Grant made a copy.

The duplicate contained enough authentic material to look convincing for several minutes.

The real drive went inside the lining of my purse.

Then Grant called someone named Special Agent Dana Ruiz.

I recognized the name from nothing.

Grant trusted her anyway.

“She was the original investigator who helped me after I became Grant Harper.”

“You said the first investigator was murdered.”

“That was someone else.”

“How many federal agents are involved in your life?”

Grant gave me a tired look.

“Too many.”

Dana answered.

Grant told her everything in less than a minute.

She ordered us not to approach the house.

Grant ignored her.

“We have sixty minutes.”

“I can have a team there.”

“How fast?”

“Forty-five.”

“Too slow.”

Grant hung up.

We parked two blocks away from the home where I had raised my son.

The sight of it hurt.

The porch Grant had rebuilt.

The maple tree we planted when Miles was born.

The upstairs window where I had stood waiting for a husband who would never return.

A black SUV was parked beside Owen's truck.

Grant noticed it immediately.

“Vale's people.”

“How many?”

“At least two.”

We approached through the neighbor's backyard.

Grant still knew which fence board came loose near the shed.

That small detail nearly broke me.

He lifted it carefully.

We crossed into our yard.

The kitchen curtains were closed.

Grant pointed to the basement window.

“Still sticks?”

“Yes.”

He almost smiled.

“You used to complain about that.”

“You kept saying you'd fix it.”

“I know.”

Despite everything, a tiny laugh escaped me.

It disappeared immediately.

Grant opened the window.

We climbed inside.

The basement smelled exactly as I remembered.

Laundry soap.

Dust.

Old wood.

For one second, Grant stood motionless.

His eyes moved over the workbench.

Miles's old bicycle.

The Christmas decorations.

Three years of a life continuing without him.

Then footsteps sounded overhead.

Grant signaled for silence.

A man's voice carried through the floor.

Not Owen.

“Vale wants confirmation.”

Another voice answered.

“Soon as Harper gets here.”

Grant whispered.

“They think I'm coming through the front.”

We moved toward the basement stairs.

Halfway up, the door opened.

Owen stood there.

He looked down at us.

No one moved.

Then Owen smiled sadly.

“You always did use the basement window.”

Grant stepped in front of me.

“Where is Miles?”

Owen raised a handgun.

“Upstairs.”

My heart pounded.

“Rachel?”

“Guest room.”

“Let them go.”

Owen shook his head.

“Drive first.”

Grant slowly reached into his jacket.

Owen aimed the weapon at me.

“Careful.”

Grant stopped.

“You don't want to do this.”

“I didn't want any of this.”

Owen's face twisted.

“You came into my family with a fake name and government money, and everything that happened afterward was because of you.”

Grant stared at him.

“Your father chose to help me.”

“My father died because he helped you.”

A floorboard creaked upstairs.

Then Miles screamed.

“Dad!”

Owen's eyes flicked upward.

That half second changed everything.

Grant moved.