Chapter 2 - The Name Alexander Was Never Supposed to Hear
Alexander moved before Peter could stop him.
“Stay with Eli.”
“Sir—”
“Stay with him.”
Alexander left the bedroom and stepped into the hallway.
Another floorboard groaned below.
He descended slowly.
No one stood in the living room.
The front door moved slightly in the breeze.
Alexander crossed the room.
Then he noticed something on the floor.
An envelope.
White.
Clean.
Completely wrong in that ruined house.
His name was written across the front.
ALEXANDER MORGAN.
He picked it up.
Inside was a single photograph.
Anna Mercer.
Older than the photograph upstairs.
She stood outside a courthouse.
On the back were six words.
YOU SHOULD HAVE LEFT THIS BURIED.
Alexander stared at them.
Peter came down the stairs.
“Who was here?”
“Gone.”
Peter looked at the photograph.
His face tightened.
“Do you recognize her?”
“Yes.”
“Who is she?”
Alexander didn’t answer immediately.
“She was someone I knew.”
“That doesn’t sound like all of it.”
“It isn’t.”
Sirens approached in the distance.
Eli appeared at the top of the stairs.
Alexander quickly slipped the photograph into his pocket.
The boy looked terrified.
“You called them.”
“I did.”
“You promised.”
Alexander went back upstairs.
“Listen to me. Your mom and sister need to be treated with respect. There are things adults have to do when someone dies.”
“I don’t want strangers touching them.”
“I understand.”
“No, you don’t.”
Alexander flinched.
Eli’s face crumpled.
“You have a big house. You have everything.”
“No,” Alexander said quietly. “I don’t.”
Eli looked at him.
Alexander crouched.
“My mother died when I was nineteen.”
The boy’s expression changed slightly.
“I didn’t get to say goodbye. I was angry for a long time.”
“What happened?”
“She was sick.”
“Like my mom?”
“I don’t know.”
Alexander looked toward the bedroom.
“But I promise you this. No one is going to treat your mother or your sister like they don’t matter.”
Eli stared into his eyes.
“Promise?”
“Yes.”
This time, Alexander understood the weight of the word before he said it.
Police and paramedics arrived minutes later.
Their initial examination confirmed what Alexander already knew.
Marissa and four-year-old Sophie Turner had both died.
But the cause was not immediately clear.
There were no obvious injuries.
No sign of forced entry.
Several prescription bottles stood near the bed.
One paramedic frowned at them.
“These labels have been removed.”
Alexander looked sharply at him.
“Why?”
“Could be nothing.”
“But?”
The paramedic didn’t answer.
A police officer named Detective Lena Brooks arrived shortly after.
She was in her early forties, practical, observant, and unimpressed by Alexander’s wealth.
She asked to speak with Eli.
Alexander remained beside the boy.
Brooks glanced at him.
“Mr. Morgan, I’d prefer—”
“He stays,” Eli said.
The detective looked at the child.
“Okay.”
She crouched.
“Eli, when did your mother get sick?”
“A long time ago.”
“What kind of sick?”
“She got tired.”
“Anything else?”
“She coughed.”
“Did she see a doctor?”
“Sometimes.”
“What about Sophie?”
“She got sick later.”
Alexander listened.
Brooks asked, “Who brought your mom medicine?”
Eli thought.
“The man.”
Alexander’s attention sharpened.
“What man?” Brooks asked.
“The man with the gray car.”
“Do you know his name?”
“No.”
“How often did he come?”
“Sometimes.”
“What did he look like?”
Eli hesitated.
“He wore nice clothes.”
Alexander and Brooks exchanged a look.
“Did he ever talk to you?”
“No.”
“Did your mother know him?”
“She didn’t like him.”
“How do you know?”
“They argued.”
“What did they argue about?”
Eli looked down.
“He said she had to sign.”
“Sign what?”
“I don’t know.”
Brooks continued carefully.
“What did your mom say?”
Eli’s small hands closed into fists.
“She said, ‘Tell him he can’t erase us.’”
Alexander’s entire body went still.
Brooks noticed.
“Does that mean something to you?”
“No.”
It was a lie.
Or rather, Alexander didn’t know yet.
But it felt like something he should know.
After the authorities removed Marissa and Sophie, Eli stood in the empty doorway.
He held the silver locket.
Alexander stood behind him.
“You’re coming with me.”
Eli looked over his shoulder.
“Where?”
“My house.”
“Why?”
“Because you need somewhere safe.”
“Until when?”
Alexander had no answer.
That scared him more than he expected.
“Until we figure this out.”
Eli looked at the empty room.
“I don’t want them to forget where I am.”
“They won’t.”
“How do you know?”
Alexander swallowed.
“Because I won’t let anyone forget.”
Back at the estate, Alexander gave Eli a guest room near his own.
The boy refused the enormous bed at first.
It was too clean.
Too soft.
Too unfamiliar.
Eventually Peter brought a smaller blanket and left the lights on.
