Chapter 3 - The Bloodline Nobody Wanted
For several seconds, nobody moved.
Then Mason grabbed Elena and pulled her behind a concrete support column.
“Stay down.”
“I can’t see anything.”
“That’s the point.”
Footsteps thundered overhead.
Mason’s guards moved through the dark.
Someone shouted.
A door slammed.
Then silence.
Emergency lights flickered on.
Red illumination filled the basement.
Thomas Vale was still alive.
Elena stared at him.
“You said Callahan.”
Thomas looked exhausted.
“Yes.”
“Which Callahan?”
Mason looked at him too.
Thomas swallowed.
“Michael.”
Mason’s grandfather.
Elena’s knees nearly gave out.
“That’s impossible.”
Thomas said nothing.
Mason’s expression became unreadable.
Elena shook her head.
“My mother was maybe twenty-five when I was born.”
“Twenty-six,” Thomas said.
“And Michael Callahan?”
“Fifty-two.”
Elena stepped backward.
“No.”
Thomas nodded sadly.
“Sofia worked for him.”
“What kind of work?”
“Accounting.”
Mason’s attention sharpened.
“She handled books?”
“She handled the books Michael didn’t want Patrick seeing.”
That changed everything.
Elena looked at Mason.
“So my mother wasn’t just your mother’s friend.”
“No,” Thomas said. “Sofia was the only person Michael trusted with the exit plan.”
Elena felt anger rising.
“My entire life was a lie.”
Thomas shook his head.
“No. Your mother tried to protect you.”
“By telling me nothing?”
“By keeping you alive.”
Mason stepped closer.
“What did Patrick know?”
“Enough to suspect Michael had transferred assets.”
“To whom?”
Thomas looked at Elena.
Mason understood first.
“No.”
“Yes.”
Elena stared between them.
“What?”
Thomas breathed deeply.
“Michael created a private trust shortly before his death.”
“For Elena?” Mason asked.
“For both of you.”
Elena felt dizzy.
Mason looked equally shocked.
“Why me?”
“You were Catherine’s son. His legitimate grandson.”
“And Elena?”
“His daughter.”
The word landed hard.
Daughter.
Elena had grown up believing her father was a man named Luis Ruiz who had died before she was born.
She had no photographs.
No letters.
No grave.
Only a name.
Now even that disappeared.
“What happened to Michael?” she asked.
Thomas looked at Mason.
“Officially?”
“Heart attack.”
“And unofficially?”
Thomas said nothing.
Mason’s eyes turned cold.
“My father.”
Thomas looked away.
That was enough.
A guard approached.
“Mr. Callahan.”
“What?”
“Upstairs is clear.”
“The shots?”
“Two rounds into the ceiling. Diversion.”
Mason frowned.
“Diversion for what?”
The guard looked toward Thomas.
His face changed.
Mason turned.
The basement wall behind Thomas had a narrow utility door.
It was open.
Someone had entered.
Elena looked down.
Thomas’s jacket pocket had been cut.
“What was taken?” Mason demanded.
Thomas reached into it.
His face went white.
“The map.”
Mason cursed.
Elena stared.
“You had a map?”
“To Michael’s lake house.”
“And now?”
“Gone.”
Mason turned toward his security team.
“Every camera. Every exit. Find whoever came through.”
The guard left.
Elena crossed her arms.
“Your security seems remarkably bad for a billionaire.”
Mason looked at her.
“I’m beginning to agree.”
Despite everything, she almost smiled.
Almost.
They returned upstairs.
Mason ordered his people to relocate Thomas to a private medical facility.
Elena refused to leave without him explaining the trust.
Mason finally took her to the living room.
They sat across from each other.
The brass key rested on the coffee table between them.
“What do you know about your grandfather’s death?” Elena asked.
“Very little I trust.”
“Start there.”
Mason leaned back.
“Michael died in 1995. I was seven. My father took control of the family businesses afterward.”
“And your mother vanished a year later?”
“Eleven months.”
“Sofia?”
“According to Thomas, she disappeared from Chicago around the same time.”
Elena nodded.
“My mother always told me we moved because she found work in Indiana.”
“She was running.”
“From Patrick.”
“Yes.”
Elena stared at the key.
“Why didn’t he find us?”
“Maybe he did.”
She looked up.
“What?”
Mason’s voice hardened.
“You said your mother died in a car accident.”
“Yes.”
“Do you remember it?”
“No. I was at school.”
