Chapter 38: The Ghost Brother

The name hung in the damp air of the conservatory, a specter summoned from a twenty-year-old grave. *The real father.*

"Mrs. Higgins," I said, crouching in front of her, my hands gripping her trembling knees. "Please. I need to know. Who took my children?"

She wiped her eyes with a lace-trimmed handkerchief, her gaze darting to the shadowed corners of the garden. "He promised he would keep them safe. He said Eleanor was coming for them."

"Who?"

"Adam," she whispered.

Adam. The intern. The twenty-six-year-old with the eager eyes and the October birthday.

The world spun. Julian wasn't the father. Richard wasn't the father.

Adam was the son.

The first son. The one born in 1999. The one Eleanor claimed had died.

"He's not the father," I said, my voice rising. "He's the baby. He's Catherine's son."

Mrs. Higgins shook her head violently. "No, Ma'am. You don't understand. The man in the woods... the one you saw... that wasn't Julian Vane. Julian died in that car crash in '99. Everyone knows that."

"Then who was it?"

"It was Julian's lover," she said. "The man Catherine was supposed to marry before Eleanor found out."

My mind raced, trying to fit the pieces together. Julian had a lover? Catherine was supposed to marry him?

"Wait," I said. "You're saying Catherine was in love with Julian's boyfriend?"

"No!" Mrs. Higgins grabbed my wrist. "Catherine loved him. Julian loved him. They were... a trio. Inseparable. Until the pregnancy."

"So the baby... Adam... who is his father?"

"That's just it," she whispered. "Nobody knows. Not even Catherine. It could have been Julian. It could have been... the other one."

"Who is the other one?"

She looked at the conservatory door. It was ajar, swinging slightly in the breeze.

"His name is Gabriel," she said. "He changed it after the accident. He goes by Blackwood now. Julian Blackwood."

I stood up, the blood draining from my face.

The man in the woods. The man who gave me the photo. He wasn't Julian Vane. He was Gabriel. Using Julian's name. Using Catherine's name.

And he had my children.

"Where did he take them?" I demanded.

"To the boathouse," she said. "He said he has a boat. He's taking them across the lake."

"Why?"

"To keep them from Richard," she sobbed. "He says Richard will do to them what he did to Adam."

"What did he do to Adam?"

Mrs. Higgins looked up at me, her eyes wide with horror.

"He didn't just give him away, Ma'am. He sold him. To cover the first round of debts."

I didn't wait to hear more. I ran toward the lake, my feet pounding on the cracked pavement.

The boathouse was a rotting wooden structure at the edge of the water. I saw a small motorboat idling at the dock.

Leo and Sam were in the stern, wearing life jackets that looked too big for them. A man was untying the rope.

He looked up as I burst through the trees. It was the man from the woods. Gabriel. Or Julian Blackwood. Or whoever the hell he was.

"Stop!" I screamed.

He didn't stop. He threw the rope into the boat and jumped in.

"Wait!" I waded into the water, the cold shocking my legs. "They're my children!"

He looked at me, his expression unreadable.

"They're not yours, Elena," he shouted over the engine's roar. "They're Blackwoods. And I'm taking them home."

He gunned the engine. The boat surged forward, churning the dark water into white foam.

I lunged for the gunwale, my fingers brushing the slick wood. I missed.

I splashed forward, water up to my chest. "Leo! Sam!"

My sons looked back at me, their faces pale and confused. Leo waved. A small, hesitant wave.

The boat sped away, disappearing into the mist that clung to the lake.

I stood there, shivering, the water soaking my Gala dress. I was alone.

My phone buzzed in my purse, which I had dropped on the shore.

I waded back and picked it up.

A text message. From a number I didn't recognize.

*If you want to see them again, bring the box to the old Blackwood site. Midnight. Come alone.*

I looked at the sender ID.

It wasn't a number.

It was a name.

*Julian Vane.*

But Mrs. Higgins said Julian was dead.

I looked at the message again. And then I saw the attachment.

It was a photo.

A photo of a gravestone.

*Julian Sterling Vane. 1975 - 1999.*

But the grave was open.

And the coffin was empty.