Chapter 2 The Man Who Knew My Name

"Tell me what happened to my mother."

Adrian didn't answer immediately.

He drove through Manhattan's rain-soaked streets, one hand on the steering wheel and the other resting beside a phone that had already received three calls he refused to answer.

The city glittered beyond the tinted windows. People hurried beneath umbrellas, taxis honked, and a couple argued outside a restaurant as though nothing in the world had changed.

My world had changed in less than an hour.

I had learned that my childhood might be a lie, that someone had tried to kill me, and that the stranger beside me knew more about my past than he was willing to admit.

"I'm waiting," I said.

"Your mother disappeared shortly after you were born."

"Disappeared?"

"Her car was found near the Hudson River. No body was recovered."

"And your family declared her dead?"

"My uncle did."

"Convenient."

Adrian glanced at me.

"You're quick."

"I've spent years working out how people lie without realizing they're doing it."

"And what have you worked out about me?"

"That you're withholding information, you're armed, and you're taking me somewhere you haven't named. So far, your rescue looks suspiciously like an abduction."

His mouth twitched.

"I'm beginning to understand why my uncle is afraid of you."

"I'm beginning to understand why your uncle might be right."

For a moment, the tension between us shifted into something almost resembling amusement.

Then Adrian's phone rang again.

He answered through the car's speaker.

"Speak."

"Sir, the penthouse is compromised," a man's voice said. "Two men entered through the service elevator. Security found a tracking device beneath your vehicle."

Adrian's expression hardened.

"Evacuate the staff. Call Mercer. No police until I say otherwise."

He ended the call.

I folded my arms. "So, where are we going now?"

"Somewhere my uncle doesn't know about."

"Does such a place exist?"

"One."

He turned off the main road and entered a private underground garage beneath an unmarked building. Two security officers opened the gate after checking his face.

The elevator required a fingerprint, a keycard, and a numerical code.

"Paranoid much?" I asked.

"Alive much," he replied.

The apartment upstairs was beautiful in the cold, impersonal way of a luxury hotel. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the city. There were no family photographs, no clutter, and no evidence that anyone had ever laughed there.

Adrian handed me a towel.

"There's a bathroom down the hall. Clean clothes are in the wardrobe."

"You keep women's clothes here?"

"Emergency supplies."

"That's an interesting name for a wardrobe full of dresses."

His eyes narrowed slightly.

"You can question my housekeeping arrangements after we've established that you aren't being hunted by half of Manhattan."

I went to the bathroom and locked the door.

My reflection looked back at me: wet hair, pale cheeks, a small cut above my eyebrow. I removed the bracelet carefully and examined its underside.

There was an inscription I'd never noticed.

S.B. - ALWAYS RETURN HOME.

My fingers tightened around the metal.

When I returned, Adrian had spread documents across the dining table.

A birth certificate. A newspaper clipping. A photograph of a woman holding a newborn baby.

The woman had my eyes.

The baby wore the bracelet.

"Her name was Evelyn Blackwell," Adrian said. "Your mother."

I sat down slowly.

"Who was my father?"

"Alexander Blackwell. My father's older brother."

I looked up.

"So I'm your cousin?"

"Possibly."

"Possibly?"

"The official records say Alexander's daughter died shortly after birth. The private records suggest a different child was taken from the hospital. Your DNA would settle the question."

"You want a DNA test?"

"I want the truth."

"No. You want something from me. People don't risk being shot in a parking garage out of curiosity."

Adrian leaned against the table.

"My uncle controls sixty-two percent of the family's voting shares through trusts that were established after Alexander died. If you are the legitimate heir, some of those shares could transfer to you."

"And you want them."

"I want Victor removed before he destroys the company."

"So you intend to use me to overthrow him."

"I intend to give you the information he spent twenty-four years hiding."

I studied him.

He wasn't asking me to trust him. He was offering a transaction.

At least that was honest.

"What happens if the test says I'm not a Blackwell?"

"You walk away."

"And if it says I am?"

"Then you'll have enemies you never knew existed."

I stood.

"I already have enemies. They just used to be people who stole my lunch at work."

For the first time, Adrian laughed.

The sound transformed his face. He looked younger, less guarded, and dangerously attractive.

I immediately disliked noticing.

He opened a drawer and placed a small velvet box on the table.

Inside lay a gold signet ring bearing a black crown.

"This belonged to your father."

"I don't want it."

"You haven't even touched it."

"I don't need jewelry to know who I am."

"Your identity is exactly what my family stole from you."

"And I won't let you replace one cage with another."

His expression became unreadable.

"Then tell me what you want."

"Access to every record you have about my mother. The original hospital files. Financial records. Security footage. Everything. And I choose the laboratory for the DNA test."

"Agreed."

"You didn't even negotiate."

"I expected you to ask for more."

"Don't worry. I will."

I reached for the documents.

A photograph slipped from the pile.

It showed my mother standing beside a young man outside a hospital. He had his arm around her waist. She was smiling, her hand resting against her stomach.

I turned the photograph over.

A date had been written in blue ink.

Twenty-four years ago.

Below it were six words.

If anything happens, trust Adrian.

My throat tightened.

"Who took this?"

"My father."

"Why did he keep it?"

Adrian looked at the photograph for a long time.

"Because he believed your mother was murdered."

"And did he know who did it?"