Alexander spent the evening in his study.
On the desk in front of him lay the photograph, the silver locket, and the envelope addressed to Marissa Mercer Turner.
He called his private attorney, Rachel Vaughn.
“Find everything you can about Anna Mercer.”
There was silence.
“The Anna Mercer?”
“Yes.”
“You haven’t said that name in twenty years.”
“I know.”
“What happened?”
Alexander looked at the locket.
“Find out whether she had children.”
Rachel paused.
“Alexander.”
“Tonight.”
“All right.”
“And search Marissa Mercer Turner.”
“Who is she?”
“I’m trying to find out.”
He ended the call.
Peter entered carrying a tray.
“You haven’t eaten.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“The boy hasn’t either.”
Alexander looked up.
“Why?”
“He says he can’t eat until his mother and sister do.”
Alexander closed his eyes.
Peter sat down.
“That child needs more than a guest room.”
“I know.”
“You can’t solve grief with money.”
“I know.”
“And you can’t turn him into a project.”
Alexander glared at him.
Peter didn’t move.
“I said I know.”
“Good.”
Alexander leaned back.
“Do you remember Anna?”
Peter thought.
“From your early twenties?”
“Yes.”
“Your mother didn’t like her.”
“That’s putting it mildly.”
Peter frowned.
“Your mother said she left.”
“That’s what I was told.”
“You think she didn’t?”
Alexander looked at the initials on the locket.
“A.M.M.”
Peter nodded.
“Anna Marie Mercer?”
“Yes.”
“Why would her locket be with Marissa?”
Alexander looked toward the hallway.
“Eli says Anna was his grandmother.”
Peter stared.
A phone vibrated.
Alexander looked at his screen.
Rachel.
He answered immediately.
“What did you find?”
Her voice sounded strange.
“More than I expected.”
“Tell me.”
“Anna Mercer had one child.”
Alexander gripped the phone.
“When?”
“Twenty-three years ago.”
His heartbeat stopped for half a second.
“A daughter?”
“Yes.”
“Name?”
A pause.
“Marissa.”
Alexander stood.
“No.”
“Alexander—”
“No. Anna left before that.”
“According to public records, Marissa was born seven months after Anna disappeared from your life.”
Alexander’s hand tightened around the desk.
Seven months.
Rachel continued.
“There’s no father listed on the original birth certificate.”
The study became silent.
Peter watched him.
“Alexander?”
Rachel’s voice came through the phone.
“There’s more.”
“What?”
“Two years after Marissa was born, an amended record was filed.”
“By whom?”
“I’m still tracing it.”
“Whose name was added?”
Another pause.
“None.”
Alexander frowned.
“Then what was changed?”
“The child’s legal surname.”
“From what?”
Rachel hesitated.
“From Morgan.”
Alexander stopped moving.
For the first time in decades, the name Alexander Morgan felt foreign to him.
“What did you say?”
“Marissa’s original birth record listed her as Marissa Morgan.”
Peter slowly stood.
Rachel continued.
“And someone paid a judge to seal the entire file.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know yet.”
Alexander’s mind went immediately to one person.
His mother.
But she had been dead for twenty-six years.
That made no sense.
Unless someone else had helped her.
He sat down again.
“How did Marissa die?”
“That report isn’t complete.”
“Her husband?”
“Daniel Turner. Dead six years.”
“How?”
“Construction accident.”
“Family?”
“No surviving relatives listed.”
Alexander looked toward the ceiling.
Eli was upstairs.
A seven-year-old child.
Possibly his grandson.
The thought did not fit inside his understanding of his own life.
Rachel spoke again.
“Alexander, there’s something else.”
“What?”
“I searched the property where Marissa lived.”
“Yes?”
“She didn’t own it.”
“Who did?”
Rachel gave him the name.
Alexander’s face went blank.
Peter leaned forward.
“What?”
Alexander lowered the phone.
“What name?”
He looked at Peter.
“Caldwell Holdings.”
Peter’s face changed.
Alexander stared at him.
Peter Caldwell had served him for twelve years.
Peter Caldwell had arranged everything from family funerals to corporate travel.
Peter Caldwell had just brought a frightened child into his home.
And one of Peter’s companies owned the house where Marissa Mercer Turner had died.
Peter slowly shook his head.
“That’s impossible.”
Alexander’s voice became very quiet.
“Is it?”
“I’ve never heard of Caldwell Holdings.”
“It carries your name.”
“So do thousands of businesses.”
Alexander watched him.
Peter looked genuinely shocked.
His phone buzzed.
A message appeared.
UNKNOWN NUMBER.
Alexander opened it.
There was a photograph attached.
Eli asleep in the guest room.
Taken minutes earlier.
From inside the house.
Beneath it were five words.
THE BOY DOESN’T BELONG THERE.
Alexander looked toward the study door.
It was open.
May you like
A shadow moved at the far end of the hallway.
Someone was inside the mansion.
