Chapter 11 — The Night Thomas Died
Chapter 11 — The Night Thomas Died
The message stayed on my phone.
Because your father didn't have three children.
He had four.
I read it until the words stopped looking like words.
Four.
Not three.
Four children.
Four lives hidden beneath a family name.
Four identities manipulated by people who had spent decades deciding who deserved to know the truth.
I looked toward the hallway.
"Thomas?"
No answer.
I called again.
"Thomas!"
Still nothing.
A cold feeling settled over me.
Thomas had been downstairs only minutes earlier.
He had promised to stay with the federal agents while they secured the house.
I grabbed my jacket.
Leo caught my hand.
"Daddy."
I turned.
"Stay upstairs."
"Where are you going?"
"To find Thomas."
"Is he okay?"
I forced a smile.
"Yes."
It was a lie.
And somehow, Leo knew it.
I found Thomas in the study.
The door was half open.
The lights were off.
I reached inside and switched them on.
Nothing.
The room was empty.
Then I saw the chair.
It had been knocked over.
A glass lay shattered beside the desk.
Thomas's phone was on the floor.
The screen was cracked.
And there was blood on the carpet.
I froze.
"Thomas?"
I moved deeper into the room.
Another trail of blood led toward the French doors.
The doors were open.
Cold night air rushed inside.
I ran outside.
The backyard was empty.
Then I heard a weak sound.
A breath.
I followed it toward the garden.
Thomas was lying beneath the old oak tree.
His shirt was soaked in blood.
I dropped to my knees.
"Thomas."
His eyes opened.
"Michael."
"I'm here."
I pressed my hands against the wound.
"Stay awake."
He tried to smile.
"You always were stubborn."
"Don't talk."
"I don't have much time."
"Yes, you do."
I shouted toward the house.
"HELP!"
No one answered.
The security team had been sent to the east wing.
I pulled out my phone.
"Stay with me."
Thomas grabbed my wrist.
"Listen."
"I'm listening."
"Victor isn't running."
I frowned.
"What?"
"He wants you to think he is."
"Why?"
"Because he's already inside."
My heart stopped.
"Inside where?"
Thomas looked toward the mansion.
"Your house."
I shook my head.
"No."
"Michael."
His voice weakened.
"He never left."
"Who?"
"Victor."
I looked toward the windows.
Every room was dark.
"You're saying Victor is still here?"
Thomas nodded.
"He wanted the trust."
"What happened?"
"I found him."
"Where?"
"In the basement."
"What did you see?"
Thomas coughed.
Blood appeared at the corner of his mouth.
I tightened the pressure on his wound.
"Don't."
He looked at me.
"I found the fourth file."
My entire body went cold.
"The fourth child?"
He nodded.
"Where?"
"Under the foundation."
"What does it say?"
Thomas reached inside his jacket.
His fingers trembled.
He pulled out a small folded paper.
I grabbed it.
The paper had one sentence.
CHILD FOUR — FEMALE — ALIVE.
My breath stopped.
"Another daughter."
Thomas nodded.
"Your father had four children."
"Who is she?"
He closed his eyes.
"I don't know."
"Thomas."
He opened them again.
"But Clara does."
I stared.
"How?"
"Because Clara delivered her."
I remembered the photograph.
Clara.
My father.
The hospital nursery.
Four babies.
A fourth child.
A daughter.
Someone had erased her completely.
"Where is she?"
Thomas looked toward the house.
"Closer than you think."
Then his body went still.
"Thomas?"
Nothing.
"Thomas!"
I pressed harder against his wound.
"Stay with me!"
His eyes remained closed.
I called emergency services.
Then I screamed for help.
And for the first time since this nightmare began, I realized I was terrified of losing someone who wasn't connected to me by blood.
Thomas had become family.
And Victor knew it.
The ambulance arrived seven minutes later.
It felt like seven years.
Paramedics worked around me.
They cut away Thomas's shirt.
Inserted lines.
Checked his pulse.
One of them looked at me.
"Sir, you need to step back."
"No."
"You need to let us work."
I moved.
But I didn't leave.
Thomas's eyes opened briefly.
He looked at me.
Then at the paper in my hand.
His lips moved.
I leaned closer.
"What?"
He whispered:
"Clara."
Then his eyes closed again.
The paramedics lifted him onto the stretcher.
I followed them to the ambulance.
"Can I come?"
"Family only."
"I am family."
The paramedic looked at me.
Thomas reached weakly toward me.
The paramedic nodded.
"Get in."
I climbed inside.
The ambulance doors slammed shut.
Thomas died twelve minutes before we reached the hospital.
There was no dramatic final speech.
No miraculous recovery.
No last-minute confession.
Just a flat line.
A doctor tried.
