The final message contained only one sentence.
**BRING JONATHAN HOME, OR CLAIRE DIES AT SEVEN.**
Daniel checked the time.
6:18 a.m.
Forty-two minutes.
For several seconds, nobody in the abandoned railway station spoke.
Then Jonathan reached for Daniel's phone.
Daniel pulled it away.
“Don't.”
“I need to see the photographs.”
“You've seen enough from a distance for seventeen years.”
Jonathan's face tightened.
“Daniel.”
“No.”
He stepped closer to his father.
“You don't get to appear out of the fog, tell me you were protecting me, and immediately start giving orders.”
“Claire's life is at stake.”
“So is Margaret's.”
Jonathan looked at the photograph of Margaret with Michael's gun against her temple.
“Michael won't kill Margaret.”
“How do you know?”
“Because he needs her.”
“For what?”
Jonathan hesitated.
Daniel laughed bitterly.
“There it is again.”
“What?”
“That pause everyone in this family makes before deciding which part of the truth I'm allowed to hear.”
Jonathan looked wounded.
Good.
He should.
I took the phone from Daniel.
The photograph of Claire was different from the one showing Margaret.
Claire sat in a wooden chair.
Her wrists were bound.
The background was dark, but I recognized the floral wallpaper.
“She's not in Claire's bedroom.”
Daniel looked over my shoulder.
“Where?”
“Somewhere else in Harrington House.”
“How can you tell?”
“The wallpaper.”
I had cleaned enough of the mansion to recognize it.
“East wing,” I said. “Second floor.”
Daniel frowned.
“The old nursery?”
“Yes.”
Jonathan's face changed.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
I turned toward him.
“You recognized it.”
“I haven't been inside that room in twenty-four years.”
“But you know it.”
“Yes.”
“What happened there?”
He looked at the clock.
“We don't have time.”
“Then talk faster.”
For a second, something almost like approval crossed his face.
“You really are Ruth's daughter.”
“Stop using my mother to avoid questions.”
That erased it.
“The east nursery was where Arthur kept family records that weren't supposed to exist.”
“What kind?”
“Births.”
Daniel looked at him.
“Why would Grandfather keep birth records in a nursery?”
“Because Arthur enjoyed symbolism.”
“That sounds insane.”
“He was.”
“Then why does Michael want you there?”
Jonathan stared at the photograph.
“Because the answer to who fathered him may be in that room.”
“And Claire?”
“Leverage.”
“What about Margaret?”
“More leverage.”
I looked at the two photographs again.
Something bothered me.
“Michael didn't send these.”
Everyone looked at me.
Daniel asked, “How do you know?”
“In the first photograph, Michael is visible.”
“Yes.”
“He's holding the gun.”
“Yes.”
“So who took the picture?”
Silence.
I continued.
“And the photograph of Claire shows someone standing behind her.”
Jonathan moved closer.
I enlarged the image.
A shoulder.
A hand.
Part of a dark jacket.
“Michael isn't working alone,” I said.
“He never was,” Jonathan replied.
“Who is with him?”
“I don't know.”
Elias made a skeptical sound.
Jonathan looked at him.
“I don't.”
“Seven years chasing him and you don't know his partners?”
“I know some.”
“Names.”
Jonathan glanced at Daniel.
“Samuel Vale.”
My stomach tightened.
The doctor who had sedated Claire.
The man who ran St. Catherine's.
The man nobody had confirmed dead.
“Samuel is alive?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“Last confirmed location was Switzerland three years ago.”
“And now?”
“If Michael is moving openly, Samuel is probably nearby.”
Daniel picked up his keys.
“We're going back.”
Jonathan stepped in front of him.
“No.”
Daniel stopped.
“Move.”
“They specifically asked for me.”
“Exactly.”
“Which means walking into that house is giving them what they want.”
“Claire has a gun pointed at her.”
“I know.”
“Margaret too.”
Jonathan's expression hardened.
“Margaret can protect herself.”
“That's your argument?”
“No. That's experience.”
I looked at the clock.
6:22.
“We're wasting time.”
Elias nodded.
“Emily's right.”
Jonathan stared at me.
“You stay here.”
I almost laughed.
“No.”
“This has nothing to do with you.”
Every person in the room looked at him.
Jonathan sighed.
“Fine. Bad choice of words.”
“Very.”
“If Michael believes you're Ruth's biological daughter, he may want you alive.”
“Comforting.”
