PART 3
The second crash was louder than the first.
Metal screamed somewhere near the entrance of the storage facility, followed by the sharp shattering of glass.
“OPEN THE DOOR!” Judge Whitmore shouted again.
Margaret grabbed my arm.
“Sabrina, we have seconds.”
I pulled the black card from the metal box, shoved my father’s letter and the flash drive inside my jacket, and unlocked Unit 219.
The door had barely risen three feet when Judge Eleanor Whitmore ducked underneath it.
She wasn’t wearing the black judicial robe I remembered from court.
She wore jeans, running shoes, and a dark coat, and beside her stood a broad-shouldered man in his forties holding a phone against his ear.
“Who is he?” I demanded.
“Federal investigator,” Whitmore answered.
The man immediately showed me identification.
“Special Agent Adrian Cole.”
Another crash echoed through the building.
Cole looked toward the corridor.
“We need to move.”
“I’m not going anywhere until someone tells me where my son is.”
“Sabrina—”
“WHERE IS NOAH?”
Whitmore stared directly into my eyes.
“Savannah.”
“I know that.”
“He’s at a private airfield approximately twenty minutes outside the city.”
My stomach dropped.
“You said Ellis was taking him to Samuel Grant.”
“He was.”
“Samuel is dead.”
“No.”
The word hit harder than the crashes outside.
I stared at her.
“I attended his funeral.”
“You attended a funeral,” Whitmore replied.
“You did not see Samuel’s body.”
It was true.
Closed casket.
Ellis had told me Samuel’s illness had left him unrecognizable.
At the time, I had never questioned it.
“Why would Samuel fake his death?”
“He didn’t.”
Whitmore’s expression hardened.
“Ellis did.”
Footsteps thundered somewhere down the corridor.
Cole reached for the overhead door.
“We continue this conversation somewhere else.”
Whitmore pointed toward the back of my storage unit.
“There’s another exit.”
I looked at her like she had lost her mind.
“This is a storage unit.”
“Your father specifically rented this one for a reason.”
She moved behind the grandfather clock and crouched beside the wall.
Her fingers found a small recessed latch hidden behind the baseboard.
She pulled it.
A narrow maintenance door opened.
Margaret whispered, “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
Whitmore looked at me.
“Your father prepared for almost everything.”
“Apparently not his own death.”
Pain flickered across her face.
“No.”
“Move,” Cole ordered.
We slipped through the maintenance door one at a time.
Behind the storage units was a narrow service corridor barely wide enough for two people.
Cole closed the hidden door behind us.
Seconds later, I heard men enter Unit 219.
“Empty.”
“Check the clock.”
My blood turned cold.
They knew.
Whitmore put a finger against her lips.
Another voice came through the wall.
“Find the card.”
Then a third voice said something that made every muscle in my body tighten.
“Mr. Chappell said the woman doesn’t matter.”
A pause.
“The boy does.”
Cole motioned for us to move.
We hurried down the corridor.
I wanted to scream.
I wanted to turn around and demand answers from whoever Ellis had sent.
Instead, I kept moving.
Because for the first time since the divorce began, anger was becoming stronger than fear.
We emerged through a service door behind the building.
Two vehicles were waiting.
“Get in,” Cole said.
I stopped.
“No.”
“Sabrina.”
“I’m not getting into a stranger’s car.”
Whitmore stepped toward me.
“You’re right.”
That surprised her.
“You shouldn’t trust us simply because I’m a judge and he has a badge.”
She reached slowly into her coat.
Cole immediately said, “Judge—”
“It’s fine.”
She removed an old photograph.
She handed it to me.
My father was standing in front of Mercer Logistics.
Beside him was Samuel Grant.
And beside Samuel stood a much younger Eleanor Whitmore.
On the back, my father had written:
Eleanor — if I ever lose my way, remind Sabrina that truth doesn’t become less true because powerful people bury it.
My throat tightened.
“Your father was my friend,” Whitmore said.
“Then why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I failed him.”
Those words stopped me.
Whitmore looked toward the storage facility.
“And I have spent twelve years trying to correct that failure.”
Another vehicle turned into the parking lot.
Cole opened the SUV door.
“We really need to go.”
This time, I got in.
Margaret climbed beside me.
Whitmore sat in front.
Cole drove.
As Columbus disappeared behind us, I held the photograph in my lap.
“Start talking.”
Whitmore turned around.
“Twelve years ago, your father came to Samuel and me with evidence that Ellis was diverting money from Mercer Logistics.”