Once.
Twice.
Again.
Then he stopped.
"Time of death..."
I didn't hear the rest.
I sat beside the stretcher.
Staring at the man who had spent years protecting my family.
The man who had known the truth before I did.
The man who had saved my life more times than I knew.
He was gone.
And the last thing he had given me was a piece of paper revealing that my father had hidden another child.
I folded it carefully.
Put it inside my jacket.
Then I stood.
The doctor touched my shoulder.
"I'm sorry."
I nodded.
But I couldn't cry.
Not yet.
There were too many unanswered questions.
And one of them had suddenly become unbearable.
Who was the fourth child?
At 3:14 a.m., I returned to the mansion.
Federal agents had secured every entrance.
Eleanor was still in custody.
Victor was missing.
Clara was under protection.
The twins were asleep upstairs.
I walked into the study.
Thomas's blood was still on the carpet.
I stared at it.
Then I saw something.
A small black button.
It had fallen beside the desk.
I picked it up.
There was a symbol engraved on it.
A broken crown.
The same symbol from the trust vault.
I called the lead investigator.
"Come to the study."
He arrived within minutes.
I handed him the button.
"Victor?"
He examined it.
"Maybe."
"Maybe?"
"Victor's men use custom identification marks."
"Then find out."
He nodded.
I pointed toward the blood.
"And tell me whose blood this is."
"We already know."
"Whose?"
"Thomas's."
"I mean the other blood."
He looked at me.
"What other blood?"
I pointed toward the French doors.
A tiny smear had been left on the glass.
He examined it.
"This isn't Thomas."
My pulse quickened.
"Whose?"
"We'll run DNA."
"No."
I stared at him.
"Don't wait."
"Sir?"
"Test it against everyone."
He understood.
"Everyone?"
"Victor. Eleanor. Clara. Rebecca. The twins. Me."
He hesitated.
"And Daniel."
I nodded.
"Everyone."
I went upstairs.
Leo was awake.
He was sitting beside Julian.
Neither boy spoke.
I sat on the edge of the bed.
"Thomas died."
Leo looked down.
Julian began crying.
"He was nice."
"Yes."
"Did Victor kill him?"
I didn't answer immediately.
"I don't know."
Leo looked at me.
"That's not true."
"What?"
"You know."
I stared at my son.
He had become different over the past twenty-four hours.
Not colder.
Older.
The truth had forced itself into him.
"What do you know?"
Leo whispered:
"Thomas told me something before he left."
My heart stopped.
"What?"
"He said if he died..."
He looked at Julian.
"...we had to find the girl."
"What girl?"
"The one with our eyes."
I froze.
"What does that mean?"
"I don't know."
Julian looked at his brother.
"Thomas said she was in the house."
I stared at them.
The fourth child.
A girl.
Inside the house.
I looked around the room.
Nothing.
Then I remembered the message.
Closer than you think.
I stood.
"Where is Clara?"
The federal agent outside the door answered.
"She's downstairs."
I ran.
Clara was sitting in the dining room.
She looked exhausted.
When she saw me, she immediately stood.
"What happened?"
"Thomas is dead."
Her face collapsed.
"No."
I nodded.
"Before he died, he said your name."
Clara covered her mouth.
"What did he say?"
"He said you know where the fourth child is."
She closed her eyes.
"I knew this day would come."
"Who is she?"
Clara didn't answer.
"Clara."
She sat down.
"I need you to understand something."
"I don't have time."
"You have to."
"Who is she?"
Clara looked at me.
"Your father called her Child Four."
"I know."
"Her real name was never entered into the system."
"Why?"
"Because she wasn't supposed to exist."
I stared.
"How was she born?"
Clara's hands trembled.
"Your father had discovered that Elena's bloodline wasn't as simple as everyone believed."
"What does that mean?"
"He discovered a genetic condition."
"Whose?"
"Yours."
I frowned.
"My blood?"
"Yes."
She paused.
"Your father believed the family carried a dormant hereditary trait that could make certain descendants eligible for the trust."
"The mark."
"Exactly."
"So the fourth child..."
"Was created specifically to carry the complete marker."
My stomach turned.
"Created?"
Clara nodded.
"Your father used genetic material from multiple family members."
I stared at her.
"You're telling me she was engineered?"
"Not exactly."
She looked devastated.
"She was conceived through a procedure your father had arranged."
"Whose DNA?"
Clara hesitated.
"Yours."
I stopped breathing.
"My DNA?"
"Yes."
"And the mother's?"
"Rebecca."
I stared.
Rebecca.
Leo's biological mother.
The woman who had already given birth to one child connected to the trust.
"Then the fourth child is Rebecca's daughter."
"Yes."
"Where is she?"
