Chapter 7: The Man Who Called Himself My Father
“Your father has been waiting ten years for you to come home.””
Vincent's voice drifted down the basement stairs, smooth and confident, as though he were announcing dinner guests rather than threatening two people trapped beneath an abandoned clinic.
Adrian raised his weapon.
“Show yourself, Vincent.””
A light flickered on above us.
Vincent stood halfway down the staircase, Daniel Cross behind him. A thin line of blood marked Vincent's lower lip where Adrian had struck him earlier, but he seemed almost amused by the inconvenience.
“Put the gun down, nephew. There's been enough family drama for one evening.””
Adrian didn't lower it.
“Who is the woman you brought upstairs?””
“My wife, naturally.””
“You told me she was my mother.””
“I told you she was a woman who could answer your questions.””
Adrian's fingers tightened around the weapon.
“You used her to manipulate me.””
“Of course. You were never particularly difficult to manipulate when your mother was involved.””
I stood between Adrian and the locked cell, staring at Vincent.
“You said my father was waiting for me.””
Vincent turned his attention toward me.
“Your biological father, yes. Richard Whitmore. A brilliant man, though not nearly as clever as he imagined himself to be.””
“Is he alive?””
Vincent's smile widened.
“That depends on what you mean by alive.””
Adrian took a step forward.
“If you've touched her father—”
“Your threats are becoming repetitive.””
Vincent descended another stair.
“Richard discovered that the Whitmore fortune had been systematically drained through a network of shell companies. He intended to expose me. Unfortunately, his daughter was much more valuable than his evidence.””
My stomach twisted.
“What did you do to him?””
“I gave him a choice. Hand over the documents, or watch his family suffer.””
“And he refused?””
Vincent's expression hardened.
“He hid the evidence and made certain you were the only person who could retrieve it.””
I shook my head.
“I was eight years old.””
“Children are excellent hiding places for secrets. Adults rarely suspect that the key to a fortune is a bedtime story.””
Behind the cell door, Eleanor Whitmore gripped the bars.
“Don't believe him, Isabella! Your father never wanted you involved in any of this!””
Vincent barely glanced at her.
“Your mother always was sentimental.””
“She isn't my mother,” I said.
His smile vanished.
“Not the one you think.””
Adrian shifted toward me, placing himself between Vincent and my body.
“Enough. Let Eleanor out, and we'll discuss whatever arrangement you want.””
Vincent laughed.
“Still negotiating as if you have something I need.””
He removed a small black device from his pocket and pressed a button.
A sharp alarm sounded somewhere above us.
Daniel Cross checked his phone.
“Security has been activated.””
Vincent nodded.
“By the time your men reach this basement, the building will be sealed. You have five minutes to bring Isabella upstairs.””
Adrian glanced toward the ceiling.
“What happens after five minutes?””
Vincent slipped the device into his pocket.
“The ventilation system will fill this basement with a sedative. Nothing lethal, of course. I wouldn't want my own nephew to suffer unnecessarily.””
I felt Adrian's hand close around mine.
He leaned toward me.
“When I say run, take the stairs and don't stop.””
“What about you?””
“Don't argue with me.””
Vincent watched our exchange with open contempt.
“How touching. The crime boss and the homeless girl. Perhaps you believe you've found a sister worth saving.””
Adrian went utterly still.
I looked at him.
“Sister?””
Vincent's eyes gleamed.
“Didn't he tell you? Adrian's father adopted him when he was three months old. His biological parents died in a suspicious apartment fire. The official report was conveniently lost.””
Adrian's face drained of color.
“That's a lie.””
“Is it? Ask Eleanor. She knows exactly who your mother was.””
Behind the door, Eleanor Whitmore shook her head violently.
“Vincent, stop!””
He turned toward her.
“You've spent ten years in that room. You should be grateful I'm allowing you to participate in the conversation.””
I stared at Adrian.
He had lost his mother, discovered that his uncle had lied about her death, and now learned that even his own birth might have been built on a lie.
Yet his hand remained steady around mine.
“Three minutes,” Vincent announced.
Adrian leaned closer.
“Wren, whatever he tells you about your father, don't believe him until we have proof.””
Vincent sighed.
“You always were your father's son, Adrian. Loyal to the very end.””
He reached into his jacket and produced a folded photograph.
Then he held it toward me.
The picture showed a man standing beside a little girl outside the Whitmore mansion. The man had dark hair, a strong jaw, and my eyes.
On the back, someone had written a date and a name.
*RICHARD WHITMORE AND HIS DAUGHTER, ISABELLA.*
I reached for the photograph.
Vincent withdrew it just before my fingers touched the paper.
“Come with me, and I'll take you to him.””
Adrian grabbed my wrist.
“No.””
Vincent raised an eyebrow.
“Then I suppose you don't care whether your uncle dies tonight.””
The alarm continued screaming overhead.
I looked at the photograph, then at the locked cell.
Eleanor Whitmore pressed her hands against the glass.
“Isabella, please! If he takes you to the nursery, you'll never come back!””
“Why?”” I whispered.
She opened her mouth.
Vincent raised his gun toward the cell.
“Because your father isn't the only person waiting for you.””
The gunshot shattered the glass window.
Eleanor screamed.
Adrian shoved me behind him as bullets struck the wall. Daniel lunged down the remaining stairs, and the basement erupted into chaos.
“RUN!”” Adrian shouted.
I sprinted toward the stairs.
Behind me, I heard Adrian fighting, Vincent shouting orders, and Eleanor pounding desperately against the cell door.
I reached the landing and turned back.
Adrian was on his knees, one arm pressed against his side. Daniel stood over him with a gun.
Vincent approached my uncle's nephew and crouched beside him.
“You should have stayed out of this, Adrian.””
Then Vincent looked up at me.
“Come along, Isabella.””
He pointed his weapon at Adrian's head.
“Unless you'd prefer to watch your brother die.””
I stopped breathing.
Brother.
And suddenly, the crescent-shaped birthmark behind my ear burned with a memory I had spent ten years trying to forget.
A woman screaming in a burning house.
May you like
Two babies crying.
And a man whispering, One child gets to live. The other must disappear.