“How did you know my father?”
“I represented Mercer Logistics before I became a judge.”
“So you knew Ellis was stealing?”
“We suspected it.”
“You had evidence.”
“Not enough to prosecute him.”
“My father had recordings.”
“We didn’t know that until later.”
“Later meaning after he died?”
“Yes.”
I stared out the window.
My father’s official cause of death had been cardiac arrest.
He was fifty-nine.
Healthy.
He ran three miles every morning.
Ellis had been the person who found him unconscious in his office.
That memory suddenly felt poisonous.
“Was my father murdered?”
Whitmore didn’t answer immediately.
“I don’t know.”
“Don’t do that.”
“Sabrina—”
“Everyone has spent fifteen years deciding what I can handle.”
I leaned forward.
“Tell me what you believe.”
Whitmore’s voice became quieter.
“I believe your father discovered something bigger than financial theft.”
“What?”
“That is what the Mercer Archive may tell us.”
I touched the flash drive inside my jacket.
“Then let’s open it.”
“We can’t.”
“Why?”
“The drive you found isn’t the archive.”
I stared at her.
“It’s a locator.”
“For what?”
“The real archive.”
Margaret leaned forward.
“Where is it?”
Whitmore shook her head.
“Daniel never told me.”
“But my father wrote that you knew how to open it.”
“I do.”
“How?”
“He divided access among three people.”
“Who?”
“Samuel had the location.”
She pointed toward my jacket.
“Daniel kept the digital key.”
Then she looked at me.
“And I have the encryption phrase.”
I finally understood.
No single person could open the archive alone.
My father had built a dead man’s switch out of people he trusted.
“Then Ellis needs all three.”
“Exactly.”
“And he has Samuel.”
“We believe so.”
“And he knows I have the card.”
“Yes.”
I closed my eyes.
Everything Noah had done suddenly made terrifying sense.
He hadn’t simply uncovered stolen money.
He had stumbled into a twelve-year hunt for evidence.
“What does Ellis think is inside the archive?”
Whitmore turned toward the windshield.
“Enough to destroy him.”
Margaret quietly added, “Maybe not just him.”
Whitmore looked at her.
“What do you mean?”
Margaret hesitated.
“Before I left Chappell Capital, I saw transfers connected to people far more powerful than Ellis.”
“Names?”
“Executives. Attorneys. Public officials.”
Cole glanced at her through the mirror.
“Which public officials?”
“I never saw complete identities.”
“Then how do you know?”
“Because some accounts used coded initials.”
Whitmore’s expression changed.
“What initials?”
Margaret swallowed.
“E.W. was one of them.”
The SUV became silent.
I looked at Judge Eleanor Whitmore.
E.W.
Whitmore’s face went pale.
Cole’s hand moved slightly toward his jacket.
“Judge?”
Margaret stared at her.
“I didn’t know whether it was you.”
Whitmore slowly turned around.
“It wasn’t.”
“How do we know?”
“You don’t.”
There it was again.
Trust.
Everywhere I turned, someone was asking me to trust them.
My husband had used trust to steal my inheritance.
My son had used betrayal to protect me.
My father had trusted three people with a secret that had outlived him.
And now one of those people might have been connected to Ellis.
My phone vibrated.
Unknown number.
A photograph appeared.
Noah.
He was sitting inside what looked like a small airplane.
Beside him was Ellis.
Across from them sat an elderly man.
I enlarged the image.
Whitmore gasped.
Samuel Grant.
Older.
Thinner.
But unmistakably alive.
Underneath the photograph was a message.
BRING THE CARD TO SAVANNAH.
COME ALONE.
Then another message appeared.
OR YOUR SON LEAVES WITH US.
I typed:
LET ME TALK TO NOAH.
No response.
I called the number.
Disconnected.
Cole immediately changed direction.
“We’re going to the airport.”
“What airport?”
“Rickenbacker.”
Whitmore looked at him.
“You have transport?”
“I can arrange it.”
“No federal operation,” I said.
Cole glanced at me.
“You don’t control that.”
“Then drop me off.”
“Sabrina—”
“Ellis told me to come alone.”
“And you believe he’ll honor his side?”
“No.”
“Then why would you go?”
“Because he believes I’m still the woman who walked out of court carrying three shopping bags.”
I looked down at my father’s photograph.
“He thinks I’m desperate.”
“You are desperate.”
“Yes.”
I looked at Cole.
“But desperate and stupid are not the same thing.”
Two hours later, we were airborne.
