THE LETTER BENEATH THE FLOOR
The following Monday, Detective Miller called Marcus back to the estate.
The west wing was blackened and partially destroyed.
Leo’s bedroom was almost unrecognizable.
Miller crouched beside the remains of the bed.
Then he pointed toward the floor.
“We found this beneath the boards.”
He held up a heavily scorched manila envelope.
The edges were burned.
But the name written across the front was still visible.
Marcus Vance.
Marcus frowned.
“What’s inside?”
“We don’t know yet.”
Marcus took the envelope.
His fingers tightened around it.
Then he opened it.
Inside was a single sheet of water-damaged paper.
He unfolded it.
His eyes moved slowly across the words.
Then stopped.
His face changed.
The letter read:
Marcus,
The child you were told was dead was never buried.
Marcus stopped breathing.
He read the next line.
Your father lied to you. Your firstborn child survived.
His hands began to tremble.
The room became completely silent.
Miller watched him carefully.
Marcus looked up.
“My father told me my baby died.”
Miller nodded.
“There’s more.”
Marcus looked back at the paper.
Look closer at the past you were ordered to forget.
For thirty years, Marcus had believed the child was dead.
Now, for the first time, he wondered whether his entire life had been built on a lie.
And then Detective Miller told him something even more disturbing.
“This room wasn’t always Leo’s bedroom.”
THE SECRET FROM THIRTY YEARS AGO
Miller pulled out the original blueprints of the mansion.
“Thirty years ago, this room was a master suite.”
Marcus stared at the plans.
“Whose?”
Miller looked directly at him.
“Your father had it sealed after your son was born.”
Marcus felt a coldness spread through his chest.
Thirty years ago.
He remembered.
He had been twenty years old.
He had been in love with a nursing student named Evelyn.
Then she became pregnant.
His father, Arthur Vance, had been furious.
He told Marcus that an illegitimate child would destroy the family’s reputation and threaten an upcoming business deal.
Then Arthur sent Marcus overseas.
Six months later, Marcus returned.
His father handed him a death certificate.
The baby had supposedly been born prematurely.
The baby had died.
Marcus had been devastated.
He believed his father had arranged the burial.
He never questioned it.
Until now.
Miller lowered his voice.
“There’s something else.”
Marcus looked at him.
“We ran a background check on Clara.”
Marcus frowned.
“Why?”
“Because of the envelope.”
Miller turned his tablet around.
“We ran her DNA through the state’s missing-person database.”
Marcus stared at the screen.
Then his face went pale.
“What am I looking at?”
Miller answered quietly.
“An identity match.”
Marcus’s heart stopped.
“Whose?”
Miller looked him straight in the eyes.
“Clara’s.”
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