CHAPTER 15 — THE WOMAN BEHIND EVERYTHING
My father's body fell against me.
“Dad!”
Blood soaked through my hands.
For one terrible second, I thought I had lost him again.
Seventeen years ago, I had believed my father died.
Tonight, I had finally found him.
And within minutes, someone had shot him again.
Brooks dropped beside us.
“Pressure on the wound.”
I pressed both hands against my father's chest.
“Stay with me.”
His eyes barely opened.
“Christopher…”
“I'm here.”
“Don't…”
He coughed.
“Don't trust…”
“Who?”
His fingers tightened around my wrist.
“Anyone… who knows the name Clara.”
Then his eyes closed.
Brooks checked his pulse.
“Still alive.”
I exhaled.
“Can we move him?”
“Not safely.”
Another gunshot echoed upstairs.
Brooks looked toward the tunnel.
“We have to go.”
“My father—”
“He needs an ambulance.”
“Then call one.”
Brooks pulled out his phone.
“No signal.”
Michael pointed toward the passage.
“There’s a repeater room downstairs.”
“I'll get it.”
He disappeared into the darkness.
I looked at my father.
“I'll come back.”
His eyes opened for half a second.
“Christopher…”
“What?”
“Your daughter…”
“She's with Savannah.”
“No.”
He swallowed.
“Savannah isn't taking her away.”
“What?”
“She’s taking her…”
He struggled to breathe.
“To the only place Elliot can't reach.”
“Where?”
His lips barely moved.
“The beginning.”
Then he passed out.
I stood.
“What does that mean?”
Brooks grabbed my arm.
“We find Savannah.”
We entered the tunnel.
It was narrow.
Old.
Built beneath the mansion decades ago.
The walls were covered in faded markings.
At intervals, there were metal doors.
Some were locked.
Some stood open.
Michael returned.
“Signal restored.”
“Call an ambulance.”
He nodded.
Then stopped.
“What?”
He looked at me.
“Dad's alive?”
“Yes.”
Michael closed his eyes.
“Thank God.”
I stared at him.
“You knew he was alive.”
“I suspected.”
“You knew more than you told me.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because every time I tried to tell you, someone disappeared.”
I looked away.
“We're finishing this tonight.”
Michael nodded.
Then his phone buzzed.
A message.
He read it.
His expression changed.
“What?”
He turned the screen toward me.
SHE IS WAITING FOR YOU.
I frowned.
“Who?”
Another message arrived.
ROOM 17.
Michael looked at me.
“There are only sixteen rooms in this tunnel.”
We continued.
At the end of the corridor was a steel door.
Above it was a faded number.
17.
I touched the handle.
Locked.
Michael pulled out a key.
“Where did you get that?”
“Dad gave it to me.”
“When?”
“Six months ago.”
I stared at him.
“You've had it all this time?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn't you use it?”
“Because Dad told me never to open the door unless you were with me.”
My stomach tightened.
“Why?”
Michael looked at the lock.
“He said you were the only one who could survive what was inside.”
The door opened.
The room beyond was dark.
Then the lights came on.
I stopped breathing.
The walls were covered with photographs.
Hundreds of them.
Me.
Savannah.
Michael.
Bernice.
Elliot.
Clara.
My father.
Our wedding.
Savannah's pregnancy.
Every major event of our lives.
But the oldest photograph stopped me.
It showed Savannah as a baby.
In the arms of a woman.
I stepped closer.
It wasn't Clara.
It wasn't Bernice.
It was someone I had never seen.
A woman with dark hair.
Young.
Beautiful.
Terrified.
Michael whispered:
“That's her.”
“Who?”
“The real Clara.”
I looked at him.
“Then who have we been calling Clara?”
He pointed to another photograph.
A woman standing beside Elliot.
The face had been partially scratched out.
But I recognized the eyes.
The same woman who had stood beside us at the hospital.
The same woman who had taken our daughter.
I whispered:
“Who is she?”
Michael answered:
“Her name is Evelyn Crane.”
I stared.
“Crane?”
