Chapter 4 - The Man Behind the WallVincent left the basement alone.

Dominic wanted to follow.

Vincent refused.

“Stay with Grace.”

“Boss—”

“If this is a trap, I need someone protecting the people upstairs.”

Dominic reluctantly stepped aside.

Vincent carried the second phone.

Its timer had begun.

09:12.

08:51.

08:32.

The message contained an address.

An abandoned textile warehouse near the river.

Vincent knew the place.

It belonged to an old shell company connected to the Moretti family decades earlier.

He drove himself.

No guards.

No convoy.

No weapon except the pistol hidden beneath his coat.

The warehouse stood in darkness.

One broken lamp flickered above the door.

Vincent entered.

“Emily!”

His voice disappeared into the emptiness.

Then a speaker crackled.

“You came.”

Vincent stopped.

“Where is my daughter?”

“She isn't your daughter.”

Vincent's hand moved toward his gun.

“What?”

A light turned on.

Emily sat in a chair.

Alive.

Untouched.

But beside her stood Charles Bellamy.

And behind him was Isabella.

Vincent's eyes hardened.

Isabella looked exhausted.

“Vincent, listen to me.”

“Move away from Emily.”

She didn't.

“Move.”

Charles raised a gun to Emily's head.

Vincent stopped.

Charles smiled.

“There he is.”

Vincent's voice became quiet.

“If you hurt her, you won't leave this building.”

Charles laughed softly.

“You still think this is about money.”

“What do you want?”

“The truth.”

“You've had three years.”

“No.”

Charles's smile disappeared.

“I've had three years of watching you mourn the wrong woman.”

Emily looked at Vincent.

“Mr. Moretti…”

Vincent's chest tightened.

“It's okay.”

Charles leaned down.

“Tell him what you heard.”

Emily looked at Isabella.

Then at Charles.

Then whispered:

“Your wife is alive.”

Vincent didn't move.

Charles continued.

“She was alive yesterday.”

“Where?”

Charles lifted a remote.

A screen illuminated.

A hospital room appeared.

A woman lay unconscious under white sheets.

Vincent couldn't see the face clearly.

But the silver pendant around her neck was unmistakable.

Sofia.

His knees nearly gave.

Isabella whispered:

“She survived.”

Vincent looked at her.

“You knew.”

“Yes.”

“You knew she was alive.”

“I knew she wasn't dead.”

“That's not the same thing.”

“No.”

“Why didn't you tell me?”

Isabella's voice broke.

“Because every time I tried, Charles threatened to kill her.”

Charles sighed.

“She has always been dramatic.”

Vincent looked at him.

“You're her brother.”

Charles nodded.

“Sofia was supposed to inherit our father's company.”

“What company?”

“Bellamy Holdings.”

Vincent's jaw tightened.

“I don't care about your inheritance.”

“You should.”

Charles gestured toward the screen.

“Your wife discovered our family had been using shell companies to move assets through the Moretti trust.”

Vincent stared.

“The trust documents.”

“Exactly.”

Charles smiled.

“Sofia found everything.”

“Why didn't you kill her?”

“Because she knew where the records were.”

“And Isabella?”

Charles looked at her.

“She was insurance.”

Isabella stepped forward.

“Vincent, I never wanted this.”

Vincent didn't look at her.

“Then why marry me?”

“To get close enough to protect Sofia.”

Vincent's eyes narrowed.

“You expected me to marry a stranger while my wife was alive.”

“I was trying to keep you alive.”

Charles interrupted.

“You see the problem? Everyone thinks they are the hero.”

He pointed the gun at Emily.

“The only reason Sofia is breathing is because I have spent three years controlling every person in this room.”

Vincent's gaze locked on him.

“Where is she?”

Charles smiled.

“You're asking the wrong question.”

“What question should I ask?”

Charles stepped closer.

“Why did Sofia disappear in the first place?”

Vincent frowned.

Charles handed him a photograph.

It showed Sofia standing on the estate balcony.

Three years earlier.

She was pregnant.

Vincent stopped breathing.

“That was taken one week before she disappeared.”

Charles whispered:

“She was carrying your child.”

Vincent's eyes widened.

“No.”

“She was.”

Vincent stared at the image.

He had never known.

Never suspected.

Never been told.

Charles smiled.

“And that child is alive too.”

Emily suddenly spoke.

“You're lying.”

Charles turned.

“Am I?”

Emily's eyes were steady.

“Sofia told me something.”

Charles looked uneasy.

“What?”

Emily whispered:

“She said babies cry when they are taken somewhere they don't know.”

Vincent stared at her.

“Emily, what are you saying?”

Emily looked at Isabella.

“She has a scar.”

Isabella froze.

“A little white scar behind her left ear.”

Vincent stared.

He looked at Isabella.

“Show me.”

She didn't move.

Charles suddenly shouted:

“Enough!”

But Vincent was already moving.

Isabella stepped back.

He reached her.

Moved her hair aside.

And there it was.

A tiny white scar.

Vincent recognized it.

Sofia had the same scar.

Same location.

Same shape.

He stepped backward.

His voice barely worked.

“Who are you?”

Isabella began crying.

“My name is Isabella Bellamy.”

Vincent's face hardened.

Charles said:

“She is Sofia's twin.”

Then the lights exploded.

Blackness.

Gunfire.

Emily screamed.

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When the emergency lights came on, Charles was gone.

And Isabella was lying on the floor with blood on her dress.