Continue with Chapter Two of the story...

I stood frozen in the quiet, carpeted room of the Swiss clinic, Dr. Thorne’s whisper echoing in my mind like a thunderclap.

Evelyn Vance.

Daniel’s mother—the quiet, elegant woman who had retired to a luxury villa in Palm Beach five years ago, claiming she wanted nothing to do with her son’s corporate affairs or my father's business.

The woman who had recommended Evelyn Hart to be my divorce attorney.

The woman who had provided the anonymous tips that helped me locate Daniel's offshore accounts.

It hadn't been a coincidence.

Evelyn Vance hadn't been helping me out of motherly guilt or justice. She had used me as a precision instrument to destroy her own son, eliminate Marcus Vale, and wipe out Vance Development so she could reclaim sole control of the original, multi-billion-dollar international trust my father had built forty years ago.

"She played us all," Michael said, his voice terrifyingly calm as we walked out of the clinic into the freezing mountain air. "She let Daniel take the fall. She let Vanessa take the fall. She even let Vale take the fall. She sat in Palm Beach while you did all the heavy lifting."

"And she used her legal namesake—Evelyn Hart—to keep tabs on every single move I made," I added, realization dawning like a cold knife slicing through my soul.

I pulled out my phone and dialed Evelyn Hart’s direct line.

The line rang four times before going straight to an automated message: The number you have dialed has been disconnected.

"Her office in Chicago is empty," Michael said, checking his tactical feed. "My team just checked her firm on LaSalle Street. The doors are locked, the servers are wiped, and her apartment in Lincoln Park was vacated three hours ago."

"She’s heading for the Swiss trust accounts," I said, rushing toward our SUV. "The green ledger Dr. Thorne mentioned... it isn't a book, Michael. It's a biological master key held in a private vault in Geneva."

"And to access a biological master key registered thirty years ago under Richard Harper’s name..." Michael said, staring at me in horror, "...she needs Richard’s living genetic descendant."

"Noah," I gasped.

My phone rang in my hand.