Chapter 5
We reached Michigan after midnight.
Not because Detective Ortiz wanted to go.
Because twenty minutes after the attack, Chicago police received confirmation that Samuel Cross had not been seen for two days.
His house phone was disconnected.
His cell phone was off.
And one of his neighbors reported seeing two unfamiliar vehicles near his property.
Ortiz called Michigan State Police.
They agreed to meet us outside the town.
I rode in an unmarked police SUV with Ortiz and Martin.
Two vehicles followed.
I held my father’s photograph the whole way.
Martin finally spoke.
“You should sleep.”
“I’m not tired.”
“You’ve been awake all day.”
“So have you.”
He almost smiled.
Then stopped.
I looked out the window.
“Why didn’t you tell my grandfather we survived?”
“Your mother made me promise.”
“Why?”
“She believed Samuel was being watched.”
“Was he?”
“Yes.”
“Then why does she want me to find him now?”
“Because the situation changed.”
“She died.”
Martin looked away.
I hated saying it.
But it was true.
After another mile, I asked, “Did you love her?”
Martin looked surprised.
“My mom.”
He was quiet for a long time.
“Yes.”
“Like a friend?”
“Yes.”
I waited.
He sighed.
“And once, long before Nathaniel, I wanted it to be more.”
“What happened?”
“She chose your father.”
“You hated him?”
“No.”
Martin’s voice softened.
“Nathaniel was impossible to hate.”
That made me want to know him even more.
“What was he like?”
“Brilliant. Reckless. Funny.”
Martin glanced at me.
“He could take apart a computer and rebuild it before most people understood what he was doing.”
“Was he rich?”
“Eventually.”
“Because of the patents?”
“Yes.”
“What did he invent?”
“Security software. Transaction encryption. Systems banks still use.”
I looked at the scratched black card.
“He made this?”
Martin’s eyes moved toward it.
“Possibly.”
The second key remained hidden inside my sock.
Ortiz insisted nobody else touch it.
At 2:13 a.m., we met state police at an abandoned gas station.
A lieutenant named Mason showed us satellite photos of the Cross property.
Large house.
Twenty acres.
Lake behind it.
Long private road.
“No movement for forty-eight hours,” Mason said.
“Any vehicles?” Ortiz asked.
“One registered to Samuel Cross in the garage. Unknown tire tracks suggest at least one other vehicle came and left.”
“Signs of forced entry?”
“Not visible.”
Mason looked at me.
“He shouldn’t be there.”
Ortiz nodded.
“He stays in the vehicle.”
“I’m not staying.”
Everyone looked at me.
Ortiz rubbed her forehead.
“Ethan.”
“My mom told me to go there.”
“She did not tell you to walk into a possibly hostile property.”
“She told me to find Samuel.”
“And we will.”
“I’m coming.”
“No.”
I crossed my arms.
Martin crouched.
“Listen to Detective Ortiz.”
“You all keep telling me to listen.”
I felt my voice shaking.
“Nobody listened to me at the bank. Nobody told me my mother had another life. Nobody told me my father existed. Nobody told my grandfather I was alive.”
Martin’s face tightened.
“And now you want me to sit in a car while everyone else finds out what happened to my family?”
Nobody answered.
Ortiz finally said, “You stay behind me at all times.”
Mason frowned.
“Detective—”
“He’s part of this whether we like it or not.”
We drove toward the property.
The house appeared through tall trees.
Dark.
Huge.
Stone walls.
Wide porch.
No lights.
Police surrounded it.
Ortiz knocked.
“Samuel Cross! Police!”
Nothing.
Again.
No answer.
Mason forced the door.
Inside smelled like dust and old wood.
Furniture stood perfectly arranged.
No sign of struggle.
We entered.
I noticed photographs everywhere.
My father as a boy.
My father graduating college.
My father standing beside Samuel.
Then one stopped me.
Mom and Dad on their wedding day.
She looked so young.
So happy.
I touched the frame.
Martin stood behind me.
“She kept a copy of that photo.”
“I never saw it.”
“She couldn’t risk keeping many things from that life.”
Upstairs, an officer shouted.
“Detective!”
We ran.
A bedroom had been searched.
Drawers open.
Mattress overturned.
On the wall was a family portrait.
Someone had cut my father’s face out.
Ortiz examined the room.
“Professional search.”
Martin pointed toward the floor.
“Blood.”
A small dark stain marked the carpet.
My stomach twisted.
“Grandpa?”
“We don’t know.”
That was the first time I called him Grandpa.
