Chapter 9 - The Person in the HouseThe Enemy Was Already Close
We took refuge in an old office property I owned downtown.
No phones.
No cameras connected to the house.
No email.
No one outside the room knew where we were.
I brought in one trusted attorney.
Marcus Bell.
He had represented me for fifteen years.
He listened to everything without interrupting.
When I finished, he rubbed his forehead.
“That's impossible.”
“It happened.”
“The trust exists?”
“Yes.”
“And Daniel is the beneficiary?”
“Yes.”
Marcus looked at the documents.
Then at Daniel.
Then back at me.
“There's something I need to tell you.”
“What?”
“The trust was activated three months ago.”
I frowned.
“How?”
“You.”
“I didn't sign anything.”
Marcus turned the document toward me.
My signature was at the bottom.
I stared.
It looked exactly like mine.
But I hadn't written it.
“This is a forgery.”
Marcus nodded.
“That's what I thought.”
He pulled out another page.
“Your signature was used to authorize twelve transfers.”
“How much?”
“Forty-eight million.”
The number meant nothing for several seconds.
Then it became very real.
“My company was robbed.”
“Not exactly.”
Marcus looked at Daniel.
“The money wasn't stolen.”
“Then where did it go?”
He pointed toward a corporate account.
“Daniel's trust.”
I stared at him.
“Someone has been moving money into the trust.”
“Why would Adrian do that?”
Marcus shook his head.
“He wouldn't.”
I understood.
“Someone is preparing the trust.”
“For what?”
“To make it look as if you're transferring everything voluntarily.”
Daniel whispered,
“So when they kill him...”
Marcus finished the sentence.
“They inherit nothing.”
That was the first flaw in Adrian's plan.
If I died before the transfer was complete, the money remained locked.
Unless...
I looked at Daniel.
“Unless someone else becomes trustee.”
Marcus went pale.
“The trustee.”
“Who?”
He didn't answer.
I stared at him.
“Marcus.”
He slowly opened a folder.
Inside was an old legal appointment.
Trustee: Harriet Duca.
My mother.
I looked at the date.
She had been trustee until six months before her death.
Then a replacement had been appointed.
The signature at the bottom belonged to...
Grace Harper.
Grace stared.
“I never signed that.”
Marcus nodded.
“I know.”
I felt a cold realization.
They weren't trying to frame Grace because she was convenient.
They needed her legally positioned to take control of the trust if anything happened to me.
Then Daniel spoke.
“There is more.”
He removed another page from the folder.
A list of names.
Mia Harper.
Grace Harper.
Caleb Harper.
Me.
Daniel.
Five names.
And beside each was a status.
Duca: ACTIVE.
Daniel: LOCATED.
Caleb: RECAPTURED.
Grace: REMOVE.
Mia: REMOVE.
I looked at the last two.
“What does 'remove' mean?”
Daniel didn't answer.
Marcus did.
“It means murder.”
Silence.
Grace held Mia tighter.
I stood.
“I want everyone involved.”
Marcus shook his head.
“We need evidence.”
“We have documents.”
“Forged documents can be challenged.”
“We have Caleb.”
“His testimony will be questioned.”
“We have Elena.”
“Legally, she has been missing for twenty-three years.”
“Then we'll prove she exists.”
Marcus stared at me.
“You're serious.”
“I've never been more serious.”
Then the office lights flickered.
Once.
Twice.
My laptop turned on by itself.
A file appeared on the screen.
LIVE.
I clicked it.
A security camera feed loaded.
My house.
The library.
Someone was standing in my study.
A woman.
Gray hair.
White dress.
She turned toward the camera.
My heart stopped.
My mother.
Harriet Duca.
Dead for eleven years.
Grace whispered,
“That isn't possible.”
The woman smiled.
Then she stepped toward the bookcase.
And knocked.
Three times.
Mia began to cry.
“That isn't Mama.”
The woman on the screen turned toward the camera.
And spoke.
“Adrian made one mistake.”
Her voice sounded exactly like my mother.
“He trusted the wrong person.”
Then the screen went black.
Marcus stared at me.
“Who is that?”
I couldn't answer.
Because the camera had captured something else.
A reflection in the glass.
Standing behind the woman.
Vincent.
And another figure.
May you like
A man I had never seen.
A man who looked exactly like me.
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