Clara looked toward the hallway.
"Here."
I turned.
Nobody was there.
"Where?"
Clara pointed upstairs.
"She has been living in this house for years."
My skin prickled.
"Who?"
Clara whispered:
"Your housekeeper."
I froze.
"Our housekeeper?"
"Yes."
"Her name?"
Clara's voice broke.
"Maria."
I stared.
Maria had worked in our mansion for almost six years.
She was quiet.
Reliable.
Always invisible.
She had cooked for the boys.
Read them stories.
Bandaged scraped knees.
Stayed late when Eleanor was away.
I had trusted her.
But I had never really looked at her.
"She's twenty?"
"Twenty."
"Rebecca's daughter."
"Yes."
"How did she end up here?"
"Eleanor brought her."
"Why?"
"Because Eleanor knew who she was."
I felt sick.
"So Eleanor has been keeping the fourth child under my roof."
"Yes."
"Why?"
Clara looked at me.
"Because Maria is the only person who knows where the original trust key is."
I touched my jacket.
The key from the vault.
"What?"
Clara shook her head.
"That isn't the original."
I pulled it out.
The crescent symbol caught the light.
"Then what is this?"
"A decoy."
My stomach dropped.
"Where is the real key?"
Clara looked toward the kitchen.
"Maria has it."
I walked toward the kitchen.
Every step felt unreal.
Maria was standing beside the sink.
She was washing a glass.
Calmly.
Quietly.
Exactly as she had every night for years.
I stopped in the doorway.
"Maria."
She turned.
"Mr. Vance?"
I studied her face.
Twenty years old.
Dark hair.
Brown eyes.
A tiny scar beneath her left ear.
I'd seen that scar before.
On Rebecca.
"How long have you known who you are?"
Maria's hand stopped moving.
The glass slipped.
It shattered in the sink.
She closed her eyes.
"So Thomas is dead."
My heart sank.
"How did you know?"
She didn't answer.
"Maria."
She slowly turned toward me.
"I'm sorry."
"Are you the fourth child?"
She nodded.
I couldn't speak.
"You've been here six years."
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Because Eleanor told me to stay."
"Did she know who you were?"
"Yes."
"Did my father?"
"No."
I frowned.
"No?"
Maria shook her head.
"Your father believed I died."
"Why would he believe that?"
"Because Eleanor told him I was dead."
I stared.
"But you were alive."
"Yes."
"Then why hide you?"
Maria looked toward the hallway.
"Because someone wanted me dead."
"Victor."
She nodded.
"Victor knew about me."
"How?"
"Because he was the one who ordered my removal."
I felt a chill.
"Why?"
"Because I was the only child who could identify him."
"Identify him?"
"Before he changed his name."
I stared.
"What was his real name?"
Maria looked at me.
"Thomas."
My blood froze.
"What?"
She nodded.
"Victor's real name was Thomas Reyes."
I stepped backward.
Impossible.
Thomas had just died.
My protector.
My father's security chief.
The man who had saved me.
Could not also be Victor.
Maria continued.
"Your father's security chief wasn't Thomas Reyes."
"Then who was he?"
She whispered:
"Samuel."
I felt dizzy.
"Samuel?"
"The man you thought died twenty years ago."
The same name from the old records.
The security chief who had supposedly disappeared.
The man Victor had claimed never existed.
I stared at Maria.
"Then who killed Thomas?"
She looked at me.
"Victor."
"Who is Victor?"
Maria's eyes filled with tears.
She pointed toward the hallway.
"He's standing behind you."
I turned.
Nobody was there.
Then the kitchen door slammed shut.
The lights went out.
A voice whispered from the darkness.
"Hello, Michael."
I knew that voice.
It belonged to the man I had just watched die.
Thomas.
But Thomas was dead.
Unless...
The voice laughed.
And suddenly I understood the most horrifying possibility of all.
The man who had died tonight may never have been Thomas.
And the man I thought was Victor...
may have been someone else entirely.
My phone vibrated.
A message appeared.
THOMAS WAS NEVER THE MAN YOU THOUGHT HE WAS.
Then another.
AND NEITHER AM I.
Maria grabbed my arm.
"Don't move."
I heard footsteps behind the door.
One.
Two.
Three.
Then the handle began to turn.
Maria whispered:
"The real Victor has come home."
The door opened.
And standing in the darkness was a man whose face I had seen in my father's oldest photograph.
The man who had supposedly died twenty years ago.
My father's former security chief.
Samuel Reyes.
He looked at me.
Then at Maria.
And finally at the blood still staining my hands from Thomas.
He smiled.
"You finally found my daughter."
May you like
Then he said the words that shattered the last piece of certainty I had left:
"Now I can tell you why your father really died."
