Chapter 3 - My brother's name was Daniel Ashford.He had been dead for eight years.

At least, that's what I believed.

Daniel had been reckless, brilliant, charming, and incapable of staying out of trouble.

He also knew exactly how to manipulate people.

At twenty-nine, he vanished during a boat trip.

Three days later, authorities found the wreckage.

One body.

Dental records confirmed his identity.

Funeral.

Casket.

Grief.

Done.

Except apparently nothing was done.

Because my six-year-old daughter had just been taken by a dead man.

I turned to Marco.

“Pull Daniel's file.”

“Sir?”

“Everything.”

He stared at me.

“Everything?”

“Birth records. Medical records. Police records. Mortuary. Banking. Travel.”

Marco nodded.

“And Victor?”

“Yes?”

“You're coming with me.”

Victor looked at his wound.

“I can barely walk.”

“Then crawl.”

We headed toward the command room.

Claire followed.

I stopped.

“You stay here.”

“No.”

I turned.

She looked me directly in the eyes.

“You're going to look for Harper.”

“Yes.”

“And you won't find her.”

My jaw tightened.

“Why?”

“Because whoever took her knows your security system.”

She continued walking.

“They know your habits.”

My eyes narrowed.

“They also know where you keep your emergency vehicles.”

I stopped.

“How do you know that?”

Claire didn't answer.

Victor did.

“Because she helped design them.”

I stared.

“Who the hell are you?”

Claire looked at me.

“My real name is Claire Bennett.”

“I know.”

“No.”

She shook her head.

“You know the name on my employment records.”

She reached into her pocket and pulled out a laminated card.

Federal identification.

I read it.

My face hardened.

“Department of Homeland Security?”

“Formerly.”

“You've been investigating me?”

“For four years.”

“Why?”

“Because your wife's death wasn't an isolated event.”

She looked at Victor.

“It was one piece of a larger operation.”

“What operation?”

“Black Crown.”

The words meant nothing.

Marco suddenly went still.

He knew them.

“What?”

He looked at me.

“Black Crown isn't supposed to exist.”

Claire nodded.

“Exactly.”

We entered the command room.

Screens filled the walls.

Cameras.

Thermal imaging.

Perimeter sensors.

Every corridor.

Except one.

The northeast service tunnel.

The feed was black.

“Why isn't that camera working?”

Marco hesitated.

“It went offline twelve minutes ago.”

“Fix it.”

“I'm trying.”

“No.”

I looked at Claire.

“Can you?”

She walked to the console.

Thirty seconds later, the screen came alive.

An image appeared.

Someone carrying Harper.

They were inside the tunnel.

I stepped closer.

The figure wore a black hood.

Harper was unconscious.

“Enhance.”

Claire did.

The image sharpened.

The man's left hand appeared.

Silver ring.

Ashford crest.

Then he turned slightly.

I saw the side of his face.

My blood stopped.

Daniel.

Older.

Scarred.

Alive.

“No.”

Claire whispered, “That's him.”

I looked at Victor.

“You knew.”

Victor didn't answer.

I grabbed his collar.

“You knew my brother was alive.”

“I suspected.”

“How long?”

“Eight years.”

I nearly hit him.

Instead, Marco shouted:

“Sir!”

A second camera came online.

Another person appeared.

They weren't carrying Harper.

They were walking.

Calmly.

Toward the east wing.

My wife.

Elena.

She stopped beneath the camera.

Looked directly into it.

Then she smiled.

The feed cut.

I stood motionless.

Three years.

Three years of believing my wife was dead.

Three years of raising our daughters alone.

Three years of waking up angry because grief was easier than hope.

And now she was alive.

Standing inside my house.

“Find her.”

Everyone moved.

Marco called teams.

Claire pulled up blueprints.

Victor leaned against the desk.

“You need to understand something.”

“I don't care.”

“You should.”

I turned.

“Where is she?”

“I don't know.”

“Where is Harper?”

“I don't know.”

“Then what do you know?”

Victor took a breath.

“Your brother isn't the leader.”

Silence.

“Then who is?”

Victor looked at Claire.

She answered.

“Someone you trust more than him.”

Marco entered from the hallway.

“Sir.”

He stopped.

His expression was strange.

“We found a vehicle.”

“Harper?”

“No.”

He swallowed.

“Your wife's car.”

I stared.

“Where?”

“Under the east garage.”

“That's impossible.”

“I know.”

Marco opened his hand.

Inside was a key.

Old.

Bent.

Covered in dried mud.

Elena's car key.

I remembered the crash.

The official report said the vehicle had been recovered at the bottom of a ravine.

Burned.

Destroyed.

Impossible to identify except through the VIN.

But now her key was here.

And then the radio crackled.

A man's voice came through.

“Marcus.”

I recognized it immediately.

Daniel.

“Bring Victor to the old chapel.”

I stepped closer to the radio.

“Where's my daughter?”

“You'll see.”

“And Elena?”

A pause.

Then Daniel laughed.

“She never stopped waiting for you.”

The line went dead.

I looked at Victor.

“What old chapel?”

He didn't speak.

I grabbed him.

“Tell me.”

Victor finally answered.

“The chapel where your father confessed what he did.”

My heart tightened.

“My father never confessed anything.”

Victor looked at me.

“He did.”

“When?”

“The night Elena disappeared.”

Something inside me fractured.

“What did he confess?”

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Victor whispered:

“He said he ordered her death.”