That you would never know.”
“Why?”
“Because the moment you knew…”
Grace looked toward the dark screen.
“…they would know where to find her.”
Vincent whispered:
“Who?”
Grace stared at him.
“The people who took Sofia.”
A phone rang.
Not Vincent's.
Not Dominic's.
Grace's.
Everyone froze.
Grace slowly pulled it from her pocket.
The screen showed one word.
SOFIA
Vincent stared.
Grace couldn't breathe.
The phone rang again.
And again.
Vincent reached for it.
Grace pulled it away.
“No.”
“Give it to me.”
“If she is calling…”
Grace's voice broke.
“…then she's in danger.”
Vincent stared at the screen.
Then the call connected by itself.
Static.
A woman's breathing.
Vincent's heart stopped.
“Sofia?”
Nothing.
Then, very softly—
“Vince…”
Vincent closed his eyes.
“I knew you would find her.”
Grace began crying.
Sofia whispered:
“Listen to me.”
A pause.
“You have less than six hours.”
Vincent's voice shook.
“Where are you?”
“I can't tell you.”
“Why?”
“Because they're listening.”
Vincent looked around the room.
“Who?”
Sofia breathed:
“Someone standing beside you.”
Vincent's eyes slowly moved.
Dominic.
Grace.
The empty doorway.
Then the phone crackled.
Sofia whispered:
“Vince…”
Her voice suddenly became terrified.
“Don't trust the man holding the gun.”
Vincent looked at Dominic.
Dominic was holding his weapon.
The line went dead.
For several seconds, neither man moved.
Then Dominic slowly lowered his gun.
“Vincent…”
Vincent's eyes narrowed.
“Don't.”
Dominic stopped.
Vincent looked at the dark screen.
Then at Grace.
Then at the photographs of Sofia and Emily.
His entire world had changed.
His wife was alive.
His daughter had been hidden from him.
Bellamy had built a conspiracy inside his empire.
And someone in the room had just been identified as a possible traitor.
But Vincent still didn't know the most important thing.
May you like
Why had Sofia said he had less than six hours?
And who was coming for Emily?