“If he discovers what Ruth did—”
He stopped.
My stomach tightened.
“What did Ruth do?”
Jonathan looked toward Elias.
Elias looked away.
“What did my mother do?”
Jonathan spoke quietly.
“She stole Project Eve.”
I stared at him.
“A project isn't something you steal.”
“This one was.”
“What was it?”
“A registry.”
“Of the children?”
“Yes.”
“All of them?”
“Every altered identity Arthur knew about.”
Daniel frowned.
“Where is it?”
Jonathan looked at my locket.
I instinctively touched it.
“No.”
“Ruth hid information inside things people wouldn't destroy.”
“The tracker is inside the locket.”
“The tracker wasn't hers.”
“Then what is?”
“I don't know.”
“That doesn't make sense.”
“She told me the key would stay with her daughter.”
“The key?”
Jonathan nodded.
“To Project Eve.”
I removed the locket.
It suddenly felt heavier.
Daniel took it carefully.
“May I?”
I nodded.
He examined the hinges.
The photograph.
The backing.
Then he noticed something.
“There are two layers.”
Using a pocketknife, he lifted the metal beneath the photograph.
A tiny brass strip slid free.
Numbers were etched into it.
4-18-3-8-9-22-5.
Elias whispered, “A code.”
Jonathan stared at it.
“No.”
“What?”
“I've seen that sequence.”
“Where?”
“St. Catherine's archive.”
“What does it mean?”
Jonathan looked at me.
“ARCHIVE.”
Daniel frowned.
“How?”
“Numbers correspond to letters.”
4 would be D, not A.
Jonathan shook his head.
“Not alphabetic. Ruth used a nursing substitution code.”
Elias took the strip.
“So this opens Project Eve?”
“It identifies where she moved it.”
“Where?”
Jonathan stared at the numbers.
Then his face changed.
“Harrington House.”
Of course.
Everything returned there.
“What room?” I asked.
Jonathan looked at the final numbers again.
“The nursery.”
The same room where Claire was being held.
Suddenly Michael's choice of location made sense.
“He knows.”
Jonathan nodded.
“He knows the registry is there.”
“And he needs you to find it.”
“Yes.”
“Why you?”
“Because Ruth told me enough to recognize her codes.”
I looked at the clock.
6:27.
Thirty-three minutes.
“Then we're going home.”
Daniel looked at me.
“Harrington House has never been your home.”
“No.”
I put the locket back around my neck.
“But apparently everyone else's secrets live there.”
---
We approached Harrington House from the north service road.
No police.
No firefighters.
No emergency vehicles.
Nothing.
Daniel slowed.
“This is wrong.”
“Where is everyone?”
“The fire department should still be here.”
Elias checked his phone.
“No signal.”
Jonathan looked toward the gates.
“They cleared the property.”
“Who has authority to do that?” I asked.
Daniel and Jonathan answered together.
“Margaret.”
We looked at them.
Daniel's expression hardened.
“She told police the threat was over.”
“Or someone used her credentials,” Elias said.
The gates opened automatically.
Nobody had touched the controls.
“They know we're here,” I whispered.
Jonathan looked at Daniel.
“Whatever happens, stay behind me.”
Daniel stared at him.
“I haven't been behind you since I was six.”
Jonathan absorbed the blow.
Then he nodded.
“Fair.”
We entered.
The foyer was ruined.
Water covered the marble.
Smoke stains climbed the walls.
Broken glass glittered beneath the chandelier.
The empty space where Arthur's portrait had hung looked like a wound.
A speaker clicked overhead.
Then Michael's voice filled the house.
“Welcome home, Jonathan.”
Jonathan stopped.
“Michael.”
“You took your time.”
“Let them go.”
A laugh.
“You always did skip negotiations.”
“Claire has nothing to do with this.”
“That is possibly the funniest thing you've ever said.”
Daniel looked upward.
“Where are they?”
Michael ignored him.
“Jonathan, bring Emily to the east nursery.”
“No.”
The speaker crackled.
“You don't have a choice.”
A gunshot sounded upstairs.
I flinched.
Then Claire screamed.
“Mom!”
The word escaped before I could stop it.
Jonathan looked at me.
So did Daniel.
I didn't care whether Claire was biologically my mother.
Not in that second.
Someone had hurt her.
We ran.
Up the main staircase.
Across the east gallery.
The nursery doors stood open.
Inside, Margaret sat on the floor.
