Chapter 12 - THE THIRD CHILD
The photograph was fake.
At least, that's what I wanted to believe.
But the hospital records were real.
Twenty-four years ago, a baby boy had been born under my father's name.
The mother was unknown.
The child had been placed in temporary care.
Then disappeared.
"Where is he?" I asked.
Daniel laughed.
"You've met him."
My heart stopped.
"Who?"
Daniel didn't answer.
He looked at Jonathan.
Jonathan looked away.
Then my mother whispered a name.
"Michael..."
She couldn't finish.
"What?"
"The boy was adopted."
"By whom?"
She started crying.
"Your father."
I stared at her.
"What?"
"Richard adopted him secretly."
"Why?"
"Because the boy was in danger."
"Where is he?"
My mother looked at Sophie.
"He's been watching over her."
A terrible thought entered my mind.
"Her teacher?"
"No."
"The hospital nurse?"
"No."
"Who?"
A man stepped into the doorway.
I recognized him.
My head of security.
Marcus.
He had protected me for eight years.
He looked at Sophie.
Then at me.
"I'm sorry."
I couldn't speak.
"You?"
He nodded.
"Richard told me to protect his children."
"You're my brother?"
Marcus swallowed.
"Yes."
Everything suddenly made sense.
The way Marcus always watched over Sophie.
The way he knew things he shouldn't.
The way he had insisted on checking every security camera personally.
I stepped toward him.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"Because your father made me promise."
I looked at my mother.
She nodded.
"Richard believed the three of you had to remain separated until the danger was gone."
Sophie walked toward Marcus.
"Are you my brother?"
Marcus knelt.
"Yes."
She hugged him.
He closed his eyes.
For a moment, everything was quiet.
Then a gunshot came from outside.
Daniel dropped.
Federal agents rushed into the house.
The danger was finally ending.
But Daniel was smiling.
Even while bleeding.
He looked at me.
"You still haven't found the real account."
"What account?"
"The one your father never told anyone about."
He laughed.
"Ask Sophie."
I turned toward her.
She was holding something.
A tiny metal locket.
"What is that?"
She opened it.
Inside was a photograph of my father.
And a handwritten number.
A bank account.
May you like
But beneath the number were five words:
For the child who survives.