Cole had arranged a government aircraft.
Margaret remained in Columbus under protection.
Whitmore traveled with me.
During the flight, I studied the contents of the flash drive on an isolated laptop Cole provided.
There was only one file.
A program.
When I inserted the black card, the screen displayed three empty fields.
KEY VERIFIED.
LOCATION TOKEN REQUIRED.
VOICE PHRASE REQUIRED.
The black card was the key.
Samuel knew the location.
Whitmore knew the phrase.
I looked across the cabin.
“What is the phrase?”
She hesitated.
“You’ll eventually need to know.”
“I need to know now.”
Whitmore stared at me for a long moment.
Then she said,
“Her future was never yours to give.”
I froze.
“What?”
“That’s the phrase your father gave me.”
My eyes filled with tears.
Her future was never yours to give.
I immediately thought of the courtroom.
Mom can’t give me a future.
Noah had used almost the exact language.
“That wasn’t an accident.”
“No.”
“You told Noah the phrase.”
“Part of it.”
“When?”
“Before the custody hearing.”
I stood.
“You were talking to my son before the hearing?”
“Yes.”
“You let my twelve-year-old child become part of this?”
“He contacted me.”
“He is twelve!”
“I know.”
“You should have called me!”
“I couldn’t.”
“WHY?”
Whitmore stood too.
“Because Noah told me Ellis had installed monitoring software on your phone.”
I stopped.
“He what?”
“Your calls. Your location. Some of your messages.”
My stomach twisted.
“That’s how Ellis always knew where I was.”
“Yes.”
“And Noah knew?”
“He discovered it.”
I sat down slowly.
Noah had been protecting me for months while I thought he was becoming distant.
“He told me something else,” Whitmore said.
“What?”
“That Ellis had started asking questions about your father’s old possessions.”
The clock.
The storage unit.
“He knew Ellis was getting close.”
“Yes.”
“So Noah created the custody plan.”
“Mostly.”
“Mostly?”
Whitmore almost smiled.
“The exact words he used were, ‘Dad only believes things when he thinks he has won.’”
A broken laugh escaped me through my tears.
That sounded exactly like Noah.
“So he gave Ellis the victory.”
“Yes.”
“And stayed close enough to keep searching.”
“Yes.”
I covered my face.
My child had understood Ellis better than I had after fifteen years of marriage.
But one question remained.
“Why the six million?”
Whitmore looked at the black card.
“Noah needed to get the key away from Ellis.”
“So he slipped it to me.”
“Yes.”
“And Ellis assumed the money mattered.”
“At first.”
“Until he realized the card opened something else.”
Whitmore nodded.
The aircraft began descending toward Savannah.
My phone suddenly received a burst of messages.
One was from Noah.
It contained coordinates.
Another contained only:
MOM, DON’T COME TO THE AIRFIELD.
A third appeared seconds later.
SAMUEL SAYS GRANDPA’S ARCHIVE ISN’T ABOUT MONEY.
Then:
IT’S ABOUT WHAT HAPPENED TO GRANDPA.
My chest tightened.
I replied:
WHAT HAPPENED?
No answer.
Then one final message arrived.
Noah had attached an audio file.
I put on headphones.
Static.
Voices.
Ellis.
Samuel.
Then another man.
I turned the volume higher.
Ellis said, “You should have given Daniel the injection properly the first time.”
My entire body went numb.
Samuel responded.
“I did exactly what Victor ordered.”
I ripped off the headphones.
Whitmore saw my face.
“What?”
I couldn’t speak.
I played the recording through the cabin speaker.
Again:
“You should have given Daniel the injection properly the first time.”
“I did exactly what Victor ordered.”
Whitmore went white.
Cole turned from the cockpit doorway.
Nobody spoke.
My father had not died naturally.
Samuel Grant had been there.
Victor Hale had ordered something.
And Ellis knew.
I had spent twelve years mourning a heart attack that might never have happened.
The aircraft landed twenty minutes later.
Cole received an update as soon as we touched down.
“The private plane hasn’t departed.”
“Where is Noah?”
“Still at the airfield, as far as we know.”
I stood.
“Then we go.”
“No.”
I stared at him.
“What?”
“Something changed.”
Cole showed me his phone.
Satellite imagery displayed two black SUVs leaving the airfield.
“They moved.”
“Where?”
“We don’t know yet.”
My phone buzzed.
This time, the message came from Ellis.
NEW LOCATION.
Coordinates followed.
Whitmore entered them into her phone.
