Chapter 8 - The Boy in the Burning HouseThe Corpse Wasn't OwenI don't remember the drive back.
I remember smoke.
Flames.
People shouting.
I remember Arthur carrying me through the front gate while firefighters fought the mansion fire.
Then I heard it.
A baby crying.
I froze.
Owen.
Arthur froze too.
The sound came from the back garden.
One of his men ran.
He returned carrying Owen.
Alive.
Wrapped in a towel.
I grabbed my brother and sobbed.
“He's alive.”
Arthur touched his tiny face.
“What the hell?”
The man who delivered the baby looked terrified.
“We found him outside the wall.”
Arthur turned toward the burned nursery.
“What was the body?”
Nobody answered.
He walked inside.
I followed.
The remains were too damaged to identify.
Arthur stared at the bed.
A tiny sock lay nearby.
Then he picked it up.
“No.”
“What?”
“This isn't Owen's.”
“How do you know?”
“Different size.”
Dr. Mercer arrived.
He examined the body.
“Male.”
Arthur stared.
“Age?”
“Two to four years.”
Arthur's shoulders lowered slightly.
Then Mercer added:
“This isn't a murder.”
Arthur looked at him.
“What?”
“The child was dead before the fire started.”
Silence.
“He was placed here.”
“Why?”
Mercer looked toward me.
“To make you believe they had the wrong victim.”
Arthur suddenly understood.
“They wanted me to think Owen was dead.”
“Exactly.”
I held Owen tighter.
“Why?”
Arthur looked at me.
“Because whoever did this wanted me terrified.”
“Of what?”
Arthur's answer was quiet.
“That they'll take the real thing next.”
We moved to a second safe house before dawn.
Mom was still unconscious.
I sat beside her.
Then her eyes opened.
“Ivy.”
“Mom.”
She looked around.
“Where are the boys?”
“Safe.”
She exhaled.
Then saw Arthur.
Her face changed.
“Did you find it?”
“The ledger?”
She nodded.
“And the truth about Thomas.”
Mom closed her eyes.
“I knew this day would come.”
“Who took him?”
She whispered:
“Julian.”
Arthur's jaw tightened.
“Why?”
“Because Thomas discovered Julian was selling children.”
I stared.
“What children?”
Mom looked at me.
“Children from poor families.”
My stomach turned.
“The store.”
She nodded slowly.
“The humiliation wasn't an accident.”
Arthur's eyes became cold.
“Julian's network uses shops, shelters, clinics.”
“They identify desperate families.”
Mom's voice weakened.
“They offer food.”
“Then what?”
“They take children.”
I stared at Owen.
My skin went cold.
“The formula.”
Mom nodded.
“That's why they wanted you frightened.”
“Why me?”
She looked toward my locket.
“Because you were the child they couldn't find.”
Arthur stepped forward.
“Find?”
Mom swallowed.
“When you were a baby, Daniel discovered what Julian was doing.”
She looked at me.
“He stole you away from them.”
I whispered:
“Who am I?”
My mother began crying.
“You're not just Ivy Sterling.”
Arthur stared.
Mom whispered the truth.
“You are the heir Julian has been searching for.”
Before I could ask what that meant, the safe house windows shattered.
A bullet struck the wall beside Arthur's head.
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And from somewhere across the street, a loudspeaker announced:
“Give us the girl, and nobody else has to die.”
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