No dramatic fight.

No chaos.

Just Gideon holding the stranger away from Mallerie while his security team took control.

“Who sent you?” Gideon asked.

Silence.

“Take him downstairs.”

Mallerie barely heard him.

Owen was trembling.

She rubbed his back.

“You're okay.”

Gideon turned immediately.

“Is he hurt?”

“No.”

He checked anyway.

Hands.

Face.

Head.

Mallerie watched him.

Whatever secrets surrounded Owen, Gideon wasn't pretending to love him.

One guard returned.

“Mr. Vale.”

“What?”

“The identification is fake.”

“Find out who he is.”

“We're trying.”

Gideon looked at Mallerie.

“Someone just attempted to reach Owen minutes after you discovered that mark.”

“Then somebody was watching.”

“Yes.”

“And somebody is afraid.”

Gideon nodded.

“You're coming upstairs.”

Mallerie stiffened.

“Don't order me around.”

“Mallerie—”

“You want me to trust you? Start by treating me like I have a choice.”

For the second time that night, she surprised him.

Gideon looked at Owen.

Then back at her.

“Fine.”

He stepped aside.

“Choose.”

Mallerie swallowed.

Every sensible instinct told her to leave.

Call the police.

Call a lawyer.

Go home.

Instead she looked at the child.

“I’m coming.”

Gideon nodded.

“Then I'll show you everything I have.”

Twenty minutes later, the elevator opened into the secured penthouse above the hotel.

Mallerie entered with Gideon and Owen.

She stopped at the doorway.

“Three rules.”

Gideon raised an eyebrow.

“You negotiate quickly.”

“I'm not negotiating. First, I keep my phone. Second, I leave whenever I want. Third, nobody keeps me away from information about Owen.”

Gideon considered her.

“Agreed.”

“That easily?”

“I want answers too.”

He carried Owen toward the living room.

Mallerie followed.

A woman from Gideon’s staff brought a folder from a locked office.

Gideon placed it on the table.

“This is everything I received when Owen came to me.”

Mallerie sat.

Her hands trembled as she opened it.

There were medical forms.

Temporary guardianship papers.

A birth record.

She scanned the first page.

Date of birth: November 17.

Male.

Weight.

Time.

Hospital.

Mallerie froze.

St. Catherine Medical Center.

Her hospital.

Gideon saw her face.

“Same hospital?”

She nodded.

Her fingers moved to the next page.

Something had been removed.

A clean rectangular gap showed where another document had once been stapled.

“What was here?”

“I don't know.”

“You've never seen it?”

“No.”

Mallerie examined the staple marks.

Then she noticed handwriting near the bottom.

Three characters.

MR-17.

Her breath stopped.

She knew those initials.

Not because they were hers.

Because she had seen them on the wristband attached to her hospital bed.

Mallerie Reed.

November 17.

MR-17.

Someone knocked.

Gideon looked toward the door.

Nobody should have been able to reach the penthouse without clearance.

His security chief entered.

He wasn't alone.

A frightened hotel manager stood behind him holding an envelope.

“This was found inside the fake employee's jacket.”

Gideon took it.

There was no name on the front.

He opened it.

Inside was a photograph.

Mallerie saw the image and stood so quickly her chair fell backward.

It showed a hospital nursery.

The timestamp was November 20.

Three days after she had given birth.

Someone had circled one bassinet in red.

Beneath it were four handwritten words.

Gideon read them aloud.

“Delivery completed. Vale received boy.”

Mallerie covered her mouth.

Then something slid from behind the photograph.

A second picture.

This one showed a woman leaving St. Catherine Medical Center.

Gideon turned it over.

A name had been written on the back.

Mallerie recognized it.

She had heard that name immediately before the nurse carried her newborn away.

Her hand reached for the photograph.

And then she whispered:

“That's the nurse who told me my son was dead.”