“Elliot's family name.”
I looked at the photographs again.
Evelyn was everywhere.
At my father's company.
At Savannah's childhood home.
At our wedding.
Even inside our house.
She had been there.
Watching.
Planning.
Waiting.
I found a file on the desk.
The label read:
PROJECT HEIR.
I opened it.
Inside were documents dated twenty-two years earlier.
The first page contained a photograph of Savannah's mother.
The second contained a photograph of Bernice.
The third contained my father.
Then the fourth.
A photograph of me as a child.
At the bottom was a handwritten note:
THE TWO BOYS MUST NEVER KNOW THE GIRL EXISTS.
I stared.
“Two boys?”
Michael nodded.
“You and me.”
“And Savannah?”
“The girl.”
I kept reading.
IF THEY MEET, THE BLOODLINE WILL BECOME UNCONTROLLABLE.
My stomach tightened.
“This wasn't about money.”
“No.”
“It was about control.”
Michael nodded.
“Dad created the trust to protect all three of us.”
“Me, you, and Savannah.”
“Yes.”
“And Evelyn wanted control of all three.”
“Yes.”
I turned another page.
There was a medical record.
Savannah.
Then another.
Me.
Then Michael.
At the bottom was a genetic chart.
I read the results.
My hands started shaking.
“Michael…”
“What?”
“These aren't our records.”
He took the paper.
His face went pale.
“They were switched.”
“With whose?”
He looked at me.
“Elliot's.”
I stared.
“What?”
“Someone altered our DNA records.”
“Why?”
“To make us appear unrelated.”
“And Savannah?”
“She was listed as unrelated to all of us.”
I understood.
“They erased the bloodline.”
Michael nodded.
“Then the trust could never be activated.”
I looked at the documents.
“So why did Elliot need the baby?”
“Because modern DNA testing could expose the fraud.”
I felt a chill.
“Our daughter could prove everything.”
“Yes.”
I picked up another file.
Inside was a birth certificate.
Not our daughter's.
Savannah's.
The mother's name had been altered.
The father's name was blank.
But beneath the altered section was the original.
Father: David Vance.
I swallowed.
Then I saw the mother's name.
Bernice Vance.
My mother.
I closed my eyes.
Savannah really was my half-sister.
But then another document fell from the folder.
I picked it up.
A paternity test.
The result was different.
I stared.
“No.”
Michael looked over my shoulder.
“What?”
“Savannah's biological father…”
I couldn't speak.
Michael read it.
His face changed.
“That's impossible.”
The test showed:
Father: Elliot Crane.
I looked at him.
“My father wasn't Savannah's biological father.”
Michael shook his head.
“The records were altered.”
“Then which one is real?”
Neither of us answered.
A voice came from behind us.
“Both.”
We turned.
Savannah stood in the doorway.
She was pale.
Exhausted.
But alive.
And in her arms—
our daughter.
I ran toward her.
“Savannah!”
She smiled weakly.
“I told you I'd protect her.”
I took our daughter carefully.
She was sleeping.
Perfectly peaceful.
I kissed her forehead.
Then looked at Savannah.
“You knew.”
She nodded.
“I learned the truth tonight.”
“Which truth?”
“That my biological father isn't Elliot.”
I stared.
“Then who?”
She looked at Michael.
Michael looked down.
Savannah whispered:
“David.”
I froze.
“My father?”
“Yes.”
I couldn't breathe.
“But the DNA test—”
“Was fake.”
She pointed to the file.
“Evelyn created both versions.”
“Why?”
“To make everyone believe Savannah belonged to someone different.”
“But why?”
“Because the real truth is much more dangerous.”
“What truth?”
Savannah looked at our daughter.
“She isn't the first child in the trust.”
I frowned.
“What?”
“She isn't even the second.”
My blood ran cold.
“Then who?”
Savannah's eyes filled with tears.
“Michael.”
I stared at my brother.
“What?”
“He wasn't raised as your brother.”
“He was raised as your protector.”
Michael closed his eyes.
“Dad told me the truth when I was twelve.”