“Who identified her body?”
“My aunt.”
“Name?”
“Rosa.”
“Where is she?”
“Died six years ago.”
Mason looked troubled.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“That is not nothing.”
He stood.
“Elena, your mother was hiding evidence powerful enough that Patrick killed his own father to get it.”
“You don’t know that.”
“No. But I know my father.”
She hated how calmly he said it.
“What does the trust contain?”
“Possibly property.”
“How much?”
“I don’t know.”
“You’re a billionaire and you don’t know where family property is?”
Mason gave her a cold look.
“My father specialized in hiding ownership.”
Elena glanced at the key.
“If Michael made me beneficiary, why didn’t anyone ever tell me?”
“Because everyone who knew was either dead or hiding.”
The apartment suddenly felt small.
“What about your mother?”
Mason’s face tightened.
“If she’s alive, she has spent thirty years not contacting me.”
“Maybe she couldn’t.”
He did not answer.
Elena studied him.
For all his wealth and power, Mason was still the abandoned eight-year-old boy in that old photograph.
She softened.
Only slightly.
“What did your mother look like?”
Mason removed the picture again.
Elena examined Catherine.
Elegant.
Dark hair.
Kind eyes.
“She looks like you.”
“So people say.”
“She looks afraid in this photo.”
Mason looked closer.
He had probably seen the image thousands of times.
Now he noticed it too.
Catherine was smiling.
But one hand was clenched around something near her waist.
Elena leaned closer.
“Zoom in.”
“It’s a printed photograph.”
“Take a picture with your phone.”
Mason did.
He enlarged the image.
Catherine’s fingers were wrapped around a thin chain.
At the end hung another brass key.
Mason stared.
“The second key.”
Elena’s pulse jumped.
“Where is the original picture from?”
“My grandfather’s house.”
“Do you still own it?”
“No.”
“Who does?”
Mason paused.
“My uncle.”
“Patrick’s brother?”
“Yes.”
“What’s his name?”
“Dominic.”
Elena saw his expression.
“You don’t like him.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because he smiles before he lies.”
Mason stood.
“We’re going there.”
“Now?”
“Yes.”
“It is after one in the morning.”
“That improves our chances of catching him unprepared.”
“That is something only a criminal would say.”
Mason looked at her.
“I never claimed otherwise.”
Thirty minutes later, they reached a massive stone estate outside the city.
Dominic Callahan opened the door himself.
He was sixty-four.
Silver hair.
Expensive robe.
Expression irritated.
Then he saw Elena.
His irritation vanished.
“Sofia.”
Elena stopped.
“My name is Elena.”
Dominic stared.
Mason stepped between them.
“You knew her mother.”
Dominic recovered.
“Everyone knew Sofia.”
“Did you know Michael was Elena’s father?”
Silence.
Dominic looked toward Elena.
“Come inside.”
The library smelled of old leather and whiskey.
Dominic poured himself a drink.
Mason remained standing.
“Where is the photograph?”
“What photograph?”
“The one of my mother and Sofia at the lake.”
Dominic smiled.
There it was.
The smile before the lie.
“I don’t know.”
Mason walked closer.
“You do.”
Dominic drank.
“Elena, did your mother ever tell you what happened the night Michael died?”
“No.”
“She should have.”
“Tell me.”
Dominic looked at Mason.
“Your father found Michael in this house.”
Mason’s eyes narrowed.
“They argued.”
“About the trust?”
“Yes.”
“And then?”
“Patrick left.”
“Michael died.”
“Yes.”
Mason leaned forward.
“You’re lying.”
Dominic smiled again.
“I haven’t finished.”
He walked to a wall safe.
Opened it.
Removed a sealed envelope.
On the front was written:
FOR MASON AND ELENA. TO BE OPENED TOGETHER.
Elena’s breath caught.
Dominic placed it on the desk.
“Michael gave me this three hours before he died.”
Mason stared.
“You had this for thirty-one years?”
“I was told to wait.”
“For what?”
Dominic pointed toward Elena’s brass key.
“For that.”
Mason reached for the envelope.
Dominic stopped him.
“There’s one problem.”
“What?”
“That envelope isn’t the only thing Michael left.”
He opened a drawer.
Inside was a recent photograph.
It showed an elderly woman exiting a grocery store.
Mason froze.
Elena recognized her from the old picture.
Catherine Callahan.
Alive.
May you like
On the back was a date from three days earlier.
And beneath it, an address.
