Chapter 8 - We spent the next twelve hours trying to prove something impossible.Ethan had a double.
Or someone had manufactured a perfect copy.
The security footage showed the unknown man entering places Ethan had never visited.
His gait matched.
His voice matched.
Even his fingerprints had somehow appeared in one secure location.
My father ordered all family members into separate rooms.
No one was allowed to leave.
That was when I realized how deep the paranoia had become.
My own brother was treated like an intruder.
Daniel entered my room.
“You need to see this.”
He handed me a tablet.
A hospital record.
Eleven years old.
A patient named Ethan Carter admitted after a severe facial injury.
I stared.
“The injury was real.”
“Yes.”
“Then who is the other man?”
Daniel opened another file.
A medical photograph.
The face had been reconstructively altered.
Not perfectly.
But enough.
“Someone had Ethan's facial measurements.”
“Who?”
Daniel hesitated.
“Your mother.”
I stared at him.
“No.”
“She had access to his medical records.”
“Why would she do that?”
“To create a decoy.”
“Decoy for what?”
He looked at me.
“To replace him.”
My stomach turned.
“Where is the real Ethan?”
I didn't wait for an answer.
I ran.
I found my brother in the old library.
He was staring at a fireplace.
“Did Mom replace you?”
He didn't move.
“Ethan.”
He finally turned.
“Yes.”
The word hit like ice water.
“She created another version of me.”
“Why?”
“Because the real me was supposed to die.”
I stared at him.
“Who was after you?”
“Anthony.”
“My father?”
“Yes.”
I shook my head.
“Then why would Mom protect you from him?”
“Because she discovered what he was planning.”
“What?”
Ethan looked away.
“He wanted you.”
“For what?”
“To inherit everything.”
I frowned.
“I'm not his heir.”
“You are.”
He reached into his coat.
Pulled out a document.
A trust agreement.
My name.
My signature.
My photograph.
Assets worth billions.
I stared.
“What is this?”
“The Hart Trust.”
My hands shook.
“All of this is mine?”
“Technically.”
“Why didn't anyone tell me?”
“Because you were only supposed to inherit it when you turned twenty-one.”
I looked at the date.
Three months from now.
Then I saw the second page.
A clause.
Upon the death or incapacitation of the heir, all assets transfer to the designated guardian.
The guardian.
Michael Carter.
I looked at Ethan.
“My father gets everything if I die.”
“Yes.”
Suddenly, every lie had a shape.
The secrecy.
The protection.
The obsession with my whereabouts.
The mystery surrounding my mother.
Maybe Dad wasn't protecting me.
Maybe he was protecting an empire that belonged to me.
Or perhaps both.
I heard footsteps.
Dad entered.
His eyes went to the trust.
“Who showed you that?”
“Ethan.”
Dad looked at him.
“You shouldn't have.”
Ethan stood.
“She deserves to know.”
Dad's jaw tightened.
I stepped between them.
“Did you plan to inherit my money?”
“No.”
“Did you know this trust existed?”
“Yes.”
“When did you know?”
“Six months ago.”
My chest tightened.
“Six months.”
Dad nodded.
“That was when the surveillance started.”
“What surveillance?”
“Someone began tracking you.”
“Who?”
He looked at Ethan.
Ethan said:
“Anthony.”
Dad added:
“And Victor.”
I laughed.
“So everyone knew where I was except me.”
No one answered.
Then Daniel rushed in.
“Sir.”
“What?”
“We found the person who leaked the ballroom footage.”
My heart jumped.
“Who?”
Daniel handed over a file.
Inside was a photograph of a woman.
I recognized her immediately.
Evelyn Price.
The woman whose name had been on my invitation.
“She didn't resign,” Daniel said.
“She disappeared.”
“Where is she?”
“Dead.”
I stared.
“Then who sent the invitation?”
Daniel looked at me.
“That is the problem.”
He opened another file.
A surveillance photograph showed a person entering Evelyn's apartment.
Black coat.
Gloves.
The face hidden.
But the person turned slightly.
A silver bracelet caught the light.
My mother used to wear that bracelet.
I looked at Dad.
He whispered:
“Lillian.”
Then my phone rang.
Unknown number.
I answered.
My mother's voice came through.
“You finally found the trust.”
“Where are you?”
“Doesn't matter.”
“You're the one who sent the invitation.”
Silence.
“Mom?”
Then she said:
“No.”
A pause.
“The person who sent you that invitation is standing beside you right now.”
I slowly looked around.
Dad.
Ethan.
Daniel.
One of them.
My mother whispered:
“Don't trust the man wearing the navy suit.”
The call ended.
May you like
I stared at Daniel.
He was wearing navy.
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