Chapter 4 - The Son Nobody Knew Existed
Nathaniel Pierce was sixteen years old.
His mother had kept him hidden under the last name Vale.
He lived in a small boarding house near Evanston.
He attended an ordinary private school.
He played baseball.
He hated broccoli.
He had no idea his father was one of the most powerful men in Chicago.
He had no idea his half-brother was Dominic Pierce.
And, most importantly, he had no idea someone was already hunting him.
Gabriel wanted to move him immediately.
Dominic refused to tell Nathaniel who he was until we knew who could be trusted.
“We have to get him out,” I said.
“We will.”
“What if they reach him first?”
“They won’t.”
The confidence in his voice was terrifying.
We arrived at the school at 7:15 a.m.
Too late.
Nathaniel was gone.
The principal insisted his mother had collected him.
Miriam Vale had not been there.
I checked the visitor log.
One name had signed in.
Dr. Benjamin Cole.
A doctor who had died three years earlier.
I stared at the signature.
“I’ve seen this name.”
“Where?”
“In the vendor files.”
Dominic’s expression darkened.
“North Harbor?”
I nodded.
Gabriel immediately called every contact.
We traced the vehicle used to remove Nathaniel.
It belonged to a medical transport company.
The company had no legitimate employees.
The vehicle was found abandoned near the river.
Inside was a baseball glove.
Nothing else.
I noticed a small red thread caught in the passenger door.
“Stop.”
Gabriel turned.
“What?”
I touched it.
“Velvet.”
Dominic looked at me.
“Your dress.”
I looked down.
Emerald velvet.
The exact fabric.
My pulse accelerated.
“They came to the school before us.”
“How do you know?”
“Because there’s a piece of my dress caught on the latch.”
Dominic stared at the thread.
Then understood.
“They expected you.”
I felt cold.
“Why?”
Nobody knew.
We returned to the safe house.
At noon, a package arrived.
No sender.
Inside was Nathaniel’s baseball glove.
And a handwritten note.
STOP LOOKING FOR THE BOY.
Beneath it was another sentence.
OR BEATRICE DIES FIRST.
Dominic read it twice.
Then he looked at me.
“They’re using you.”
“I know.”
“No.”
His voice changed.
“They’re using you because they know you matter to me.”
I laughed nervously.
“Dominic, I’m your accountant.”
“You were.”
“What?”
He stared at the note.
“You’re no longer my accountant.”
“Then what am I?”
He didn’t answer.
Gabriel did.
“The person keeping him alive.”
That afternoon, Miriam Vale finally contacted us.
She called from a pay phone.
“I know what they are doing,” she said.
Dominic grabbed the phone.
“Where are you?”
“I cannot tell you.”
“You raised my brother.”
“Yes.”
“Why was he hidden?”
“Because Richard knew Charles Beaumont would kill him.”
“Why?”
“Because Nathaniel is not merely Richard’s son.”
Dominic froze.
Miriam continued.
“He is the legal heir to the original Pierce trust.”
I looked at Dominic.
She explained that years earlier, Richard Pierce had established a private trust containing properties and accounts that had never been included in the visible family estate.
The trust was protected by bloodline verification.
Dominic had been excluded because Richard feared Dominic would be targeted.
Nathaniel had been named successor.
“So the wedding,” I whispered.
Miriam heard me.
“Yes.”
“The trustees can only seize the old assets if Nathaniel is missing.”
“And dead,” she said.
My stomach turned.
Dominic’s grip tightened around the phone.
“Where is he?”
“I moved him.”
“To where?”
“A place your father prepared.”
“Tell me.”
“I need to know whether I can trust you.”
Dominic almost laughed.
“You called me.”
“I called Beatrice.”
I froze.
Miriam continued.
“She found what your father left behind.”
“What did he leave me?”
“Not you.”
A pause.
“Her.”
I stared at Dominic.
“What does that mean?”
Miriam said the words slowly.
“Richard believed numbers told the truth only when people forgot they were watching.”
My father.
The phrase hit me like a physical blow.
My father had used the same saying.
I suddenly understood.
“My father and Richard Pierce worked together.”
“Yes.”
“Not just as accountant and employer.”
“They were friends.”
My throat tightened.
“Then why did my father disappear from the records?”
“He discovered who was stealing from Richard.”
“Who?”
Miriam was silent.
Then came a whisper.
“Your mother.”
I stopped breathing.
My mother had died when I was nine.
Car accident.
That was the story.
Miriam continued.
“She was not killed in a car accident.”
Dominic looked at me.
“She was murdered.”
The call ended.
I sat frozen.
Every memory I had of my mother suddenly felt unstable.
Her voice.
Her perfume.
The green scarf she wore.
The last night I saw her.
I had always believed she was driving home when the crash happened.
Now I wondered whether she had ever made it to the car.
Dominic crouched in front of me.
“Beatrice.”
I looked at him.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.”
“You deserve the truth.”
“I deserve a lot of things.”
His expression softened.
“I’m going to get it for you.”
I looked into his eyes.
“Why?”
“Because my father trusted your father.”
“That was fifteen years ago.”
“I don’t care.”
The room went quiet.
For a moment, there was no Chicago.
No wedding.
No Marlow war.
No money.
Just two people who had discovered their families had been tied together long before either of them knew.
Then Gabriel burst through the door.
“We found Nathaniel.”
Dominic stood.
“Where?”
“St. Agnes.”
We raced there.
Nathaniel was in a locked pediatric ward.
Miriam had left him with an old nurse who knew Richard Pierce.
When Dominic entered the room, Nathaniel looked up.
The boy had Richard’s eyes.
Dominic stopped at the doorway.
Nathaniel stared.
“Who are you?”
Dominic swallowed.
“My name is Dominic Pierce.”
Nathaniel frowned.
“I know.”
Dominic blinked.
Nathaniel smiled faintly.
“My mom showed me your picture years ago.”
He stood.
“You’re my brother.”
Dominic could not answer.
Nathaniel walked toward him.
“I always wondered whether you were real.”
Dominic pulled him into his arms.
Nathaniel froze for a second.
Then hugged him back.
I turned away.
I gave them privacy.
That was when I saw the nurse watching me.
She was old.
Her eyes were red.
She approached quietly.
“You look like your mother.”
I stared.
“You knew her?”
“Yes.”
“What was she doing the night she died?”
The nurse looked toward the hall.
“She was bringing your father evidence.”
“What evidence?”
“The kind people kill families over.”
“Which people?”
The nurse leaned closer.
May you like
“The Beaumonts.”
Then every light in the hospital went out.
