Chapter 3 - SOMEONE INSIDE THE HOUSE
We returned to the Hale estate before sunrise.
Nobody slept.
I gathered the twelve people with unrestricted access to my family two years earlier.
Security.
Legal counsel.
Household management.
Drivers.
My financial officer.
And my cousin Michael Trent.
Michael wasn't technically a Hale.
His mother had been my father's younger sister.
But we had grown up together.
Fought together.
Buried people together.
He stood beside me at my wedding.
Lucy called him Uncle Mikey.
He looked furious when I explained what we had discovered.
“Victor took Lucy?”
“We have photographic proof.”
“I'll kill him myself.”
“That won't bring her home.”
He paced.
“Where is he?”
“If I knew, we wouldn't be having this conversation.”
Michael looked at Grace.
“And she knew for eleven months?”
Grace stiffened.
“She had reason to be careful,” I said.
“She lied her way into your home.”
“She also brought me proof my daughter is alive.”
Michael fell silent.
I watched everybody.
Not their faces.
Their hands.
Their breathing.
Where they looked when they thought I wasn't watching.
Someone had warned Victor.
I was certain of it.
At 7:30 a.m., Nico entered.
“We found the shooter's vehicle.”
“Driver?”
“Gone.”
“Evidence?”
“One partial print.”
He handed me a report.
The print belonged to Samuel Pike.
Former Hale security.
Reported dead eighteen months earlier.
Michael stared.
“Dead?”
Nico nodded.
“His funeral was closed casket.”
My skin went cold.
“How many dead men are working for Victor?”
Nobody answered.
I dismissed everyone except Nico, Michael and Grace.
Then Amara came running into the office.
“Mister!”
Mrs. Donnelly chased after her.
“I'm sorry, Mr. Hale. She escaped breakfast.”
Amara stopped in front of me.
“You didn't eat.”
I blinked.
“What?”
“Breakfast.”
Not one person in the room knew how to react.
Amara frowned at me.
“My mommy says people get grumpy when they're hungry.”
Michael almost laughed.
Almost.
I crouched.
“I'll eat later.”
“No.”
“No?”
She shook her head firmly.
“Now.”
For reasons I couldn't explain, I obeyed.
Ten minutes later, the most feared men in my organization were sitting around my breakfast table while Amara ate pancakes shaped like rabbits.
Grace looked embarrassed.
I didn't care.
I watched Amara pour too much syrup onto her plate.
Lucy used to do the same thing.
The memory hurt.
But differently now.
For two years, every memory had been a grave.
Now each one felt like a map leading me back to her.
My phone rang.
Nico answered.
His expression changed.
“What?”
He listened.
Then looked at me.
“We have a hit.”
“On Victor?”
“No.”
He turned the screen around.
A photograph appeared.
A school fundraiser.
Taken three months earlier in Portland, Maine.
Children stood around a table selling cookies.
Near the far edge was a little girl wearing a navy sweater.
Brown hair.
Gray-green eyes.
Six years old.
My daughter.
I couldn't move.
Grace whispered, “Oh my God.”
Amara looked at the photograph.
“She's pretty.”
I touched Lucy's face on the screen.
The image had been found through private facial-recognition software.
Confidence: 94.8 percent.
Her listed name wasn't Lucy Hale.
It was Lila Monroe.
Guardian: Nora Monroe.
Address: Cape Elizabeth, Maine.
“Get the plane ready.”
Nico hesitated.
“The estate's airfield is compromised.”
“Cars.”
“Eight hours.”
“Then we leave now.”
Michael stood.
“I'm coming.”
“No.”
His face hardened.
“Julian—”
“I need you here.”
“For what?”
“Find Victor's money.”
Michael understood.
Victor could hide his body.
Money was harder.
“Fine.”
He pointed toward Grace.
“She stays too.”
Grace immediately shook her head.
I looked at her.
“You stay with Amara.”
“Julian—”
It was the first time she'd called me that.
We both noticed.
I kept my voice controlled.
“I won't take your daughter into a situation we don't understand.”
“I wasn't going to bring Amara.”
“Then you weren't going.”
Her eyes flashed.
But she looked toward Amara.
That settled it.
Four hours into the drive, my phone rang.
Grace.
I answered immediately.
“What happened?”
“Nothing.”
She sounded strange.
“Grace.”
“Amara wanted to tell you something.”
The little girl's voice came through.
“Mister?”
“I'm here.”