I looked at him.
“What truth?”
“That I wasn't your brother.”
“You're my son.”
Michael nodded.
“But that's not the worst part.”
“What could possibly be worse?”
Savannah answered.
“Your father wasn't Michael's biological father either.”
I stared.
“Then who?”
She whispered:
“Elliot.”
Silence.
Michael looked at me.
“I'm Elliot's son.”
Everything went still.
My brother was Elliot's son.
My wife was my father's daughter.
My daughter carried the bloodline of the family.
And Evelyn had spent decades manipulating everyone into believing otherwise.
Then a slow clap echoed from the corridor.
We turned.
Evelyn stepped into the room.
She was holding a gun.
But she wasn't pointing it at us.
She was smiling.
“You finally figured it out.”
I moved in front of Savannah and the baby.
Evelyn shook her head.
“Don't.”
“Stay away from my family.”
“Your family?”
She laughed.
“You still don't understand.”
“What?”
She looked at Michael.
Then Savannah.
Then me.
“You were never the three people I wanted.”
I tightened my grip around my daughter.
“Then what do you want?”
“The fourth.”
I frowned.
“What fourth?”
Evelyn smiled.
“The child your father never told you about.”
My heart stopped.
“Another child?”
She nodded.
“Your father's firstborn.”
I stared.
“Where?”
Evelyn pointed at Savannah.
“She has been living under another name for thirty years.”
Savannah's face went pale.
“What?”
Evelyn smiled.
“Your mother didn't die.”
Savannah stopped breathing.
“She disappeared.”
“No.”
Evelyn shook her head.
“She has been right beside you.”
Savannah stared at her.
“Who?”
Evelyn's smile disappeared.
“Bernice.”
I froze.
“That's impossible.”
“She survived the shooting.”
“What?”
“The body at the hospital wasn't Bernice.”
Evelyn stepped closer.
“Your mother escaped.”
Savannah's eyes widened.
“Where is she?”
Evelyn looked at me.
“She's been watching you.”
I shook my head.
“From where?”
Evelyn smiled.
“From the beginning.”
Then the lights went out.
A gunshot exploded.
I dropped to the floor, shielding the baby.
Michael grabbed Savannah.
Brooks shouted from the corridor.
“DOWN!”
Emergency lights flickered on.
Evelyn was gone.
The door was open.
And on the floor was another note.
I picked it up.
Only six words.
YOUR MOTHER IS ALREADY IN THE HOSPITAL.
My blood ran cold.
Savannah looked at me.
“My mother?”
I nodded.
Then my phone rang.
The screen displayed the hospital.
I answered.
A nurse's voice trembled.
“Mr. Vance…”
“What happened?”
“Your wife is missing.”
My heart stopped.
“Savannah is right here.”
“No.”
The nurse began crying.
“We mean your wife in the hospital.”
I looked at Savannah.
Then back at the phone.
“What are you talking about?”
“Mrs. Vance was never in the recovery room.”
I couldn't breathe.
“What?”
“The woman in the room…”
The nurse whispered:
“wasn't Savannah.”
I looked at the woman standing beside me.
Savannah was holding our daughter's hand.
She looked exactly like my wife.
Same face.
Same voice.
Same eyes.
But suddenly—
she smiled.
Not Savannah's smile.
A colder one.
And she whispered:
“Christopher…”
I stepped backward.
“Who are you?”
She looked at Michael.
Then at me.
And finally at the baby.
“I'm sorry.”
Her eyes filled with tears.
“But the real Savannah was taken three hours ago.”
My blood froze.
The woman holding my daughter's hand wasn't my wife.
She was someone else.
Someone who had been pretending to be Savannah.
Someone who had fooled all of us.
Then she whispered:
“And now…”
She looked at the baby.
“Evelyn has what she wanted.”
I turned toward the tunnel.
The door slammed shut.
And from somewhere deep beneath the mansion, I heard a baby's cry.
Our daughter was gone again.
May you like
And this time—
the woman who had stolen her looked exactly like my wife.
