Chapter 24: Codebreakers

The air in the attic was thick enough to chew, a suffocating blend of dust and heat that seemed to press against my eardrums. I was still holding the receipt for Alice Miller's cremation, the paper slick with sweat. Ben was staring at the photo of his sister, his face a mask of grief and dawning horror.

"Alice was pregnant," I repeated, my voice low. "She was due in June. The same month Mark was born."

Ben looked up. His eyes were red-rimmed, but the shock was hardening into something colder. Rage.

"You think Edith took her baby?" he asked. "You think Mark is... Alice's son?"

"Look at the dates," I said, pointing to the receipt. "Alice disappears in June. Mark appears in June. Edith pays for Alice's funeral in September. She wasn't just paying for a service, Ben. She was paying for silence."

"But if Mark is Alice's son... that means he's not a Sterling."

"Exactly," I said. "He's not a Sterling. He's not related to Edith. He's not related to Clara. He's just... another prop."

I looked at the rows of cribs stretching into the shadows of the attic. This wasn't just a warehouse. It was a trophy room.

"Edith collected us," I whispered. "Me. Leo. Mark. She needed an heir, so she stole three babies. One for the money (Leo). One for the backup (Me). And one for the show (Mark)."

"Why three?" Ben asked, wiping his face with the back of his hand. "Why not just one?"

"Because she needed options," I said, my mind racing. "The will said 'born of my body.' If Leo was a boy, Clara controlled the money. If I was a girl, Edith controlled the money. But Mark... Mark was the safety net. If something happened to me or Leo... if the genetic testing didn't work out... she needed a spare."

I looked at the stack of empty file folders. *June 1988.*

"We need to find the rest of the records," I said. "If she kept the receipt for the cremation, she kept everything. She's a narcissist. She thinks she's untouchable."

"Where would she keep them?" Ben asked. "The safe?"

"We checked the safe. It was empty."

"What about the basement?" he asked. "Where Leo was?"

"There was nothing down there but a bucket and a cot," I said.

Ben walked over to the window, looking out at the overgrown garden. The moonlight cast long, skeletal shadows across the lawn.

"My grandfather," he said slowly. "He didn't just deliver furniture. He built things. Custom cabinets. Hidden compartments."

He turned back to me.

"He built a desk for Edith," he said. "A year after Alice died. He told me about it once when I was a kid. Said it was the finest piece of work he ever did. Mahogany with a false bottom."

"Where is it?" I asked.

"In her study," Ben said. "At the estate."

I felt a cold knot of dread in my stomach. The estate. The fortress. Where Edith was waiting.

"We can't go back there," I said. "She knows we know. She's watching us."

"We don't have a choice," Ben said. "If the proof is in that desk, we need it. We need to prove Mark isn't her son. We need to prove you aren't her niece. We need to prove Leo is the rightful heir."

He was right. Without the documents, we were just two people with a crazy story and a man who had lived in a hole for thirty years.

"Okay," I said. "But we can't just walk in the front door."

"We don't have to," Ben said. "I still have the keys to the service entrance. From when we redid the kitchen last year."

We left the attic, locking the door behind us. The house felt heavier now, weighted down by the ghosts of three stolen children.

We drove to the estate in Ben's truck, parking a mile down the road and walking through the woods. The air was cool and damp, the leaves slick under our boots.

The service entrance was dark. Ben tried the key. It turned with a soft *click*.

We slipped inside. The kitchen was silent, the stainless steel appliances gleaming in the moonlight. We crept through the hallways, avoiding the security cameras Ben had pointed out on the schematics.

The study was on the first floor, facing the garden. The door was closed.

I put my hand on the knob and turned it slowly.

It opened.

The room was dark, smelling of leather and old paper. The desk sat in the center of the room, massive and imposing.

"The false bottom is in the center drawer," Ben whispered. "Under the felt lining."

I walked to the desk and pulled the drawer open. I ran my fingers along the felt. There was a small catch, a hidden latch.

I pressed it.

The bottom of the drawer popped up.

Inside was a single, thick envelope.

I pulled it out. It was sealed with wax. *Sterling Trust.*

I broke the seal.

Inside were three birth certificates.

*Leo Sterling. Born June 14, 1988. Mother: Clara Sterling.*

*Sofia Thorne. Born June 15, 1988. Mother: Maria Elena Rodriguez.*

*Mark Miller. Born June 20, 1988. Mother: Alice Miller.*

I stared at the third one. *Mark Miller.*

Ben let out a choked sob. "He's mine," he whispered. "He's my nephew."

"And Edith stole him," I said. "She killed your sister and stole her baby."

I looked at the other papers in the envelope. There was a ledger. A handwritten list of payments.

*Dr. Thorne: $100,000.*
*Miller's Furniture: $50,000.*
*Fire Station 4: $10,000.*
*The Sanctuary: $500,000.*

And at the bottom, a note in Edith's handwriting.

*Timeline secure. All assets acquired. No loose ends.*

She had treated us like assets. Like stocks in a portfolio.

"We have everything," I said. "We have the proof."

I turned to leave.

But then I saw something else on the desk. A calendar. It was open to today's date.

There was a circle around the date. And a note written in red ink.

*Trip to Paris.*

I frowned. Edith hated Paris. She said it was dirty and overrated.

I looked closer. Underneath *Paris*, in smaller letters:

*Flight 104. 6:00 AM.*

"She's leaving," I whispered. "She's running."

"We have to stop her," Ben said.

"We can't," I said. "It's 4:00 a.m. She's probably already at the airport."

I looked at the calendar again. There was something else written in the margin.

*Clara.*

And next to it, a question mark.

*Clara?*

Why would she write Clara's name next to her flight?

Unless...

Unless she wasn't going alone.

Unless she was taking the only witness who could identify Leo.

"She's taking Clara," I said, panic rising in my throat. "She's kidnapping her again."

"We have to get to the airport," Ben said.

"No," I said. "We'll never make it. But we can stop her here."

I grabbed the phone on the desk. I dialed the police.

"911, what is your emergency?"

"I want to report a kidnapping," I said. "And a murder."

"Who is the victim?"

"Alice Miller," I said, looking at Ben. "And Clara Sterling."

"And who is the suspect?"

I looked at the empty chair behind the desk. At the portrait of Edith hanging on the wall, smiling her shark smile.

"Edith Sterling," I said. "My mother."

The line went silent for a second.

"Ma'am, are you safe?"

"No," I said. "I'm in her house."

And then, the lights in the study turned on.

I spun around.

Edith was standing in the doorway. She was wearing a trench coat and holding a travel bag.

And in her other hand, she was holding a gun.

"Put the phone down, Sarah," she said. "We have a plane to catch."