Chapter 11 - The Future Threat“That video hasn't happened yet.”
Quinn stared at the timestamp.
“Could be manipulated.”
“Then why use a future time?”
“To make us panic.”
Eleanor shook her head.
“No.”
Everyone looked at her.
“He isn't trying to make you panic.”
“What is he trying to do?”
“Make you choose.”
I looked at my mother.
She was safe beside me.
For now.
My father's message was psychological.
But the threat could still become real.
Quinn took the phone.
“Don't send anything.”
“Then what do we do?”
“Trace the metadata.”
He called someone.
Within minutes, a location appeared.
A private building.
Old office district.
Nathan recognized it.
“That's the Mercer Foundation.”
My father had used the foundation for charitable events.
Awards.
Veterans dinners.
Fundraisers.
Perfect cover.
We went there before dawn.
The building was empty.
The lobby lights were on.
A television played silently.
My father's face appeared.
He was giving a speech.
“To this country, service means sacrifice.”
I stared at him.
The recording continued.
“To the Mercer family, loyalty means everything.”
Then the screen changed.
My own face appeared.
My fake confession.
Quinn stopped walking.
“He launched the story.”
News alerts appeared.
My name.
My photograph.
Headlines.
HEIRESS ACCUSED OF STEALING MILLIONS
MERCER FAMILY FRAUD SCANDAL
DEFENSE MONEY MISSING
Nathan stared.
“They're making you the criminal.”
“I know.”
Quinn's phone started ringing.
News reporters.
Federal offices.
Unknown numbers.
My father had created the storm.
We walked into the main archive room.
A wall of filing cabinets stood inside.
Eleanor found one marked C.M.
Clara opened it.
Inside were legal documents.
Marriage.
Divorce.
Ownership.
Death certificate.
Every paper had her name.
Some signatures were fake.
Some weren't.
She turned pale.
“Martin forged my transfer.”
Quinn examined the documents.
“This is enough to freeze the company.”
“Will it stop him?”
“No.”
A file fell from the cabinet.
Nathan picked it up.
It contained photographs.
My father meeting politicians.
Military officials.
Contractors.
But one photograph stopped us.
My father shaking hands with a man I knew.
Colonel Daniel Royce.
Quinn stared.
“He shouldn't be here.”
“Why?”
“He died.”
“Years ago?”
“Yes.”
The photograph was dated last month.
Someone had faked another death.
Or another resurrection.
Eleanor whispered,
“Daniel Royce wasn't dead.”
Quinn looked at her.
“You knew?”
“He was the broker.”
“The one connecting Martin to buyers?”
“Yes.”
“Where is he?”
Eleanor looked at me.
“Your father sent him after your grandfather.”
My stomach dropped.
“Then he knows about the ledger.”
“He knows about everything.”
The door clicked.
We turned.
A man stood in the doorway.
White hair.
Military posture.
Calm expression.
Quinn raised his weapon.
“Royce.”
The man smiled.
“Colonel Park.”
I stared.
This was the ghost in my father's network.
“You're alive.”
Royce looked at me.
“I was never dead.”
“Why pretend?”
“To see who would react.”
Quinn stepped forward.
“Where is Martin?”
Royce smiled.
“You're still asking the wrong question.”
“What question should I ask?”
Royce looked at me.
“Why does Martin need you alive?”
The room went silent.
I swallowed.
“Because of the company.”
“No.”
“The trust.”
“No.”
“Then what?”
Royce took a step toward me.
“Because you have something your grandfather never gave your father.”
“What?”
He pointed at me.
“His blood.”
Nathan frowned.
“What does that mean?”
Royce smiled.
Then the building's fire alarm began screaming.
Smoke poured through the ceiling.
Someone had started a fire.
Royce walked backward toward the exit.
“Ask your mother who your real father is.”
My mother collapsed into a chair.
The fire spread.
May you like
And for the first time in twenty-six years, she whispered the secret she had buried.
“Martin isn't your biological father.”
