Chapter 4 - The Room Beneath Whitaker HouseI had security footage within ten minutes.
Three cameras.
Three angles.
Nothing.
No intruder.
No open door.
No elevator movement.
Micah had simply vanished.
That was impossible.
Unless someone already had access.
My father.
My grandfather.
My family.
I drove directly to Whitaker House with Mara and the remaining three boys hidden in the back of an armored SUV.
The mansion sat on Fifth Avenue behind iron gates.
I'd grown up there.
Every hallway was familiar.
Every portrait.
Every staircase.
Every locked door.
But that morning, it looked different.
Like a museum built around a lie.
My father was waiting in the library.
Jonathan Whitaker.
Silver hair.
Perfect suit.
Calm expression.
He looked at the boys.
Then at Mara.
Then at me.
"You should not have brought them."
I stepped forward.
"Where is Micah?"
"I don't know."
"You're lying."
His face hardened.
"Be careful."
"No."
My voice echoed through the room.
"Everyone has been careful for six years."
My father stared at me.
"What do you want?"
"The truth."
He poured whiskey into a glass.
"Truth is expensive."
"Four children disappeared from my life."
"Three."
"Four."
He looked at Mara.
"She told you everything?"
"Not enough."
He sighed.
Then he said something that made my blood run cold.
"You should ask your grandfather."
"My grandfather is eighty-six."
"And still remembers what he did."
I looked at Mara.
She whispered.
"Your father isn't the one who made the decision."
I turned back.
"What decision?"
My father set down the glass.
"The decision to remove your children from the Whitaker line."
I laughed.
It was the only sound I could make.
"Why?"
"Because your grandfather believed one of the babies carried something he couldn't control."
"What?"
"Your blood."
That wasn't an answer.
My father continued.
"You were born with a rare genetic marker."
Mara stiffened.
"What marker?"
My father looked at her.
"The one your grandfather spent thirty years trying to study."
I felt sick.
"You used my children."
"No."
He shook his head.
"Your grandfather used you."
I moved toward him.
"What did you do to Mara?"
"I didn't."
"Mom said you were involved."
"Your mother was following orders."
I stopped.
"What does that mean?"
My father looked toward the portrait above the fireplace.
My grandfather.
Arthur Whitaker.
One hand resting on a silver cane.
A cold smile.
"Six years ago, your mother was instructed to make sure Mara disappeared."
"Why?"
"Because she discovered something."
"What?"
My father hesitated.
Then he whispered.
"She wasn't carrying your child."
My pulse stopped.
Mara stepped forward.
"Don't."
My father looked at me.
"She was carrying four."
The room went silent.
"You knew?"
"Everyone knew."
"Then why did you tell me she left?"
"Because if you knew the truth, you would have refused the Cartwright marriage."
"Yes."
"Exactly."
My hands curled into fists.
"You destroyed my life."
"No."
My father looked almost sad.
"We delayed it."
Then the library doors opened.
An old man entered.
My grandfather.
Arthur Whitaker.
He walked with a cane.
Slow.
Controlled.
He stared at the boys.
Then his eyes landed on me.
"You brought them back."
Mara went rigid.
"What does that mean?"
My grandfather ignored her.
He looked at Mason.
Then Max.
Then Milo.
Finally, he whispered:
"Where is the fourth?"
I stepped between him and the children.
"Tell me where Micah is."
My grandfather smiled.
"You still don't understand."
"Understand what?"
"Micah isn't the child I took."
I felt the floor disappear.
"What?"
My grandfather raised his cane.
"Six years ago, there were four babies."
He took one step forward.
"I only wanted one."
"Which one?"
He looked at Milo.
Then Mason.
Then Max.
Then back at me.
"The one with your mother's eyes."
Mara whispered:
"Micah."
My grandfather's smile vanished.
"No."
He looked at me.
"Micah wasn't supposed to exist."
I couldn't breathe.
Then the lights went out.
A gunshot cracked through the mansion.
One of the boys screamed.
May you like
And when the emergency lights came on, my grandfather was on the floor.
Dead.
