Chapter 3 - A Photograph Revealed Rory Had a Brother Everyone Believed Dead, and the Man Outside the Gate Claimed Celeste Had Been Protecting His SecretRory refused to open the gate.
The stranger didn't leave.
For twenty minutes, he stood there holding the photograph.
Then he raised a phone.
A call came through.
Rory answered.
The man's voice was distorted.
“You know my face.”
“I know whose face you're wearing.”
The man laughed.
“Still suspicious.”
“Who are you?”
“You'll find out.”
“Where's my brother?”
“Closer than you think.”
Then the call ended.
The stranger walked away.
Security followed.
He disappeared into a waiting SUV.
Rory turned toward us.
“No one leaves.”
We searched the house again.
The photograph bothered him.
He stared at it.
“There were supposed to be two of us.”
“You and Celeste?”
“Yes.”
“Then who's the third child?”
“I don't know.”
I looked closely.
The boy was younger.
Maybe five.
He had Rory's eyes.
Same jaw.
Same expression.
I asked:
“Did your father ever talk about him?”
“No.”
“Your mother?”
“She died before I was old enough to remember much.”
“Then who is he?”
Rory didn't answer.
His daughters were listening.
Lily suddenly spoke.
“Mommy knew him.”
Rory froze.
“What?”
“She said his name.”
“What name?”
“Evan.”
Rory looked like he'd been punched.
“Evan.”
He whispered it.
Then sat down.
“My father had a son named Evan.”
“You knew?”
“No.”
“Then how?”
“She was talking to my wife.”
I stared.
Rory's wife had apparently known.
She had known the third child.
Maybe she had known the truth.
Maybe that was connected to her death.
Rory opened a locked safe.
Inside were old family files.
His father's records.
Birth certificates.
Medical reports.
One page had been torn out.
But the copy remained.
Evan Starks.
Born three years after Rory.
Mother unknown.
Status:
Deceased.
Rory stared.
“It's a lie.”
The document had been altered.
The original ink underneath showed something else.
Transferred.
Not deceased.
Transferred.
Where?
The record ended there.
We followed the trail.
A private children's facility.
Closed seventeen years earlier.
The Northbridge Foundation.
The same organization receiving money from Celeste.
Rory's face hardened.
“She was financing the place.”
“To hide your brother?”
“Yes.”
But the bigger question remained:
Why?
We searched the foundation records.
There were photographs.
Children.
Dozens.
One stood out.
Evan.
Aged six.
Then ten.
Then fourteen.
Then eighteen.
He was alive.
Rory's brother had been hidden for years.
And someone had kept paying to keep him hidden.
The final photograph showed Evan as an adult.
Standing beside Celeste.
She was older.
The photograph had been taken only six months earlier.
Rory stared.
“She knew.”
I nodded.
“Apparently.”
Then another document appeared.
A psychiatric evaluation.
Evan had been diagnosed with a rare condition.
But the diagnosis had been falsified.
The physician had been paid.
The real report stated Evan had no psychiatric disorder.
Someone had made him appear unstable.
Why?
Because an unstable heir could be ignored.
Rory realized it too.
“Evan has a claim.”
“To what?”
“The family trust.”
His father had left everything to his biological sons.
Rory had inherited control.
If Evan were alive, he could challenge it.
But there was another problem.
The trust held more than money.
It contained the legal ownership of the family's largest companies.
Evan was dangerous.
Not because he was violent.
Because he existed.
His existence could destabilize Rory's empire.
Celeste had apparently been protecting him.
Or using him.
Then we found the next file.
It was from Rory's wife's personal records.
A note in her handwriting:
Evan is not the enemy.
I felt cold.
Beneath it:
Celeste knows the truth.
Then:
If anything happens to me, protect the girls.
Rory stared at the page.
His hands shook.
“Claire knew.”
His wife had suspected Celeste.
She had tried to expose her.
Then she died.
The supposed car accident.
Maybe it wasn't an accident.
I looked at Rory.
“You need to investigate your wife's death.”
He stared.
“I know.”
That evening, the girls slept in my room.
Rory had moved them there.
He stayed outside the door.
I asked:
“Do you trust me?”
He looked at me.
“No.”
I nodded.
“I don't trust you either.”
That surprised him.
“Why?”
“Because you're dangerous.”
He almost smiled.
“Fair.”
“But your daughters trust you.”
His expression softened.
“They're all I have.”
I looked at him.
“Then protect them by learning the truth.”
He nodded.
That night, at 3:00 a.m., the twins didn't scream.
For the first time in thirty-one nights.
Because the bear was gone.
But someone still stood outside my bedroom door.
I heard footsteps.
Then a whisper.
“Rosa?”
It was Celeste.
“Come out.”
I didn't move.
Her voice became colder.
“Or your daughter dies.”
My blood froze.
She knew about my daughter.
My own little girl was six years old.
She was not inside the mansion.
She lived with my sister in another state.
No one here knew.
Or they shouldn't have.
I stood.
The door opened suddenly.
Rory was there.
He had heard.
“Who told you about her?”
Celeste smiled.
May you like
“The same person who knows everything about you.”
Then the mansion lights went out.
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