“Bring your little girl home.”
I closed my eyes.
“I will.”
“Promise?”
Promises were dangerous.
I'd promised Lucy I'd teach her to ride a bicycle.
I'd promised Isabelle I'd be home for dinner the night before she died.
I'd promised both of them they were safe because they belonged to me.
Every promise had become a punishment.
But Amara waited.
“Yes,” I said.
“I promise.”
We reached Maine shortly after dusk.
The house belonging to Nora Monroe sat on a quiet residential street near the water.
White siding.
Blue shutters.
Children's bicycle near the porch.
My heart pounded so violently that my hands went numb.
Nico placed a hand against my chest.
“Wait.”
I wanted to break his wrist.
Instead, I waited.
His men checked the perimeter.
“Clear.”
I walked toward the front door.
Every step felt impossible.
What do you say to a daughter who thinks you're dead?
What do you say after losing two years?
Do you apologize?
Do you hug her?
What if she doesn't remember you?
What if she does?
I knocked.
A woman in her fifties opened the door.
She looked at me.
Her face drained of color.
“You're Julian Hale.”
“Where is my daughter?”
She gripped the door.
“You shouldn't be here.”
“Where is Lucy?”
Tears filled her eyes.
“You're too late.”
The world stopped.
“What happened?”
“They took her yesterday.”
“Who?”
“I don't know.”
I moved past her.
“Nico.”
His men searched the house.
Empty.
But Lucy had been there.
A purple backpack hung from a chair.
Children's books sat beside a sofa.
On the refrigerator were drawings.
I saw my daughter's handwriting.
LILA.
Nora closed the door.
“I didn't know who she really was when she first came to me.”
“Who brought her?”
“A private placement organization.”
“Mercy House?”
Her eyes widened.
“How do you know that name?”
“Where is it?”
“I've never been there.”
I stepped closer.
“Nora.”
She looked terrified.
“I fostered children for them. Quiet placements. Families escaping violent situations. That's what I thought.”
“When did Lucy come?”
“Eight months ago.”
“Did she remember anything?”
Nora hesitated.
“Pieces.”
“Tell me.”
“She remembered a big house.”
My throat tightened.
“A garden with white roses.”
Isabelle's garden.
“A dog named Chester.”
Our old Labrador.
“And a man who called her Princess Bug.”
I stopped breathing.
Nobody knew that nickname.
Nobody.
I had started calling Lucy Princess Bug when she was two because she spent an entire summer obsessed with ladybugs.
Nora began crying.
“She remembered you.”
I turned away.
My vision blurred.
“What did she say?”
“She said her daddy was coming.”
I pressed my fist against my mouth.
“She said it for months.”
Every day I had sat alone beneath that chandelier, my little girl had been waiting.
Nora touched my arm.
“I'm sorry.”
“Why was she moved?”
“Someone called yesterday morning.”
“Who?”
“They said her identity had been compromised.”
“What time?”
“Eight twenty.”
Grace had shown me the photograph at dinner the previous evening.
Victor disappeared around five.
Lucy was moved the next morning.
Someone knew we were searching.
Again.
Nico entered from the hallway carrying a stuffed rabbit.
“Julian.”
He pointed underneath it.
A small tracking tag had been cut open.
Whoever took Lucy had searched everything.
Then Nora remembered something.
“The man who came for her wore a pin.”
I stared at her.
“What kind?”
“A silver animal.”
“Wolf?”
“Yes.”
Hale Security.
Again.
“Could you recognize him?”
“I think so.”
Nico opened photographs on a tablet.
Current staff.
Former staff.
Executives.
Nora studied them.
One after another.
“No.”
“No.”
“No.”
Then she stopped.
Her finger trembled.
“That one.”
I looked.
The photograph showed someone standing beside me at a charity event.
Someone who had access to my house.
My planes.
My accounts.
Someone who knew every security protocol protecting Lucy before the crash.
Nora whispered, “That's the man who took her.”
I didn't hear Nico swear.
I barely heard anything.
Because the man in the photograph was Michael Trent.
My cousin.
My closest friend.
The person I had left behind at my mansion.
With Grace.
And Amara.
I called Grace.
No answer.
Again.
Nothing.
Then Nico's phone rang.
He listened for three seconds.
His face changed.
“What?”
I demanded.
He lowered the phone.
“The estate just lost power.”
My blood froze.
“And Grace?”
May you like
He looked at me.
“She's missing.”
