Chapter 3 - The PhotographMarcus did not sleep.
Neither did Thorne.
The entire property was transformed into a fortress before sunrise.
Security teams swept every room.
Every camera was checked.
Every access point was locked.
The police had already taken Victoria away, but Marcus knew that arresting her had solved only the smallest piece of the problem.
Someone else was playing a much larger game.
At 4:17 a.m., Marcus stood alone in his study.
The photograph remained on his desk.
Mia asleep.
Her small face turned toward the wall.
A shadow visible behind the curtains.
Marcus enlarged the image on his computer.
Then again.
And again.
The shadow became clearer.
Someone had been standing inside the bedroom.
But there was something strange.
Marcus noticed the curtain.
The bedroom window was open.
He immediately called Thorne.
"Get up here."
Thorne entered thirty seconds later.
"What did you find?"
Marcus pointed at the photograph.
"Look at the window."
Thorne studied it.
"Open."
"It was locked that night."
"You're sure?"
"I checked it myself."
Thorne's eyes narrowed.
"Then whoever took this picture didn't enter through the window."
Marcus looked at him.
"They entered through the house."
A long silence followed.
"Someone with access."
Marcus nodded.
"Someone who knows the security system."
Thorne thought for a moment.
"Victoria?"
"She was in the house."
"Could have taken the picture."
"No."
Marcus zoomed into the lower corner.
"There."
Thorne leaned closer.
A tiny reflection appeared in the glass.
A man's wrist.
And on the wrist was a distinctive silver watch.
Thorne's expression changed.
"You recognize it?"
Marcus didn't answer immediately.
He did.
Three years earlier, he had given that exact watch to someone he trusted more than almost anyone in the world.
His older brother.
Ethan.
But Ethan had been dead for six years.
Killed in a boating accident off the coast of Maine.
Marcus stared at the reflection.
"No."
Thorne waited.
Marcus whispered the name.
"Ethan."
Thorne's face became unreadable.
"Sir..."
"My brother died six years ago."
"I know."
Marcus walked toward the window.
"Then why is he in that photograph?"
Nobody had an answer.
At 6:02 a.m., Marcus received another message.
This time, it came from his bank.
URGENT: SECONDARY TRUST ACCOUNT ACCESSED.
Marcus immediately logged in.
His face went pale.
The account contained twenty-eight million dollars.
Money he had placed there for Mia and the baby.
A withdrawal had been initiated.
Twenty-eight million.
The transfer destination was anonymous.
But one identifier was visible.
A trust code.
Marcus recognized it.
His brother's old estate number.
He froze.
The phone slipped slightly in his hand.
"That's impossible."
Thorne stepped closer.
"What?"
"Ethan's estate."
"Could someone have stolen his identity?"
"Maybe."
Marcus stared at the screen.
"Or someone wants me to think Ethan is alive."
His phone rang again.
Unknown number.
Marcus answered.
"Talk."
The same voice from earlier.
"You found the photograph."
"Who are you?"
"You've been asking the wrong questions."
"Where is my money?"
"Safe."
"Return it."
A quiet laugh.
"Your money isn't the point."
"Then what is?"
"The children."
Marcus's expression changed instantly.
"If you touch them—"
"Relax."
The voice became almost gentle.
"We don't want your children."
"Then what do you want?"
"We want what your father left behind."
Marcus went completely still.
"My father left nothing."
The stranger laughed.
"That's what he wanted you to believe."
The line went dead.
Marcus stared at the phone.
His father had been dead for twelve years.
And Marcus had spent his entire adult life believing that his father's empire had been built on one principle:
Everything was his.
There had never been another inheritance.
Never another trust.
Never another secret.
At least, that's what he had been told.
Then Thorne noticed something.
"Sir."
Marcus looked up.
Thorne pointed toward the study wall.
A framed photograph of Marcus's father hung above the fireplace.
The frame had been moved.
Only slightly.
Marcus walked toward it.
He removed the photograph.
Behind it was a narrow steel panel.
A keypad.
Marcus stared.
"I've never seen this."
Thorne drew his weapon.
"Step back."
Marcus didn't.
Instead, he touched the keypad.
The screen lit up.
ENTER BLOODLINE CODE.
Marcus's heart began pounding.
He entered his father's birth date.
Denied.
His mother's.
Denied.
His own.
Denied.
Then Mia's.
Denied.
The system flashed red.
SECONDARY HEIR REQUIRED.
Marcus froze.
"Secondary heir?"
Thorne stared at the screen.
"What does that mean?"
Marcus stepped backward.
His face had become completely blank.
Then a memory surfaced.
His father, years ago, standing beside the fireplace.
A sentence Marcus had never understood.
"If anything happens to me, protect both of my sons."
Marcus had always assumed he meant Ethan.
But Ethan was dead.
Or supposed to be.
Marcus looked at the photograph again.
The silver watch.
The hidden vault.
The missing money.
The mysterious caller.
May you like
And one horrifying possibility.
Maybe Ethan had never died.
