Chapter 5 - My Father Was Alive After the Accident—and Jack Knew the Story Was a Lie
My mother told me the truth in pieces.
Too many pieces.
My father had survived the crash.
He had been taken to a private hospital.
The official death record had been fabricated.
Why?
Because someone wanted the world to believe Daniel Carter was dead.
But he wasn't.
He spent three years working under another name.
Trying to bring down the people who had betrayed the Whitmore family.
Then he disappeared.
For real.
My mother never knew where he went.
She only knew he had left one message.
Protect Emily.
I sat beside her bed that night and cried.
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“Because I was terrified.”
“Of who?”
She looked at Jack standing in the doorway.
“Him.”
Jack stopped.
My mother shook her head.
“Not because he was cruel.”
“Then why?”
“Because I didn't know which side of his family he belonged to.”
Jack walked closer.
“My father.”
“Yes.”
“What did Daniel know?”
My mother looked at him.
“He knew your uncle Victor was alive.”
Jack went still.
“Victor didn't die?”
“No.”
My mother pulled out an envelope.
Daniel sent it to me after he disappeared.
Jack opened it carefully.
Inside was a photograph.
Victor Whitmore.
Alive.
Older.
Standing beside Thomas.
My stomach dropped.
Thomas.
The wounded man in the hospital.
Jack stared at the picture.
“That was twelve years ago.”
My mother nodded.
“He's been working with Victor for a long time.”
That explained everything.
The hidden money.
The attack.
The threats.
The missing files.
Thomas had never been simply a traitor.
He had been a bridge between two worlds.
The doctor said Thomas might regain consciousness soon.
We went to the hospital.
His eyes opened when Jack entered.
“You know.”
Jack stood beside the bed.
“You worked for him.”
Thomas swallowed.
“For years.”
“Why?”
“I thought Victor was going to destroy you.”
“You helped him.”
“I helped him because he had your father.”
The room went silent.
“What?”
Thomas closed his eyes.
“Daniel never died.”
“We know.”
“Victor has him.”
My heart stopped.
“What?”
“He has him.”
Jack stepped closer.
“Where?”
Thomas hesitated.
“The old Whitmore estate.”
Jack's expression changed.
That property had been abandoned for years.
I knew it from old newspaper articles.
We drove there at midnight.
The estate was enormous.
Old stone.
Dead gardens.
Broken windows.
Inside, we found evidence someone had been living there.
Documents.
Food.
Medical supplies.
Then we heard a sound.
A cough.
Behind a locked door.
Jack broke it open.
An old man sat inside.
Gray hair.
Thin face.
Eyes that immediately found mine.
He whispered:
“Emily.”
I couldn't breathe.
“Dad?”
His eyes filled with tears.
He opened his arms.
I ran to him.
I hadn't held my father since I was twelve.
I hadn't even known he was alive.
He held me like I was still a child.
“I knew they'd find you.”
“Who?”
“Victor.”
Jack stood beside us.
My father looked at him.
“You look like him.”
“Like who?”
“Your grandfather.”
Jack sat.
“Tell me everything.”
Daniel told us the truth.
Victor had built Project Black.
The network wasn't just about money.
It controlled companies.
Shipping routes.
Security contracts.
Judicial favors.
Political influence.
The goal was to eventually take control of the Whitmore empire.
But there was one obstacle.
Jack.
Victor couldn't legally inherit everything while Jack lived.
So he planned to destroy Jack's reputation.
The six previous marriages had been part of the campaign.
Each woman was selected to create scandals.
Some cooperated.
Some were threatened.
Some were innocent.
The goal was simple.
Make Jack look unstable.
Make his companies vulnerable.
Then take control.
“What about me?” I asked.
Daniel looked at me.
“You were the last piece.”
“Why?”
“Because you have access to the original records.”
“I don't.”
“You do.”
He pointed toward Jack.
“The records are hidden in the one place Victor never thought to search.”
“Where?”
Jack and I exchanged a glance.
Daniel smiled.
“Northbridge.”
We returned to the city.
Jack took me to the top floor.
The oldest part of the building had been sealed for years.
A hidden door opened behind a painting.
Inside was a room.
My father's.
His desk.
His files.
His handwriting.
And a single photograph of him holding me as a baby.
I cried.
Jack stood behind me.
Then I saw something else.
A letter.
Emily,
When you meet Jack, don't trust the name.
Trust the man.
I looked at him.
Jack looked back.
“My father wrote that?”
“Yes.”
“And you?”
“I don't know what to say.”
“Say something.”
He stepped closer.
“I have spent my whole life trying to protect people.”
“And?”
“I don't know how to protect the one person I actually love.”
My heart stopped.
He had said it.
The word neither of us had dared to use.
Love.
I looked down.
“I don't know if we're allowed to do this.”
“Do what?”
“Love each other when our families are connected by so much blood and violence.”
He took a breath.
“Then let me find a way to do it right.”
Before I could answer, every light in the building went out.
A red emergency light flashed.
Then a voice came through the intercom.
“Jack.”
Victor.
“Bring Emily to the basement.”
Jack grabbed a weapon.
May you like
Victor laughed.
“Or your father dies.”
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