Chapter 6 - The Night Sophia Disappeared
I did not believe Sofia.
Not immediately.
Vincent Bell had managed the Parker estate for eleven years.
He had been the first person to greet me.
Calm.
Precise.
Protective of Sophia.
He had helped retrieve Elena’s security footage.
Why would he expose evidence against himself?
Unless he controlled what we saw.
Logan’s face became terrifyingly still when I told him.
“Vincent.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
“You said same about Adrian.”
He looked at me.
“Vincent saved my life twice.”
“That isn't proof.”
“He protected Sophia after Elena died.”
“Maybe.”
That word again.
He hated it.
We reviewed the raw camera archive independently.
The footage Vincent gave us was incomplete.
Seven minutes missing.
Not corruption.
Deletion.
Administrator access used.
Vincent’s credentials.
He claimed stolen password.
Possible.
Then financial records.
Two payments to Vincent from Moretti Biomedical’s holding company.
Large.
He said consulting.
Security risk assessment.
Documented.
Still suspicious.
We confronted him.
He did not run.
Good sign.
Maybe.
“Did you cut Elena’s brake line?”
“No.”
“Were you near her car?”
“Yes.”
Logan stared.
“Why?”
“Because Adrian told me to inspect it.”
Silence.
“What?”
Vincent explained.
Adrian called that evening and said Elena believed someone was following her.
He instructed Vincent to check her vehicle.
Vincent did.
Found nothing.
“What about missing footage?”
“I deleted it.”
There.
Logan stood.
“Why?”
“Because it showed Sofia.”
“You protected her?”
“No.”
“Elena asked me to.”
Before leaving, Elena had told Vincent:
“If Logan sees Sofia here, he’ll ask why.”
Vincent helped hide her presence.
Again.
Protection through silence.
Logan looked exhausted.
“Everyone protected me so thoroughly I knew nothing.”
Vincent lowered his eyes.
“Yes.”
Then alarm sounded.
Sophia’s room.
We ran.
Empty.
Bed empty.
IV line disconnected safely.
Window locked.
Door camera showed nobody leaving.
Impossible.
Then I saw butterfly bookshelf.
Moved slightly.
Behind it:
service passage.
Old.
House built in 1920s.
Sophia had discovered it long before.
Maybe Elena showed her.
Camera blind spot.
We entered.
Tiny corridor.
Dust.
Fresh footprints.
Sophia’s.
Another adult set.
My stomach turned.
The passage led downstairs.
Then garage.
A vehicle missing.
White SUV.
Registered to medical staff.
Driver:
Dr. Leah Moran.
No.
I called.
Phone off.
Logan looked at me.
“Leah.”
Again, trusted person.
Again, no certainty.
Security tracked vehicle.
Heading north.
We called police.
No secret family operation.
I insisted.
Logan agreed.
Growth.
The SUV stopped forty minutes later at an abandoned summer house owned by the Moretti family.
Police surrounded.
Leah emerged alone.
Hands raised.
No Sophia.
Logan nearly lost control.
“Where is she?”
Leah cried.
“I was told she was already inside.”
“By who?”
“Vincent.”
Vincent, standing beside us, went pale.
“I did no such thing.”
Leah showed message.
From his number.
MOVE SOPHIA THROUGH SERVICE PASSAGE. MEDICAL EVACuation protocol. DO NOT ALERT LOGAN UNTIL SECURE.
Forged.
Again.
Who knew passage?
Adrian.
Sofia.
Vincent.
Maybe Elena.
Then a child’s voice came from inside.
“Emma!”
I ran.
Police tried to stop me.
Too late.
Sophia was in an upstairs bedroom.
Alone.
Scared.
Not harmed.
She ran into me.
I held her.
“Where is bad man?”
She whispered.
“What man?”
“Black ring.”
My heart stopped.
“Here?”
She nodded.
“He bring me.”
So an adult intercepted her in passage before Leah.
Then left her at house.
Why?
Kidnapping without ransom?
Maybe message.
On bedside table:
an envelope.
Addressed to Logan.
Inside:
photographs.
Me as a baby.
Elena.
Adrian.
DNA documents.
And one note.
YOU STOLE MY FAMILY. NOW I’LL TAKE YOURS APART ONE CHILD AT A TIME.
Adrian.
Maybe.
Too obvious.
Then Sophia pointed toward closet.
“Man put coat.”
Inside hung a dark coat.
Pocket contained ring.
Black stone.
Adrian’s.
Planted?
Likely.
But another item:
hospital badge.
Dr. Leah Moran.
Someone was framing multiple people at once.
Sophia then said:
“Not Uncle Adrian.”
I stared.
“What?”
“Black ring man not Uncle.”
“Who?”
She frowned.
Child memory.
Then she pointed at me.
“Your eyes.”
My stomach dropped.
“Like me?”
She nodded.
The man looked like me.
Biological relative.
Adrian?
Yet she said no.
Maybe another.
Sofia had never told us Adrian had a son.
A legitimate son.
My half-brother.
Marco Parker Moretti.
Thirty-four.
Private.
Lived in Europe.
Rarely mentioned because he used mother’s surname.
I had never heard the name.
Logan had.
His face changed when I said it.
“Marco.”
“Who is he?”
“My brother’s son.”
My biological half-brother.
“What does he want?”
May you like
Logan whispered:
“Everything Adrian thinks should have been his.”
