The boy was found in an abandoned motel outside Joliet.
Alive.
Barely.
His name was Daniel Mercer, though a DNA test would later confirm what Thomas Rourke had apparently suspected before any of us did.
Daniel was Vincent’s nephew.
The son of his dead brother.
Which meant Vincent was no longer the final Vale heir.
That mattered because the trust controlling several of Vincent’s largest companies had been written by his grandfather decades earlier.
If Vincent died without a surviving direct family heir, Thomas Rourke became temporary trustee.
If another Vale blood heir existed, Thomas received nothing.
Now the stolen blood made sense.
Thomas had been trying to confirm whether Daniel was really family.
And when he discovered the answer, Daniel vanished.
Marcus sent a recovery team.
I stayed with Vincent because his blood pressure had dropped again.
He hated that.
“I should be there.”
“No.”
“He is my brother’s son.”
“And you’re still recovering from chronic poisoning.”
Vincent stood anyway.
I planted myself between him and the door.
He stared down at me.
“You are aware that no one in this house has ever blocked a doorway in front of me.”
“Congratulations on experiencing something new.”
“Megan.”
“Vincent.”
Marcus looked between us.
Then said, “She’s right.”
Vincent turned slowly.
Marcus immediately regretted being alive.
I folded my arms.
“Sit.”
He sat.
The impossible had apparently happened.
The staff began whispering that the new nurse could order Vincent Vale around.
I pretended not to notice.
Vincent absolutely noticed.
By late afternoon, Daniel arrived under heavy guard.
He was thin, bruised, dehydrated, and terrified.
I treated him in a private guest suite.
Vincent stood in the doorway.
Daniel looked at him.
“You look like my father.”
Vincent stopped.
For the first time since I met him, the feared man had no answer.
Daniel reached into his jacket.
Three guards moved.
I raised my hand.
“Wait.”
Daniel pulled out a photograph.
A younger Vincent stood beside his brother.
They looked almost identical.
Daniel had inherited Daniel Sr.’s eyes.
Vincent took the picture.
His fingers trembled.
Not from poison this time.
“My mother said you didn’t know,” Daniel whispered.
“I didn’t.”
“She was afraid.”
“Of me?”
Daniel hesitated.
“Of this world.”
Vincent looked away.
I saw the pain before he could hide it.
Twenty-one years of loss had opened in one second.
That evening, Vincent ordered dinner served in the formal dining room.
I thought that was ridiculous.
Apparently, he wanted Thomas Rourke to believe nothing had changed.
Thomas arrived at seven.
He entered smiling.
Tall.
Silver at the temples.
Expensive dark suit.
Warm voice.
He embraced Marcus.
He hugged Vincent.
Twenty years of friendship performed perfectly.
Then he saw me.
“Megan Carter.”
I smiled politely.
“Mr. Rourke.”
“I’ve heard a great deal about you.”
“I’m sure.”
He looked amused.
Vincent sat at the head of the table.
Thomas sat to his right.
Marcus remained near the wall.
I sat three seats away because Vincent had insisted I eat.
I had never attended a dinner with more firearms hidden beneath jackets.
Thomas lifted his wineglass.
“To survival.”
Vincent looked at him.
“To truth.”
Thomas’s smile flickered.
Dinner continued.
Steak.
Potatoes.
Roasted vegetables.
Food prepared off-site under surveillance.
Thomas tried to behave normally.
Vincent let him.
Then dessert arrived.
Vincent placed the forged deed on the table.
Thomas stared at it.
“Where did you find that?”
“County records.”
Thomas picked it up.
“This is obviously fraudulent.”
“Yes.”
“Who filed it?”
Vincent leaned back.
“I hoped you might tell me.”
Thomas’s expression remained controlled.
“Why would I know?”
Vincent slid the succession agreement forward.
Then Rachel Monroe’s printed statement.
Then Dr. Bell’s altered lab reports.
Then photographs of the medication.
Then the toxicology analysis from the thermos.
One by one.
Thomas stopped pretending to eat.
Finally, Vincent placed the stolen blood chain-of-custody report in front of him.
Thomas looked at me.
That was when I knew.
Not because he confessed.
Because he looked at me.
The nurse.
The unexpected variable.
“You were supposed to quit,” he said.
Marcus’s hand moved beneath his jacket.
Vincent did not blink.
Thomas realized what he had said.
Too late.
I leaned forward.
“Like Rachel?”
Thomas’s jaw tightened.
Vincent whispered, “Twenty years.”
Thomas laughed once.
“Don’t become sentimental.”
Vincent looked almost wounded.
“You poisoned me.”
“I protected what we built.”
“By killing me?”
“You were becoming weak.”
Vincent’s voice dropped.
“I was sick because you made me sick.”
Thomas smiled without humor.
“You were becoming soft before that.”
His eyes moved toward me.
“Clearly.”
Vincent’s chair moved.
I touched his arm.
“Don’t.”
Thomas laughed.
“There it is.”
Vincent stared at him.
“The rule.”
Thomas looked at me.
“Do you know why nobody touches him?”
I said nothing.
“He was kidnapped when he was nineteen,” Thomas continued. “Beaten for three days. Every hand after that felt like a threat.”
I looked at Vincent.
His face was unreadable.
Thomas leaned back.
“Then you arrived and decided rules did not apply to you.”
Vincent’s voice turned lethal.
“Leave her out of this.”
“I can’t.”
Thomas reached beneath the table.
Marcus shouted.
The room exploded into motion.
Thomas pulled a gun.
Vincent overturned the table.
I hit the floor.
A shot cracked.
Glass shattered.
Marcus fired.
Thomas ran toward the side door.
Two guards followed.
Vincent grabbed me.
“Are you hit?”
“No.”
“Look at me.”
“I’m fine.”
He held my face between his hands.
The man who wouldn’t let anyone touch him was touching me.
Then Marcus shouted from the hallway.
Thomas had escaped.
Someone had cut power to the eastern security gate exactly thirty seconds before dinner began.
There was still another traitor.
Maybe more than one.
And Thomas Rourke had left one thing behind.
His phone.
Marcus opened it.
Inside was a scheduled message.
Recipient: Dr. Howard Bell.
Text:
IF DINNER FAILS, MOVE TO PHASE TWO.
I stared at the screen.
“What is phase two?”
Nobody knew.
Then an alarm began sounding upstairs.
Vincent looked toward the ceiling.
Smoke.
Someone had set fire to the medical records room.
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