Alone.
No Michael.
No Claire.
Her hands were tied.
Blood ran from a cut above her eyebrow.
Daniel rushed to her.
“Grandmother.”
“Don't!”
He stopped.
Margaret looked toward the ceiling.
“Camera.”
Jonathan spotted it.
He fired once.
The lens shattered.
Daniel untied Margaret.
“Where is Claire?”
“They took her through the service passage.”
“Michael?”
“Yes.”
“Who else?”
Margaret looked at Jonathan.
Her face changed.
“You.”
Jonathan stared.
“What?”
Margaret backed away.
“You're dead.”
“Not quite.”
She slapped him.
Hard.
Nobody moved.
Then she slapped him again.
“You let your son bury you.”
Jonathan accepted it.
“You let Claire think she was abandoned.”
Another slap.
“You let me spend seventeen years believing Arthur's enemies murdered you.”
“Margaret—”
She punched him in the chest.
“You coward.”
Jonathan caught her wrists.
“I was protecting Daniel.”
“So was I!”
They stared at each other.
Twenty-four years of guilt seemed to fill the room.
Then Margaret whispered:
“You found Michael.”
“Yes.”
“And didn't tell me.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because he told me what you did.”
Her face went still.
“What did I do?”
“You signed the transfer.”
Margaret stopped breathing.
“What transfer?” I asked.
Neither answered.
“Margaret?”
Jonathan released her.
“The transfer that sent Michael into Project Eve.”
Margaret shook her head.
“No.”
“Your signature.”
“Forged.”
“He has the original.”
“I never signed it.”
“He believes you did.”
“Then he's wrong.”
A speaker somewhere deeper in the room clicked on.
Michael's voice.
“She always says that.”
Margaret spun.
“Michael?”
“Hello, Mother.”
Margaret collapsed into a chair.
Not metaphorically.
Her knees actually failed.
Jonathan caught her.
She stared toward the speaker.
“My baby died.”
“No.”
Tears appeared instantly.
“Michael?”
“Twenty-three years, and that's all you have?”
“I didn't know.”
“You signed me away.”
“I didn't.”
“You chose Claire.”
“No.”
“You chose the Harrington name.”
“No!”
Margaret stood.
“I searched for you.”
“After eleven years.”
“I thought you were dead!”
“So did Daniel.”
Jonathan closed his eyes.
Michael continued.
“This family survives by declaring inconvenient people dead.”
The speaker went silent.
Then a hidden door in the nursery wall opened.
Behind it was a staircase descending into darkness.
A light illuminated one step at a time.
An invitation.
Or a trap.
We went down.
The staircase ended beneath the house.
Another room.
Not part of the wine cellar.
Older.
Windowless.
Shelves lined the walls.
At the center sat Claire.
Untied now.
Michael stood beside her.
He looked exactly like the photograph.
Twenty-three.
Dark hair.
Victor's jaw.
Margaret's eyes.
No gun visible.
That worried me more.
Claire saw me.
“Emily.”
Michael smiled.
“Actually, she really is Emily.”
Claire looked confused.
“What?”
I moved toward her.
Michael raised one hand.
“Stay.”
Jonathan stepped forward.
“Let Claire go.”
Michael looked at him.
“You've spent seven years telling me you'd help expose them.”
“I meant it.”
“Then why did you disappear again?”
“To keep Daniel alive.”
“Everyone loves that excuse.”
Daniel stared at Michael.
“So you're Margaret's son.”
Michael looked at him.
“And you're Jonathan's.”
“Apparently.”
“Welcome to the family.”
No warmth.
Only contempt.
I looked at Claire.
“Are you hurt?”
“No.”
“Did Michael abduct you?”
Claire hesitated.
“No.”
That changed everything.
“What?”
“I came with him.”
Margaret stared.
“Claire.”
Claire looked at her mother.
“You lied to me for twenty-four years.”
“I was trying to protect—”
“Don't.”
The same word all of us had used.
Protection had become the Harrington synonym for betrayal.
I looked at Michael.
“Then why the photographs? Why threaten Claire?”
“To make Jonathan come.”
“You could have asked.”
“He doesn't answer invitations.”
Jonathan said, “You threatened to kill her.”
Michael smiled.
“No. The message said Claire dies at seven.”
“That is a threat.”
“Unless Claire Harrington is already legally dead.”
I stared at him.
Wordplay.
Manipulation.
“Where is the Project Eve registry?”
