Chapter 7
Grace’s car sat crooked on the shoulder of Route 9.
Driver’s door open.
One shoe in the road.
No blood.
No shattered glass.
No Grace.
Police had already blocked traffic when we arrived.
Luca got out first.
Marco followed.
I stayed in the SUV for exactly thirty seconds.
Then opened the door.
Luca turned.
“Claire.”
“I know.”
“You promised Dr. Hayes.”
“I promised to avoid running.”
“That is not the same as staying in the car.”
“No.”
He stared.
Then sighed.
“Beside me.”
Diesel jumped out after me.
The Rottweiler immediately lowered his nose to the pavement.
Marco looked at the state trooper.
“Can he track?”
I answered.
“Sometimes.”
Luca looked at me.
“Sometimes?”
“He’s not a police dog.”
Diesel pulled toward the ditch.
“Apparently he did not get the memo.”
We followed.
A broken branch.
Mud.
Tire tracks.
Then Diesel stopped near a tree.
He barked.
One black leather journal lay beneath the leaves.
Elena’s.
I stared.
“Why leave it?”
Marco used gloves.
“Maybe Grace threw it.”
“Why?”
“To keep it away from whoever took her.”
Luca opened to the marked page.
Eighty-three.
Last confirmed authentic entry.
Elena’s handwriting.
ARTHUR BROUGHT THE TEA.
ARTHUR DID NOT KNOW.
VICTORIA DID.
I looked at Arthur, who had come under security supervision.
His face crumpled.
Grace had been right.
Elena believed Arthur was used.
Not innocent.
Used.
Different.
The next authentic line:
IF I DIE, DO NOT LET LUCA TURN ARTHUR INTO THE ONLY VILLAIN.
Luca stared.
“She knew me.”
Arthur started crying.
I kept reading.
VICTORIA BUILT THE PLAN.
BUT SOMEONE ELSE WANTS SOFIA’S TRUST MORE THAN SHE DOES.
My stomach tightened.
Name?
Next page had been torn out.
Of course.
Marco examined the binding.
“Recent tear.”
“Grace?”
“Maybe.”
I glared.
He corrected.
“Unknown.”
Better.
Diesel pulled again.
Down the embankment.
We followed through wet grass.
My knees hated me.
My hands still burned beneath gauze.
Luca noticed.
“You need to stop.”
“I can stop when Diesel stops.”
“He is ninety pounds of bad judgment.”
Diesel looked back.
Almost offended.
Then barked toward a drainage tunnel.
Marco raised a hand.
Security moved.
“Grace!”
No answer.
Diesel entered first.
I hated that.
Then heard him whining.
We found Grace twenty yards in.
Sitting against concrete.
Wrists tied.
Alive.
Bruised.
Conscious.
“Claire?”
I rushed.
Luca caught my elbow before I slipped.
“Slow.”
Grace looked at Diesel.
“He found me.”
“Yes.”
She started laughing.
Then crying.
“Of course he did.”
Marco cut the ties.
“Who took you?”
Grace swallowed.
“A woman.”
“Name?”
“I don’t know.”
“Describe.”
“Forties. blond. scar near her left eyebrow.”
Isabella went pale.
“No.”
Luca turned.
“What?”
“Cassandra Bellini.”
“Who is that?”
“My mother.”
Silence.
Another generation.
Grace stared.
“She said she was Victoria’s daughter.”
Isabella shook her head.
“She is.”
“Then your mother.”
“Yes.”
“Alive?”
“Yes.”
“Why is that surprising?”
Isabella closed her eyes.
“Because she has been missing fifteen years.”
Marco muttered:
“Not dead. Progress.”
I almost laughed.
Grace continued:
“She wanted the journal.”
“Why?”
“She said Victoria was going to take the blame for everything.”
Luca’s eyes narrowed.
“Meaning Cassandra did more.”
Grace nodded.
“She said Elena’s poisoning was not Victoria’s idea.”
Arthur stared.
“What?”
Grace looked at him.
“Cassandra told Victoria Elena had already decided to expose the archive.”
Marina whispered:
“She did.”
“And?”
“She convinced Victoria sedation would buy time.”
Arthur closed his eyes.
“The tea.”
“Yes.”
“But Cassandra changed the dose.”
Silence.
Arthur went white.
“So I carried poison because Cassandra switched it.”
Grace nodded.
“She claimed that.”
Luca’s face hardened.
“Claimed.”
“Yes.”
“Do you believe her?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“She smiled when she said it.”
I felt cold.
Grace continued:
“She also said Sofia is not the target.”
Luca stared.
“What?”
“Claire is.”
My stomach dropped.
“Why?”
“Because Claire has something Cassandra needs.”
“I have nothing.”
Grace looked at my bandaged hands.
“Blood.”
Silence.
I hated that answer already.
“What about it?”
“Your Bellini line is older than Sofia’s.”
Isabella stared.
“No.”
Grace nodded.
“If Elena is Claire’s mother, Claire is Elena’s first daughter.”
“Then?”
“Archive charter succession.”
Luca understood.
“Claire outranks Sofia.”
“Yes.”
I laughed.
“No.”
Grace looked at me.
“Legally.”
“I don’t care.”
“Cassandra does.”
“Why?”
“Because she needs the current senior heir to authorize archive destruction.”
Silence.
“The whole archive?”
“Yes.”
“Why destroy it?”
“Because it contains proof.”
“Of Elena?”
“More.”
Grace looked toward Isabella.
“Cassandra trafficked children through the adoption records.”
The words made everything stop.
“What?”
I whispered.
“Not physical trafficking always.”
