CHAPTER 5 – THE MASTER OF LIES
CHAPTER 5 – THE MASTER OF LIES
"The baby isn't your son."
Claire's words echoed through the abandoned maintenance tunnel until they became impossible to escape.
I slowly released my grip on her shoulders.
"No."
She looked at me with genuine regret.
"I wish I were wrong."
I stared at the blue blanket still draped over my arm.
The tiny child sleeping peacefully upstairs in my mansion...
The note...
The eyes...
The envelope.
Every piece of it had been designed to manipulate me.
"They wanted me distracted," I whispered.
Claire nodded.
"They knew you would protect an innocent baby without hesitation."
"They needed your attention focused on him while they searched for someone else."
"Sophia."
"No," Claire corrected.
"Charlotte."
The name landed differently now.
Not as a mystery.
As a wound.
My daughter.
Alive.
Hidden.
Hunted.
We raced back to the mansion.
Long before we reached the gates, I knew something was wrong.
Smoke drifted above the trees.
Police cars blocked the entrance.
Firefighters dragged hoses across the driveway.
One entire wing of the mansion burned against the gray afternoon sky.
I jumped from the car before it stopped.
"My son!"
A firefighter grabbed my arm.
"Sir, stay back!"
"The baby!"
"He wasn't inside."
My knees nearly gave out.
"Where is he?"
Nobody answered.
Instead, my head of security walked toward me with blood running down his forehead.
"They took him."
"Who?"
"The same people."
"They killed four guards."
His voice cracked.
"But they left this."
He handed me a silver tablet wrapped in a waterproof envelope.
When I turned it on, a video began playing automatically.
Richard appeared on the screen.
He sat comfortably beside a fireplace, holding the baby in his lap.
The child slept peacefully.
Richard smiled.
"Edward."
"I've always admired one thing about you."
"You love people faster than you trust them."
He gently adjusted the baby's blanket.
"Unfortunately..."
"...this child has never been yours."
"I know."
Richard's smile widened.
"Excellent."
"Then you've already discovered the first lie."
"The second is much worse."
He looked directly into the camera.
"Charlotte isn't your only daughter."
My heart stopped.
"There were twins."
The video ended.
That night, Claire spread dozens of files across the dining room table.
Photographs.
Medical records.
Financial transfers.
Maps.
For the first time, the conspiracy became visible.
Richard hadn't acted alone.
Neither had my father.
There had been an entire organization.
Doctors.
Lawyers.
Judges.
Private adoption agencies.
Genetic researchers.
Every person had one purpose.
To hide children with my DNA.
"Why?" I asked.
Claire slid an old corporate document toward me.
Across the top was a title.
THE DRUMMOND SUCCESSION INITIATIVE
Beneath it sat my grandfather's signature.
"He believed biological heirs were assets."
My stomach turned.
"They weren't raising children."
"They were creating successors."
Each embryo had been placed with different surrogate mothers.
Each child secretly monitored from birth.
The strongest...
The smartest...
The most obedient...
Would inherit everything.
The others?
Claire looked away.
"They disappeared."
Near midnight, someone knocked once on the front door.
My surviving guards raised their weapons.
When they opened it...
No one stood outside.
Only a small wooden box.
Inside lay a little girl's red shoe.
Sophia's.
Charlotte's.
Folded beneath it was a handwritten note.
You have twenty-four hours.
Bring the original Project Heir files.
Or your daughter dies before sunrise.
There was only one problem.
I didn't have the originals.
Hours later I sat alone in my father's abandoned estate.
A place sealed since his funeral.
Claire believed there had to be another hidden archive.
Every room felt untouched by time.
Dust covered expensive furniture.
Portraits stared down from the walls.
Then something caught my attention.
One painting hung slightly crooked.
Behind it...
A fingerprint scanner.
My heart raced.
It couldn't still work.
I placed my thumb against the glass.
Access denied.
I almost walked away.
Then I remembered something.
Richard had once joked that my father trusted blood more than passwords.
Blood.
Not fingerprints.
I pulled a pocketknife across my palm.
One drop landed on the scanner.
A mechanical click echoed through the wall.
The bookshelf slowly slid aside.
Behind it waited a hidden room.
Dozens of computer servers still hummed quietly.
And in the center...
May you like
A single child's rocking horse.
Waiting.