Michael looked at my locket.
“Ask Ruth.”
“She is dead.”
His expression softened slightly.
“I know.”
“You knew her?”
“She raised me for three years.”
My heart stopped.
“What?”
“Not as her son. David Carter did that officially.”
Ruth's brother.
“But Ruth knew exactly who I was.”
“Did she tell you about me?”
“Yes.”
“What?”
“That you were the one person I should never involve.”
“And yet here we are.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because someone started killing everyone connected to St. Catherine's.”
“Who?”
“That is what the registry proves.”
Michael walked toward the nursery's original fireplace.
He pressed one brick.
A compartment opened.
Empty.
His smile disappeared.
“No.”
Jonathan stepped forward.
“What?”
“It was here.”
“The registry?”
“Yes.”
Michael turned toward me.
“Give me the key.”
“The brass strip?”
“Yes.”
Daniel handed it over.
Michael examined the numbers.
His face changed.
“This isn't a location.”
Jonathan frowned.
“You said—”
“I was wrong.”
“What is it?”
Michael entered the numbers into a keypad hidden inside the compartment.
A second panel opened.
Inside was a small digital recorder.
Nothing else.
Michael pressed play.
Ruth's voice filled the room.
I hadn't heard her voice since the funeral.
My knees nearly failed.
“If you're hearing this, then someone finally found the nursery.”
I covered my mouth.
Ruth continued.
“The registry is safe.”
Michael closed his eyes.
“No.”
“I learned long ago that paper can burn, servers can be erased, and witnesses can disappear.”
A pause.
“So I divided Project Eve into three parts.”
Jonathan whispered, “Three keys.”
“One stayed with me.”
Ruth's recording continued.
“One went to Anna.”
Anna.
“And one went to the only person Arthur would never suspect.”
Everyone waited.
“The child he believed was his greatest mistake.”
Michael stared at the recorder.
Margaret whispered, “Who?”
Ruth's voice answered.
“Claire.”
Claire went still.
“I don't have anything.”
The recording continued.
“You do, Claire. You always have.”
Claire touched her neck.
No locket.
Then her hand moved to the scar along her jaw.
She froze.
“No.”
I understood before anyone spoke.
“The scar.”
Claire backed away.
“No.”
Michael approached carefully.
“What happened when Samuel treated your injuries after the bridge?”
“I don't remember.”
“Did he operate?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
Claire touched the scar.
Her face went white.
“There was glass.”
Jonathan whispered, “He put something inside you.”
Claire stared at him.
“For twenty-four years?”
Ruth's voice continued from the recorder.
“Anna has the instructions. Emily has the location. Claire carries the final key.”
Emily has the location.
Everyone looked at me.
“I don't know any location.”
Michael pointed to my locket.
“The photograph.”
I opened it.
Claire's faded picture.
Nothing else.
Then I remembered the brass strip had been beneath it.
I removed the photograph completely.
Words had been etched into the back.
So faint I had never noticed them.
BLACKWATER.
MILE 17.
CHAPEL.
Jonathan's face changed.
“I know that place.”
“Where?”
“Near the bridge.”
Michael looked at the clock.
“We go now.”
Then a slow clap came from the staircase.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
We turned.
Senator William Cross stood at the top.
Four armed men behind him.
And beside Cross stood someone I had never expected to see again.
Anna Mercer.
Alive.
Uninjured.
Holding a gun.
Claire whispered:
“Anna?”
Anna looked at her niece.
There was no affection in her face.
Only exhaustion.
Cross smiled.
“Thank you.”
His eyes moved from my locket to Claire's scar.
“You've finally assembled all three pieces for us.”
Michael reached for a weapon.
Anna pointed her gun directly at him.
“Don't.”
He froze.
I stared at her.
“You saved Vanessa.”
“Yes.”
“You warned us about Margaret.”
“Yes.”
“You were helping us.”
Anna's expression didn't change.
“I was helping you finish Ruth's work.”
“Then why are you with him?”
Cross answered for her.
“Because Ruth's work was never meant to expose Project Eve.”
He descended one step.
“It was meant to complete it.”
I looked at Anna.
“Is that true?”
She lowered her eyes.
And in that instant, I knew.
Ruth had hidden more from me than anyone.
Cross reached the bottom of the stairs.
“Your mother wasn't trying to destroy Arthur's system, Emily.”
He smiled.
“She was trying to decide who would inherit it.”