Her expression changed instantly.
“What?”
“I know this place.”
“Where is it?”
She looked at me.
“Your father owned property outside Savannah.”
“No, he didn’t.”
“Yes, he did.”
She showed me the map.
A large estate sat near the marshland southeast of the city.
“Daniel bought it through a trust.”
“Why?”
“I never knew.”
Cole looked at the coordinates.
“That’s where Ellis wants the exchange.”
My phone buzzed again.
MIDNIGHT.
CARD FOR NOAH.
NO POLICE.
I checked the time.
10:43 p.m.
Seventy-seven minutes.
Cole began outlining a tactical approach.
I barely heard him.
Because another message had appeared.
Not from Ellis.
From Noah.
It was only four words.
MOM, FIND THE GREENHOUSE.
At 11:51 p.m., I stood at the edge of my father’s hidden Savannah property.
The estate was enormous.
An old Southern house stood beyond a line of live oaks.
Marsh grass moved beneath the moonlight.
And behind the house, almost invisible beneath vines, stood a glass greenhouse.
Cole’s team remained nearly half a mile away.
Whitmore stayed with them.
Ellis had demanded I come alone.
So I walked alone.
The black card rested inside my coat.
But before approaching the house, I turned toward the greenhouse.
Noah had risked sending me that message for a reason.
The greenhouse door was unlocked.
Inside, dead plants filled broken wooden tables.
Moonlight filtered through dirty glass.
“Greenhouse,” I whispered.
“What am I looking for?”
Then I noticed something.
A clock.
An old brass clock hung on the far wall.
Its hands had stopped.
11:17.
My father’s time.
I approached it.
Behind the clock was a small keypad.
I inserted the black card into a slot beneath it.
Green light.
The laptop program on my phone suddenly activated.
KEY VERIFIED.
LOCATION TOKEN VERIFIED.
My breath caught.
The greenhouse was the location.
Only one field remained.
VOICE PHRASE REQUIRED.
I whispered:
“Her future was never yours to give.”
The screen turned white.
ARCHIVE UNLOCKED.
Hundreds of files appeared.
Audio recordings.
Financial documents.
Videos.
Photographs.
Names.
Dates.
And one folder titled:
IN THE EVENT OF MY DEATH.
I opened it.
A video began.
My father appeared on screen.
Alive.
Sitting in his office.
I covered my mouth.
“If you are watching this, Sabrina, then I failed to stop them.”
Tears streamed down my face.
“I’m sorry.”
He looked exhausted.
Terrified.
“I discovered that Ellis has been working with Victor Hale to move stolen money through Mercer subsidiaries.”
He paused.
“But money is not why I’m recording this.”
My heart pounded.
“Ellis discovered that I intended to report him.”
Dad leaned toward the camera.
“He threatened you.”
I stopped breathing.
“He told me that if I went to the authorities, he would make sure my daughter and unborn grandson disappeared.”
Unborn grandson.
Noah.
Dad recorded this before Noah was born.
“That is why I delayed.”
His eyes filled with tears.
“I was afraid.”
My father had spent his final weeks protecting us.
Then he said something I never expected.
“But there is one person I believe can expose everything if I cannot.”
I expected Samuel.
Or Whitmore.
Instead, Dad said:
“Ellis’s younger brother, Nathan.”
I frowned.
Ellis had no younger brother.
At least, that was what he had always told me.
Dad continued.
“Nathan Chappell has agreed to testify.”
A sound came from outside the greenhouse.
I froze.
Footsteps.
I quickly stopped the video.
The door opened.
Samuel Grant stood there.
For several seconds, neither of us spoke.
He looked exactly like the photograph.
Older.
Thinner.
A scar ran from his ear to his jaw.
“Sabrina.”
I backed away.
“You murdered my father.”
His face collapsed.
“No.”
“I heard the recording.”
“You heard part of it.”
“You injected him.”
“Yes.”
My hands trembled.
“What did you give him?”
Samuel looked toward the house.
“Something Victor told me would make Daniel unconscious for twenty minutes.”
“Why?”
“Because Ellis needed access to his office.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“No.”
Samuel’s voice broke.
“I expect you to hate me.”
“Did you kill him?”
“No.”
“Then who did?”
Samuel’s eyes filled with tears.
“I’ve spent twelve years trying to answer that.”
“You faked your death.”
“Because they tried to kill me too.”
“Who?”
Before he could answer, another voice came from behind him.
“Samuel.”
Ellis.
