“Are you sure?”

Luca pulled out his phone.

Then stopped.

“No.”

Adrian watched him.

“No?”

“I know where his phone is.”

Those were not the same thing.

Adrian’s face hardened.

“Find him.”

The mansion remained locked down through the night.

Every medication bottle was collected.

Every staff member was questioned.

Security footage was pulled from three years of archives.

Nothing obvious appeared.

That was the frightening part.

Whoever had been doing this understood Adrian’s security.

Understood schedules.

Understood blind spots.

Understood exactly how much poison to use without killing him quickly.

A slow death.

A controlled decline.

A powerful man gradually becoming weaker, more dependent, easier to manipulate.

Luca stood in Adrian’s office at two in the morning.

Claire and Lily had been given a guest room upstairs.

Lily refused to sleep unless her mother promised Adrian would still be alive in the morning.

That sentence stayed with him.

Luca placed a stack of files on the desk.

“I found something.”

Adrian looked up.

“Renato’s office has been moving money through seven holding companies.”

“How much?”

“Eighty-seven million over three years.”

Adrian’s expression barely changed.

“From me?”

“From companies under Elena’s family trust.”

Adrian’s fingers stopped moving.

Elena’s trust had been created after her death.

Assets intended for Sophie had reverted into a charitable foundation.

Adrian had refused to touch them.

“What companies?”

“Mostly medical suppliers.”

Marco, standing near the window, turned.

“Medical?”

Luca nodded.

“Two of them supply rehabilitation clinics.”

Adrian leaned back slowly.

A cold shape formed in his mind.

“Why would Renato need rehabilitation companies?”

No one answered.

Then a knock came.

One of the guards entered.

“Boss.”

“What?”

“We found Mrs. Vale unconscious in the pantry.”

Adrian’s chair moved instantly.

Mrs. Vale survived.

Barely.

She had swallowed sedatives.

There was no note.

But there was blood under her fingernails.

Someone had restrained her.

Marco examined the marks.

“This wasn’t suicide.”

Adrian’s face became stone.

The mansion had been locked.

Which meant whoever attacked her was still inside.

Lily woke to shouting.

Claire tried to keep her upstairs.

But children have a strange instinct for fear.

Lily slipped from the bed and wandered into the hallway.

She passed the yellow bedroom.

Sophie’s room.

The door was open.

It should not have been.

Lily stepped inside.

Moonlight fell across shelves filled with dolls.

A tiny pink coat still hung by the wardrobe.

There were drawings taped to the wall.

One showed three stick figures holding hands beneath a yellow sun.

Mommy.

Daddy.

Sophie.

Lily walked toward the dresser.

The silver music box caught her attention.

She opened it.

A tiny ballerina began to spin.

The melody drifted softly through the room.

Adrian heard it from the hallway.

He froze.

No one had opened that music box in three years.

He entered the room.

Lily stood beside the dresser.

Claire appeared behind him.

“I’m sorry. She got away from me.”

Adrian said nothing.

His eyes were fixed on the ballerina.

Lily looked at a framed photograph.

Sophie.

Yellow dress.

Dark curls.

Bright smile.

Lily picked up the photograph.

“She looks like the girl.”

Adrian’s face tightened.

“What girl?”

Lily pointed to the picture.

“The girl at Mommy’s work.”

Claire’s face emptied of color.

Adrian turned.

“What did she say?”

Claire stared at her daughter.

“Lily, what girl?”

“The sleeping girl.”

Adrian felt something cold move through his chest.

Claire stepped forward.

“Lily, you’ve never seen Sophie.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Yes, Mommy.”

“Where?”

Lily pointed vaguely.

“Your picture place.”

Claire sat down.

Her knees seemed to stop working.

Adrian watched her.

“What picture place?”

Claire’s lips parted.

No answer came.

“Claire.”

She looked at him.

And suddenly, Adrian knew she was hiding something.

“What is your real job?”

Claire whispered, “Art restoration.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

Her eyes filled.

“Adrian—”

“What is your real job?”

Lily climbed onto the bed, unaware of the terror building between the adults.

Claire closed her eyes.

Then she said the words Adrian would remember for the rest of his life.

“I restore art for private medical facilities.”

Silence.

Adrian stared at her.

“What facilities?”

“One outside New Haven. One in Vermont. Sometimes private estates.”

“Who hires you?”

“Different companies.”

“Names.”

Claire swallowed.

“The last one was called Bellrose Rehabilitation.”

Luca, who had just reached the doorway, stopped dead.

Bellrose was one of Renato’s companies.

Adrian’s hands gripped the wheelchair.

“What girl did Lily see?”

Claire shook her head.

“I don’t know.”

“Take me there.”

“Adrian—”

“Now.”

“It’s three hours away.”

“I don’t care.”

Luca stepped inside.

“The gates are still sealed.”

Adrian looked at him.

“Then open them.”

“Whoever is doing this could be waiting.”

Adrian’s eyes went back to Sophie’s photograph.

“For three years I have been waiting.”

His voice cracked.

“If there is even a one percent chance my daughter is alive, nobody in this house is stopping me.”

They left before dawn.

Two armored vehicles.

Eight guards.

Luca drove the lead car.

Adrian sat in the second vehicle beside Claire.

Lily slept against her mother.

No one spoke for almost an hour.

Finally, Claire whispered, “I should have told you.”

Adrian stared ahead.

“Yes.”

“I didn’t know who the girl was.”

“You knew something.”

“I knew the facility was strange.”

“Strange how?”

“No signs. No public entrance. Most rooms required keycards. Patients were listed by numbers.”

Adrian turned.

“And that didn’t concern you?”

“It did.”

“Then why did you keep working?”

Claire looked down at Lily.

“Because they paid five times my normal rate.”

Adrian said nothing.

Claire continued.

“I was behind on rent. Lily’s father left before she was born. I was trying to survive.”

Adrian’s expression softened only slightly.

“What did Lily see?”

“One day my babysitter canceled. I brought her with me. She wandered into a corridor while I was working.”

“Where?”

“Second floor.”

“What did she see?”

“A girl lying in a room.”

Adrian’s heart began pounding.

“Age?”

“I don’t know. Maybe seven.”

Sophie would be seven now.

Adrian looked out the window.

“What did she look like?”

Claire whispered, “Dark curls.”

His breathing changed.

“And?”

“A scar near her left temple.”

Adrian shut his eyes.

Sophie had a tiny scar near her left temple from falling off a bicycle at age three.

Elena had cried more than Sophie did.

Adrian had teased her about it for months.

When he opened his eyes again, there was murder in them.

Luca’s voice came through the vehicle intercom.

“We’re five minutes out.”

Bellrose Rehabilitation looked nothing like a hospital.

It sat behind iron gates in a forested valley, built to resemble a private estate.

No sign.

No logo.

No patients visible.

As soon as Adrian’s vehicles approached, the gates began closing.

“Drive through them,” Adrian said.

The first SUV hit the barrier.

Metal screamed.

The convoy entered.

Security guards appeared.

Adrian’s men disarmed them without firing.

Inside, the facility was too clean.

Too quiet.

Nurses disappeared through locked doors.

A receptionist claimed there were no children.

Luca put a photograph of Sophie on the desk.