The word felt strange.
Ortiz noticed.
She didn’t say anything.
An officer searched the closet.
“Nothing.”
I looked at the second key.
N.C.
Then remembered Mom’s card.
My father built security systems.
Maybe he had hidden something here.
I walked toward a bookshelf.
One row was filled with law books.
Another with computer manuals.
A framed picture of Dad sat beside them.
Behind it was a tiny keyhole.
I froze.
“Detective.”
Ortiz came over.
“What?”
I pulled the second key from my sock.
Martin stared.
“You kept it there?”
“You told me not to trust anyone.”
He almost laughed despite everything.
I inserted the key.
It turned.
The bookshelf clicked.
Then moved away from the wall.
A narrow passage appeared.
Mason drew his weapon.
“Stay back.”
He entered first.
Lights turned on automatically.
The hidden room was filled with computer equipment.
Old servers.
Monitors.
Boxes of documents.
And in the center sat an elderly man tied to a chair.
“Samuel!”
Martin rushed forward.
Police stopped him until the room was cleared.
The old man’s head lifted.
Blood marked his shirt.
But he was alive.
His eyes focused on Martin.
Then moved to me.
Everything in his face changed.
He whispered, “Nathaniel?”
I couldn’t speak.
Martin knelt beside him.
“Samuel, this is Ethan.”
The old man stared.
“No.”
His eyes filled with tears.
“No, Ethan died.”
I stepped closer.
“My mom was Claire Bennett.”
Samuel shook his head violently.
“No.”
“She raised me.”
His breathing became uneven.
I held out the photograph.
Samuel stared at it.
His lips trembled.
“Claire.”
I swallowed.
“She died three months ago.”
Samuel made a sound I had never heard from an adult.
A broken sound.
He lowered his head.
For nearly a minute, nobody moved.
Then he reached toward me.
His wrists were still tied.
Ortiz cut the rope.
Samuel touched my face carefully.
“You have his eyes.”
I felt tears start.
“Is my dad alive?”
Samuel closed his eyes.
“Yes.”
Martin stumbled backward.
“What?”
Ortiz leaned forward.
“Judge Cross, where is Nathaniel?”
Samuel looked at the hidden computer room.
“He was here.”
“When?”
“Three nights ago.”
My heart pounded.
“Where did he go?”
Samuel’s face became terrified.
“They took him.”
“Who?”
“Victor.”
Ortiz said, “Victor Shaw?”
Samuel nodded.
“He finally found us.”
I grabbed his hand.
“My dad was here three days ago?”
“Yes.”
“He’s been alive all these years?”
Samuel looked at Martin.
“He stayed away because he believed Claire and Ethan were dead.”
Martin looked sick.
Samuel continued.
“Nathaniel spent eleven years collecting proof. He wanted to destroy Victor’s network before they hurt anyone else.”
“Why didn’t you tell my mom?”
“I didn’t know Claire survived until six months ago.”
Everyone froze.
“What?”
I asked.
Samuel wiped tears from his face.
“She contacted me.”
“Then why didn’t she tell Dad?”
“She tried.”
Samuel’s voice broke.
“But Nathaniel had gone underground again.”
I pulled Mom’s old phone from my backpack.
“Did she know he was alive?”
“Yes.”
That changed everything.
Mom had known.
Before she died.
Samuel looked at the phone.
“She was supposed to meet him.”
“When?”
He looked directly at me.
“The day before she died.”
The room went silent.
I whispered, “Did they meet?”
Samuel shook his head.
“Claire never arrived.”
Ortiz’s eyes narrowed.
“Where was the meeting?”
Samuel pointed toward one of the monitors.
“Chicago.”
“Where in Chicago?”
“The hospital where she was being treated.”
My stomach dropped.
Mom had been in the hospital that day.
I remembered.
She told me she had a scan.
She came home late.
She looked frightened.
That night she locked every window.
Then she hugged me for almost an hour.
Ortiz asked the question I was too afraid to say.
“Judge Cross, was Claire actually dying of cancer?”
Samuel stared at me.
Then slowly shook his head.
“No.”
I stopped breathing.
“The doctors said—”
“I know what they said.”
Samuel looked furious now.
“Claire sent me her medical records.”
“What was wrong with her?”
“Nothing that should have killed her.”
The room seemed to tilt.
I remembered Mom vomiting.
Losing hair.
Barely able to stand.
Medicine bottles.
Hospital visits.
“Then why did she die?”
May you like
Samuel’s voice dropped.
“Because somebody was poisoning her.”