He stood outside the greenhouse.
Beside him was Victor Hale.
And between them stood Noah.
My son’s hands were free.
He wasn’t crying.
But the second our eyes met, I saw fear beneath his brave expression.
“Mom.”
Every instinct screamed for me to run to him.
I forced myself not to move.
Ellis smiled.
“You always were terrible at following instructions.”
“You said I could exchange the card for Noah.”
“And you can.”
I removed the black card.
Victor’s eyes locked onto it.
Ellis held out his hand.
“Bring it here.”
“Noah first.”
“Sabrina.”
“Noah walks to me.”
Ellis sighed.
“You’re negotiating now?”
“Yes.”
Something almost like amusement crossed his face.
“Divorce suits you.”
“Noah.”
Ellis nodded.
Noah walked toward me.
Five steps.
Four.
Three.
Then Victor grabbed the back of his blazer.
“No.”
Ellis turned sharply.
“That wasn’t the agreement.”
Victor stared at him.
“What agreement?”
The two men looked at each other.
Something shifted.
For the first time, I realized Ellis and Victor were not completely united.
Victor pulled Noah backward.
“We get the archive first.”
Ellis lowered his voice.
“Let the boy go.”
“No.”
“Victor.”
“You’ve become sentimental.”
“That’s my son.”
Victor laughed.
“And Daniel was her father.”
Silence.
Ellis’s face changed.
Victor had said too much.
I stared at him.
“What did you do to my father?”
Victor smiled.
“Ask your husband.”
I looked at Ellis.
“Tell me.”
“Sabrina—”
“TELL ME!”
Ellis stared at me.
Then at Noah.
Then at Victor.
Finally, he whispered,
“I didn’t kill Daniel.”
Victor laughed again.
“No, Ellis.”
He stepped closer to Noah.
“You only opened the door.”
My stomach turned.
“What does that mean?”
Ellis said nothing.
Victor answered for him.
“Your husband gave me Daniel’s schedule.”
I felt the ground disappear beneath me.
“He told me when Daniel would be alone.”
Ellis snapped,
“Shut up.”
“He told me which cameras were disabled.”
“Victor.”
“He told me Samuel would be there.”
“STOP.”
Victor smiled.
“But Ellis is technically telling the truth.”
He looked directly at me.
“He didn’t kill your father.”
“Who did?”
Victor’s smile vanished.
“The same person who ordered me to do it.”
Before I could speak, Noah suddenly drove his elbow backward into Victor’s ribs.
Victor shouted.
Noah ran.
“NOAH!”
A sharp sound split the night.
I screamed.
Noah fell.
My entire world stopped.
I ran toward him.
Ellis moved at the same time.
Victor stumbled backward.
Samuel lunged at him.
Another shot cracked through the greenhouse glass.
Windows shattered.
Then people were shouting everywhere.
Federal agents rushed from the darkness.
“DOWN!”
“DROP IT!”
“FEDERAL AGENTS!”
I reached Noah.
He was curled on the ground.
“Noah!”
“Mom.”
I searched frantically for blood.
Then Noah lifted his arm.
The bullet had torn through the sleeve of his blazer without touching him.
I sobbed and pulled him against me.
“You’re okay.”
“I’m okay.”
“You’re okay.”
Ellis dropped beside us.
He reached toward Noah.
I slapped his hand away.
“Don’t touch him.”
Ellis looked at me.
For the first time in fifteen years, the powerful Ellis Chappell looked afraid.
Not for himself.
For Noah.
Victor was pinned to the ground several yards away.
Samuel had been hit in the shoulder.
Agents surrounded the greenhouse.
Judge Whitmore ran toward us.
“It’s over,” she said.
But Noah shook his head.
“No.”
We all looked at him.
“It’s not over.”
“Noah?”
He pointed toward the phone in my hand.
“The archive.”
“What about it?”
“I opened another folder before Mom got here.”
Ellis stared at him.
“What folder?”
Noah looked directly at his father.
“The one Grandpa password-protected with Dad’s birthday.”
Ellis went completely still.
“What was inside?” I asked.
Noah swallowed.
“A recording.”
Victor stopped struggling against the agents.
Samuel looked up.
Even Judge Whitmore’s expression changed.
“What recording?”
Noah answered quietly.
“Grandpa recorded the person who ordered his death.”
My heart hammered.
“Who was it?”
Noah looked at Ellis.
For one terrible second, I thought he was about to name his father.
Instead, he said:
“It was a woman.”
Silence.
