Benedict stared at his father. "Someone inside the family?"Victor nodded."Who?""I don't know."Benedict almost laughed. "You don't know?""I know what I was told.""By whom?""My father."Benedict stepped closer. "And you believed him?"Victor looked wounded. "I was twenty-nine years old. I trusted my father.""That isn't an answer.""No." He looked down. "It isn't."Eleanor moved toward them. "Victor, you need to tell him everything.""I don't know everything.""Then tell him what you know."Benedict watched them. For the first time, his parents looked like two people who had spent years carrying the same secret without ever fully understanding its weight.Victor finally sat down. "My father told me there was someone close to our family who had information about you.""Who?""He wouldn't give me a name.""Why?""He said knowing the name would make me a target."Benedict shook his head. "So you accepted that?""I was afraid."The admission surprised Benedict — Victor rarely admitte

Benedict stared at the photograph. Five years old, standing outside Ashcroft Manor, his small hand wrapped around a toy car. He remembered that day — at least, he thought he did. But the man standing behind him wasn't part of the memory.He turned the photograph over again.You were never as hidden as you believed.Serena looked over his shoulder. "Do you recognize him?""No.""Look carefully.""I am."The man's face was partly turned away dark coat, dark hair, one hand resting inside his pocket. But something about the posture felt familiar. Not the person. The way he stood, as if he'd been waiting. Watching.Benedict's eyes narrowed. "Zoom in."Serena used her phone. The photograph went grainy, but the man's left hand was visible now a small mark across it. A scar.Benedict remembered Margaret's words. He had a scar across his left hand. His pulse quickened. "That's him.""Who?""The man Margaret described."Serena looked at the photograph again. "The man who brought you to the orp

Damian had never sounded afraid before. Benedict couldn't stop thinking about it. For years, Damian had appeared to have everything — the Ashcroft name, the family's acceptance, money, power, a place at the table Benedict had spent his entire life trying to earn. But now Damian had called him privately and said something that changed everything.I don't think I'm who they told me I was.Benedict looked at Serena. "We need to meet him."She nodded. "When?""Tonight.""Where?""I'll let him choose."Serena picked up her coat. "Then we're going together."Benedict smiled slightly. "I thought you said this was between Damian and me.""It is.""Then why are you coming?""Because someone has already tried to manipulate both of you." She held his gaze. "I'm not letting you walk into another trap alone."Benedict didn't argue.Damian arrived at the meeting place first — an abandoned restaurant on the edge of the city, closed for years. No staff, no customers, no cameras that still worked. At

Benedict didn't sleep. Richard's letter lay open on the table in front of him he'd read it at least ten times. One sentence kept pulling him back.The payment was supposed to buy time.Time for what? And why had Richard risked himself to stop it?Benedict picked up the metal key again. "R.A."Serena walked in carrying two cups of coffee. "You're still awake.""So are you.""I stopped pretending I could sleep." She placed one cup beside him.Benedict gave her a tired smile. "Thank you."She sat opposite him. "What are you thinking?""That Richard knew more than my father.""That's probably true.""He knew I hadn't died."Serena nodded. "And he tried to stop whoever wanted you gone."Benedict looked at the letter. "But he disappeared anyway.""Which means finding Richard may tell us who was behind everything."He shook his head. "Maybe."She studied him. "You don't sound convinced.""I've learned something.""What?""Every time we find an answer, we discover someone else knew it first.

Eleanor had not slept. She sat alone in the breakfast room with a cup of tea that had gone cold. The house was quiet, but her mind wasn't. For years she had carried the same memory — a child, a small blanket, a promise she'd made to herself, and a question nobody could answer.Where was her son?She had been told he was dead. She had refused to believe it. Not completely. Never completely.When Benedict entered the room, she looked up. For a moment neither spoke. Then she noticed the tiredness in his face."You've been investigating again."Benedict pulled out the chair opposite her. "Yes.""Richard?""Yes."Eleanor lowered her eyes. "What did you find?"He hesitated. "Something I think you should have seen years ago." He placed the photograph of Richard on the table.Eleanor touched it, her fingers trembling. "He's alive?""We believe so."She stared at the photograph, then whispered, "I knew it.""Knew what?""That Richard didn't disappear willingly."Eleanor went upstairs, and when