Chapter 4 - The Man With My FaceFor a second I thought I was looking into a mirror.
The man standing beside Mara had my eyes.
My father's jaw.
My mother's nose.
A scar across the chin that I remembered getting when I was seven.
He was taller than me.
Younger.
Maybe twenty-six.
He stared at me with an expression I couldn't read.
Petr whispered, “Boss...”
I raised my hand.
No shooting.
Mara stepped forward.
“Damon, meet Elias.”
The man's eyes never left mine.
“You're late,” he said.
My stomach dropped.
“Who are you?”
“Your son.”
I laughed once.
It wasn't humor.
It was disbelief.
“That isn't possible.”
Mara shook her head.
“You've been told that every impossible thing is impossible because your family survived by making you doubt your own memory.”
I looked at Elias.
He slowly rolled up his sleeve.
There, on his forearm, was a thin crescent-shaped scar.
I remembered that scar.
Not on him.
On Mara.
Thirty years ago, when we were teenagers, she had cut herself opening a rusted tin.
She had joked that we'd share scars because it meant we couldn't ever become strangers.
I had forgotten that conversation.
Now the same scar was on her son.
I whispered, “How old are you?”
“Twenty-seven.”
My breath caught.
The math was suddenly possible.
And horrifying.
Mara saw it happen in my face.
“You weren't told about him because your father didn't want you to know that I survived.”
“Why?”
“Because Elias wasn't the only child.”
I stared.
“What?”
Mara looked toward the cemetery.
“Adrian knew about the second one.”
Petr shifted uneasily.
“There were two?”
Mara nodded.
“Twins.”
My world tilted.
Elias looked at the ground.
“Her name was Claire.”
“Where is she?”
Mara's face changed.
That was when I knew.
The answer was going to hurt.
“Dead.”
Elias looked at his mother.
“You said she disappeared.”
“I lied.”
The word fell between us.
I stepped closer.
“Tell me everything.”
Mara looked at the sky.
“Not here.”
“Then where?”
“Your father's old terminal.”
My hands tightened.
“Room seventeen?”
Elias answered.
“Yes.”
We drove back toward the lake.
No one spoke.
At the terminal, the old building had been abandoned for years.
Rain battered the corrugated roof.
The loading cranes stood frozen against the dark sky.
Room seventeen was at the far end of the warehouse.
The door was locked.
Elias pulled a key from his pocket.
I stared at it.
“Who gave you that?”
“My mother.”
We entered.
The room was empty except for a metal table.
A tape recorder sat on it.
Mara closed the door.
Then pressed play.
My father's voice filled the room.
Young.
Sharp.
Healthy.
“If you're hearing this, Damon, then the operation has failed.”
I stared at the recorder.
The date appeared on a label.
October 14, 1996.
My birthday.
I listened.
“I know what you believe happened to Mara Bell.”
The recording paused.
Then my father's voice lowered.
“She was never your enemy.”
My heartbeat thundered.
“She was the only witness who knew what Rennick was doing with the port manifests.”
Mara closed her eyes.
“Victor wanted to kill her,” she whispered.
The recording continued.
“I couldn't let him.”
I looked at Mara.
“You knew?”
She nodded.
My father's voice:
“So I created the stroke.”
The room went cold.
“I would disappear from public life, draw the attention of federal investigators toward me, and make Damon believe the family had turned against him.”
A click.
Then:
“But there is something Damon does not know.”
I leaned toward the recorder.
“My son was not the target.”
The tape crackled.
“The target was his children.”
I stopped breathing.
Mara opened her eyes.
“Damon...”
The recording continued.
“Because Elias and Claire were born, the Rennicks learned that one day the Vale family would have an heir outside Victor's control.”
A new voice entered the recording.
Charles Rennick.
“Kill both children.”
Mara covered her mouth.
The tape continued.
Victor's voice became furious.
“No.”
Charles replied.
“Then they own the family.”
A gunshot sounded on the recording.
The tape ended.
Silence.
I stared at Mara.
“Who was shot?”
She didn't answer.
Elias did.
“My father.”
I turned.
“What?”
Elias's face was white.
“He wasn't talking about you.”
My blood ran cold.
“Who was Charles trying to kill?”
Elias looked at me.
“My real father.”
I stared.
“What are you saying?”
He walked to the table.
Lifted the tape recorder.
Then opened the battery compartment.
Inside was a folded photograph.
He handed it to me.
I unfolded it.
It showed Mara.
Beside her stood another man.
His face was blurred with age.
But the resemblance was unmistakable.
He had my face.
And beneath the photograph was a handwritten note.
DAMON IS NOT VICTOR'S SON.
I looked at Mara.
May you like
She whispered one sentence.
“That is why your father was afraid of you.”
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