Chapter 5 - Unearthing the Past
On the monitor inside the panic room, I watched Beatrice Cross’s composure crack for the first time in her life. Her hands, resting on the handle of her diamond-encrusted cane, began to tremble.
"You're out of your mind, Stellan," she hissed, though her voice lacked its earlier authority. "Caleb died in that crash. I buried him."
"You buried an empty casket, Mother," Stellan corrected, his voice dropping into a chilling whisper. "And you paid off the coroner in Cook County to sign off on it. But you forgot one thing. Caleb wasn't entirely alone when he was hiding out in Bridgeport. He left behind a piece of his soul... and she’s sitting right behind that wall."
Before Beatrice could react, Stellan reached out and pressed the master release switch on his desk.
The heavy mahogany bookshelf swung outward, flooding the hidden room with light. I stood there, clutching Fern in my arms, my knees shaking so badly I could barely stand.
Beatrice’s eyes widened in horror as she looked at me. Not just at me, but at the undeniable resemblance between the baby in my arms and the framed portrait of a young Caleb that hung in the family gallery.
"You..." Beatrice choked out, taking a step back. "You actually found them."
"She didn't find me, Mrs. Cross," I said, my voice surprisingly steady as I stepped out of the shadow into the office. "Your grandson found me. Because no matter how many walls you build, blood always finds its way home."
Beatrice’s chest heaved with fury. She turned to her bodyguards. "Get them out of my sight! Remove that trash from this building—"
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"Touch them," Stellan interrupted, pulling a sleek, black Sig Sauer P226 from his holster and laying it flat on the rosewood desk with a sharp thud, "and I swear to God, Mother, you will spend the rest of your life visiting your lawyers in a federal prison."
The bodyguards stepped back. They knew Stellan wasn't bluffing.
