Chapter 5 - The Name on My Birth Certificate Was a Lie

There are moments when the world doesn't break.

It simply stops making sense.

That was one of them.

My name wasn't real.

My mother wasn't who I thought she was.

Dominic's father had somehow been part of my childhood.

And now Hart was claiming I wasn't Grace Walker.

I sat in the safe house kitchen staring at an old birth certificate Marcus had recovered.

Name: Grace Eleanor Vale.

Father: Anthony James Vale.

Mother: Eleanor Rose Walker.

I laughed.

Then I cried.

Then I laughed again because none of it could possibly be real.

Dominic sat across from me.

"You didn't know."

"No."

"You swear?"

I looked at him.

"Do you think I would spend twenty-five years believing a lie if I knew?"

"No."

"Then stop questioning me."

He leaned back.

"I'm not questioning you."

"Then what are you doing?"

"Trying to understand how my father had another daughter."

I pointed to the certificate.

"Half-sister."

"Still family."

The word sounded strange.

Family.

I had spent my entire life believing I was alone.

I had no siblings.

No father.

Only my mother.

Now suddenly I had a brother.

And that brother was Dominic Vale.

The most feared man in Boston.

I stood.

"I need air."

Dominic followed.

We walked onto the terrace.

The sea was dark beneath the moon.

"Did your father know I existed?"

"Apparently."

"Did you?"

"No."

"Then why did he tell my mother to find you?"

Dominic looked at me.

"Because he believed someone would come after you."

"Who?"

"Everyone."

I laughed bitterly.

"That's comforting."

He almost smiled.

Then he became serious.

"I'll keep you safe."

"I can protect myself."

"I know."

"Then don't turn me into another prisoner."

He nodded.

"I won't."

That was the first promise he made to me.

And the first one he kept.

Three hours later, Naomi returned with more information.

Victoria Vale had not died.

She had disappeared twenty-five years earlier.

She had been listed as missing.

Hart had secretly transferred her into a private psychiatric facility under another name.

I stared at the document.

"Why would he do that?"

"Because she knew about the network."

"What network?"

Naomi pointed to a list.

Doctors.

Politicians.

Judges.

Police commanders.

Business owners.

People who could erase identities, manipulate records, and move money.

"They called themselves the Bellwether Group."

Dominic recognized the name.

"My father destroyed them."

"Or tried to."

Naomi nodded.

"After Anthony disappeared, the group survived."

"And Hart?"

"One of its founders."

My stomach twisted.

"Who is running it now?"

Naomi looked at Dominic.

"Someone inside St. Bartholomew's."

That night, we traveled to the facility where Victoria was supposedly being held.

But when we arrived, the director claimed no such patient existed.

Dominic placed his hand on the man's desk.

"My sister was admitted here twenty-three years ago."

"I have no record."

"Search again."

"No."

Dominic's expression darkened.

The director reached for the phone.

Marcus stopped him.

"Don't."

The man froze.

Then a woman spoke from the hallway.

"Dominic?"

We all turned.

She was about fifty, with long dark hair and gray eyes.

The same storm-gray eyes as Dominic.

She looked at him and began to cry.

"Anthony's boy."

Dominic stepped forward.

"Who are you?"

The woman smiled through tears.

"Your sister."

Victoria.

She hugged him before he could react.

Dominic froze.

For perhaps the first time in my life, I saw the feared crime boss lose all his composure.

He held her.

Then she looked at me.

Her smile vanished.

"Grace."

I froze.

"How do you know me?"

Victoria's eyes filled with tears.

"Because I held you the night your mother begged them to let you live."

"What?"

She reached into her coat.

She pulled out an old photograph.

It showed my mother.

Anthony.

Victoria.

And a little girl.

Me.

On the back were five words.

She must never remember the fire.

I stared at Victoria.

"What fire?"

Victoria looked toward Dominic.

"The one that killed your mother."

I whispered:

"My mother wasn't killed in a robbery."

"No."

"What really happened?"

Victoria swallowed.

"Hart set the fire."

"And my mother?"

"She survived the fire."

I stopped breathing.

"Then where is she?"

Victoria looked at me with devastating sadness.

"She didn't die seven years ago."

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Silence.

"She's alive."