Chapter 14 - The name on the recording was impossible.MARCUS VALE.
I knew the name.
Everyone did.
Founder of the Vale Foundation.
Philanthropist.
Politician.
One of Chicago's most respected billionaires.
But my father had called him something else.
“The architect.”
Victor backed away.
“He wasn't supposed to know.”
My mother looked at him.
“You never understood.”
“Understood what?”
“The Original Five were never the top.”
I felt the room shrink around us.
“There was a sixth.”
Beatrice nodded.
“Marcus Vale.”
Victor shook his head.
“He created the organization.”
“Why?”
“Power.”
“Why Chicago?”
“Because Chicago was the perfect laboratory.”
I stared at the server.
Decades of records.
Judges.
Governors.
Police chiefs.
Murder orders.
Election results.
Everything.
Then the server screen changed.
One file appeared.
PROJECT HEIR.
I opened it.
Names.
Birth records.
DNA reports.
Families.
Children.
My name.
Luca's.
Elias's.
Daniel's.
Samuel's.
Aaron's.
Beatrice's.
I scrolled.
And found another name.
Marcus Vale's son.
Unknown.
Status:
MISSING.
I looked at Victor.
“Who is he?”
Victor didn't answer.
Beatrice did.
“Me.”
I froze.
She shook her head.
“My real name isn't Beatrice Gallagher.”
Victor stared.
“No.”
“My father was Marcus Vale.”
I couldn't speak.
She continued.
“My mother escaped him.”
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“Because I was afraid you'd see me as part of him.”
I looked at her.
“You were stealing food.”
“I was hiding a person.”
“You knew everything.”
“Not everything.”
She pointed toward the final file.
“This.”
Inside was a photograph of Marcus Vale.
Standing beside a young girl.
Beatrice.
And another boy.
I recognized him.
Aaron.
My missing twin.
I stared.
“That's him.”
Beatrice nodded.
“Aaron was taken because Marcus believed his bloodline was the strongest.”
“Where is he?”
She didn't answer.
Victor looked toward the screen.
A new message appeared.
YOU HAVE FIVE MINUTES.
The building shook.
Explosion.
Another.
Victor whispered:
“He found us.”
“Who?”
Victor looked at me.
“Your brother.”
I frowned.
“Aaron?”
Victor shook his head.
“Not Aaron.”
The screen showed a security camera.
A man walked through the mansion.
Black coat.
Scar over one eye.
I recognized him.
My father.
Older.
Alive.
Impossible.
My knees weakened.
“No.”
The camera turned.
Antonio Moretti looked directly into the lens.
Then he smiled.
My mother screamed.
“Antonio.”
I stared at her.
“You knew?”
She shook her head.
“No.”
The screen went black.
Then the mansion lights turned on.
Every door unlocked.
Footsteps approached.
Slow.
Measured.
A man's voice came through the hallway.
“Adrian.”
My father.
Alive.
Twenty years after we buried him.
I raised my gun.
The doors opened.
He stood there.
Older.
Scarred.
But unmistakable.
He looked at me.
Then at Luca.
Then at my mother.
“I'm sorry.”
My gun shook.
“You're dead.”
“I know.”
“You let me bury you.”
“Yes.”
“You let me think Mom was dead.”
“Yes.”
“You let us destroy each other.”
His eyes filled with tears.
“I had to.”
I laughed.
“Everyone says that.”
He stepped forward.
Victor suddenly pulled a hidden weapon.
“You should have stayed buried.”
Victor fired.
My father moved.
The bullet struck his chest.
He fell.
“Dad!”
I ran.
But before I reached him, another gunshot exploded.
Victor fell.
Beatrice stood behind him.
Smoking gun in hand.
She looked at my father.
Then whispered:
“He was supposed to be the last one.”
I stared.
“What does that mean?”
She looked at the server.
A final file opened.
A photograph appeared.
Marcus Vale.
Beside him stood a teenage boy.
The boy was me.
Only older.
Twenty-five.
Alive.
Then the screen displayed a single sentence:
ADRIAN MORETTI IS NOT ANTONIO'S SON.
I turned toward my father.
His face changed.
May you like
And he whispered:
“That's the truth I spent your entire life hiding.”