Grace swallowed.
“She sold identities.”
“Babies?”
“Sometimes.”
“Children?”
“Yes.”
“Families paid?”
“Yes.”
I felt sick.
The archive room with changed birth certificates.
The “family corrections.”
Not merely internal fraud.
A business.
Luca’s face became cold.
“How many?”
Grace shook her head.
“Dozens. Maybe more.”
Marina covered her mouth.
“And Victoria?”
“Knew some.”
“Arthur?”
Grace looked at him.
“No.”
Arthur almost collapsed with relief.
Grace continued:
“Cassandra needs Claire’s bloodline authorization to trigger permanent destruction.”
I looked at my hands.
Blood had soaked through fresh gauze again from walking.
Suddenly even my injuries felt dangerous.
“Can she use blood without me?”
“Not enough. Requires living biometric confirmation.”
“So she needs me alive.”
“Yes.”
Strange relief.
Luca looked at me.
“Still want to keep walking into things?”
I glared.
“Not the time.”
“Exactly the time.”
I almost smiled.
Then Grace handed me something.
A torn journal page.
“You kept it.”
“Yes.”
“What does it say?”
“Elena’s last note about Cassandra.”
I read.
CASSANDRA THINKS CLAIRE DOES NOT REMEMBER HER.
SHE IS WRONG.
I stopped breathing.
“What does that mean?”
Memory flashed.
St. Dominic’s.
A blond nurse.
Scar above eyebrow.
She held my wrists while someone took blood.
I was nineteen.
I had forgotten.
No.
I remembered now.
“She was at Sofia’s birth.”
Everyone stared.
“She told me I was donating blood for Elena.”
Marina went pale.
“Did you?”
“Yes.”
“How much?”
“One tube.”
Grace’s face changed.
“What?”
“What?”
“She may already have your blood.”
Silence.
“Seven years old.”
“DNA does not expire if stored.”
My stomach dropped.
“So she has half the authorization.”
“Yes.”
“What is the other half?”
“Live voice.”
Luca looked at me.
“Phrase?”
Grace nodded.
“What phrase?”
Arthur whispered:
“FOR DADDY.”
Silence.
The cake.
The words Sofia wrote.
Elena’s video password.
The archive trigger.
Everything.
My blood.
My voice.
One phrase.
Cassandra only needed a recording of me saying it.
I had said it earlier.
At the birthday table.
I remembered.
Clara asked what the cake said.
I read aloud:
“For Daddy.”
My skin went cold.
Marco’s phone rang.
He answered.
His face changed.
“What?”
Luca asked.
“Archive Room Three just received an authorization attempt.”
Nobody breathed.
“Bloodline match?”
“Yes.”
“Voice?”
Marco swallowed.
“Yes.”
“Phrase?”
“For Daddy.”
I stared.
Cassandra had both.
“Did it open?”
“No.”
Grace exhaled.
“Why?”
“Second custodian lock.”
Everyone looked at Luca.
He frowned.
“Me?”
Grace shook her head.
“Sofia.”
Silence.
Cassandra needed Sofia too.
Luca’s face went completely cold.
He pulled out his phone.
Called the estate.
No answer from Clara.
Again.
Nothing.
Then Diesel began barking violently.
Not at the tunnel.
At my phone.
It rang.
Unknown number.
I answered.
A blond woman appeared on video.
Scar near left eyebrow.
Cassandra.
Behind her—
Sofia.
My stomach dropped.
The child sat on a chair.
Not tied.
Confused.
Holding her stuffed rabbit.
Cassandra smiled.
“Claire.”
Luca went white.
“Sofia.”
His daughter looked toward the camera.
“Daddy?”
Cassandra’s smile widened.
Grace leaned back against the tunnel wall while the paramedic checked her wrists.
“I heard Cassandra talking before she left.”
Luca looked at her.
“To who?”
“Robert.”
Silence.
“Bellini?”
“Yes.”
Vanessa’s father.
“What did they say?”
“She told him Claire’s blood worked.”
My stomach turned.
“What else?”
“Robert said not to touch Sofia until he had the custody petition ready.”
Luca’s face hardened.
“So he knew.”
“Yes.”
“He knew Cassandra planned to use my daughter.”
“Yes.”
“Did Vanessa know?”
Grace shook her head.
“No.”
That mattered.
Not enough to repair anything.
But truth mattered.
Grace continued:
“Robert wants legal control. Cassandra wants archive destruction. Victoria wants family control.”
“Three different plans.”
“Yes.”
“And all using Sofia.”
“Yes.”
I looked toward Luca.
His expression had gone still.
“They keep seeing her as a key.”
“Yes.”
I thought of Sofia making chocolate letters on Luca’s birthday cake.
A child.
Not a key.
Not a beneficiary.
Not a bloodline.
Just a kid who put too much frosting on everything.
Anger came cleaner this time.
Not fear.
“Then we stop using their rules.”
Grace looked at me.
“What does that mean?”
“I don’t know yet.”
Luca almost smiled.
“Excellent strategy.”
“Thank you.”
“Bring the B3 key.”
Luca looked at my hands after the call ended.
“Your bandages need changing.”
“My daughter—”
I stopped.
Sofia was not my daughter.
The word had come from panic.
He noticed.
Neither of us corrected it immediately.
Then I said:
“My sister is missing.”
His expression softened.
“Our daughter and your sister.”
“Right.”
“Still confusing.”
“Yes.”
For one second, the family tree became almost funny.
Then the video of Sofia flashed again in my mind.
Nothing felt funny after that.
I tightened my coat.
May you like
“Let’s go get her.”
“And come alone.”
