Chapter 3 - THE EMPTY GRAVE
“What did you just say?”
The words tore from my throat, raw and desperate. The heavy silver compass in my palm felt like a block of ice, burning my skin. I stared at the intricate engraving on the back—*To Marcus, North always leads home.* It was unmistakable. It was his.
“Keep your voice down,” Julian murmured, glancing quickly toward Klaus, who was busy reviewing the newly printed addendums with Julian's remaining lawyers.
Julian placed a firm, steadying hand on the small of my back and guided me away from the table, back toward the secluded alcoves of the private dining room. The warmth of his hand through my thin catering vest was a jarring contrast to the ice freezing my veins.
“The man buried in that grave wasn’t my father?” I repeated, my voice cracking. “Julian, I was at the funeral. I saw the closed casket. The police said the fire... they said he was unrecognizable.”
“Exactly,” Julian said grimly, stopping near a floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the glittering Chicago skyline. “Unrecognizable. But three years ago, I took over Sterling Corp from my stepmother. I started auditing the old security files, trying to piece together what really happened the night my father’s car was run off the road. The night your father’s car happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
He stepped closer, his towering frame shielding me from the rest of the room. “I hired private investigators. I had the wreckage re-examined. And, a month ago, I secretly petitioned for an exhumation of your father's grave.”
My stomach plummeted. “You dug up my father?”
“I had to, Mia. Because the dental records didn't match.” Julian’s blue eyes were intense, searching my face for a reaction. “The man in that casket wasn't Marcus Vance. It was a decoy. Someone wanted the world to think your father died that night. And they wanted everyone to think his teenage daughter burned up with him.”
I backed away, shaking my head violently. “No. No, this is insane. My father was a high school history teacher. We were nobodies. Why would anyone fake his death? Why would someone run us off the road?”
“Because he wasn't just a history teacher,” Julian said quietly. “But we can’t talk about this here. David just ran out of this building to call his handlers. The people who compromised my company tonight are the same people who orchestrated that crash twelve years ago. And now they know you're alive.”
Panic seized my chest. “My mom. And Lily.”
“Who is Lily?” Julian asked sharply.
“My seven-year-old daughter,” I gasped, the reality of the danger suddenly crashing down on me. “She’s at home with my mother. If these people know who I am—”
“Give me your address,” Julian demanded, already pulling out his phone. “My private security team is five minutes away. I’ll have them extract your mother and your daughter and bring them to my secure estate. You're coming with me.”
I didn’t hesitate. I rattled off my address in the South Side. Julian barked orders into the phone, his tone commanding and ruthless. Watching him, a strange, terrifying realization washed over me. The scared, crying boy I had pulled from the wreckage was gone. In his place was a titan, a man who wielded power like a weapon. And right now, he was wielding it for me.
Ten minutes later, we were in the back of a blacked-out SUV, speeding away from the restaurant. I had stripped off my catering vest, sitting shivering in my plain white button-down. Julian took off his suit jacket and draped it over my shoulders. It smelled like cedar and expensive cologne.
“They’ll be fine,” Julian said softly, noticing my trembling hands. “My men are the best. They’ll get to your apartment before David’s people even figure out what neighborhood you live in.”
My phone buzzed in my pocket.
I ripped it out. It was a text from an unknown number. My blood ran cold as I opened it.
It wasn't a message. It was a photograph.
The image showed my small, cramped living room. The TV was on. The front door was wide open, the lock splintered. But that wasn’t what made me scream.
In the center of the photo, lying on my cheap coffee table, was Lily’s favorite stuffed rabbit. And drawn right across the screen, in thick, digital red ink, was a massive 'X'.
“Mia? What is it?” Julian demanded, grabbing the phone from my shaking hands.
His face hardened into a mask of pure fury as he looked at the image. He immediately dialed his lead security officer.
“Status. Now,” Julian barked.
Through the quiet luxury of the SUV, I could hear the tinny voice of the guard on the other end. “Boss, we’re at the apartment. It’s empty. No sign of a struggle, but the door was kicked in. We’re sweeping the perimeter.”
“They have them,” I sobbed, burying my face in my hands. “Oh my god, they took my little girl.”
“Wait,” Julian said suddenly, zooming in on the photograph on my phone screen. He held it up to the dim light of the streetlamps passing by. “Mia, look at this. Look closely.”
I forced myself to look at the terrifying image again. “It’s my living room. They broke in.”
“Look at the TV reflection,” Julian urged, his finger tracing the dark glass of the television screen in the photo.
I squinted. The reflection was faint, but visible. The person holding the camera to take the picture wasn't a massive hitman in a suit. It was a slender figure, wearing a familiar, faded yellow cardigan.
It was my mother.
“Your mother took this photo,” Julian said, his voice laced with sudden suspicion. “She staged the break-in. She sent you this to make you think they were taken.”
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“Why would she do that?” I whispered, my reality fracturing into a million jagged pieces.
Julian looked at me, a dark, terrible truth dawning in his eyes. “Because, Mia, the woman you’ve been living with... the woman whose medical bills you’ve been slaving away to pay... isn’t your mother. She’s the one who hid you from your father.”