I stared at him.
“What woman?”
Noah’s eyes moved toward Judge Whitmore.
Cole immediately stepped between them.
Whitmore froze.
“Noah?”
Noah reached into his backpack and removed a small recorder.
“I copied it.”
He pressed play.
My father’s voice filled the ruined greenhouse.
“You’re asking me to destroy my own company.”
Then a woman answered.
“I’m asking you to understand what happens if you refuse.”
My knees nearly gave out.
I knew that voice.
I had heard it hundreds of times.
At Christmas.
At Noah’s birthdays.
At my wedding.
I whispered,
“No.”
Ellis closed his eyes.
That was when I knew he recognized it too.
The recording continued.
My father said:
“Sabrina will eventually discover what you’ve done.”
The woman laughed.
“No, Daniel.”
Then came the sentence that changed everything.
“Because my son will make sure your daughter never discovers a thing.”
My hands went numb.
My son.
I turned slowly toward Ellis.
He looked destroyed.
Noah whispered,
“Mom.”
I already knew.
But I needed someone to say it.
“Who is she?”
Ellis lowered his head.
“My mother.”
My former mother-in-law.
Vivian Chappell.
The woman who had held Noah minutes after his birth.
The woman who had comforted me at my father’s funeral.
The woman who had spent fifteen years calling me the daughter she never had.
I stared at Ellis.
“You knew.”
“No.”
“Don’t lie to me again.”
“I knew she was involved in the business.”
“Did you know she ordered my father’s death?”
“No.”
“WHEN DID YOU FIND OUT?”
Ellis looked toward the recorder.
“Three days ago.”
Noah shook his head.
“He’s lying.”
Ellis stared at him.
“Noah.”
“You found out before the divorce.”
My heart stopped.
“How do you know?”
Noah reached into his backpack again.
He pulled out a folded document.
“I found this in Dad’s office.”
Ellis lunged forward.
Cole stopped him.
“Noah, give that to me.”
“No.”
“Noah!”
My son handed the document to me.
At the top was a date.
Six weeks before our divorce hearing.
Underneath was a signed agreement between Ellis Chappell and Vivian Chappell.
I read the final clause.
In exchange for transfer of controlling interests, Ellis Chappell agrees to obtain sole physical custody of Noah Chappell and permanently separate Sabrina Mercer Chappell from all Mercer-related assets, records, and claims.
My vision blurred.
The divorce.
The custody fight.
The humiliation.
The $200,000.
It had never simply been because Ellis wanted another life.
It had been an agreement.
He had traded me.
And he had tried to take Noah with him.
I looked at the man I had loved for fifteen years.
“You sold your own family.”
Ellis’s face crumpled.
“I thought I could control it.”
“You thought you could control what?”
“My mother.”
I laughed through my tears.
“You destroyed my life because you thought you could control your mother?”
“I was trying to keep you alive.”
Noah stepped between us.
“No, Dad.”
His voice was steady.
“You were trying to keep yourself rich.”
Ellis looked at his son.
That sentence hurt him more than anything I could have said.
Then Cole’s phone rang.
He answered.
His expression changed immediately.
“What?”
We waited.
“When?”
Another pause.
“Lock down the airport.”
He disconnected.
Whitmore stepped toward him.
“What happened?”
Cole looked at me.
“Vivian knows the archive has been opened.”
“How?”
“We don’t know.”
“Where is she?”
“She left her Columbus residence forty minutes ago.”
“Where is she going?”
Cole’s jaw tightened.
“She isn’t.”
“What does that mean?”
“Her aircraft took off thirty-two minutes ago.”
My stomach dropped.
“Destination?”
“No filed destination.”
Noah grabbed my hand.
Then my phone vibrated.
Unknown number.
I looked at the screen.
One message.
A photograph.
Vivian Chappell was sitting aboard a private jet.
She wore pearls and the same calm smile she had worn at my wedding.
On the table before her was another black card.
Identical to mine.
Underneath the photograph, she had written:
You finally found Daniel’s archive.
Congratulations, Sabrina.
Now perhaps you’re ready to learn why your father really had to die.
A second message appeared.
Ask Ellis who Noah’s biological father is.
I stopped breathing.
The phone nearly slipped from my hand.
Noah looked up at me.
“Mom?”
Ellis saw my face.
“What did she say?”
I slowly raised my eyes toward him.
For the first time that night, Ellis backed away from me.
And that reaction terrified me more than Vivian’s message.
Because Ellis already knew exactly what she meant.
