Chapter 26: He's Not Dead

I stared at the message until the screen dimmed.

"The originals aren't missing anymore."

"They're already on the market."

No number.

No traceable sender.

Just another reminder that someone had been watching me long before I realized it.

Damien looked over my shoulder.

"Another anonymous message?"

"Yes."

"They're becoming bolder."

"Because they're winning," I replied.

I slipped the phone into my pocket.

"Not for much longer."

Damien gathered the sketches and magazine into the portfolio.

"We'll keep these somewhere safe."

"Not here."

"Nothing inside this estate is safe anymore."

I looked around the drawing room.

Every painting.

Every cabinet.

Every locked door.

For eleven months I had believed this mansion was my prison.

Now I understood it was someone else's hiding place.

"Rose," I called.

She appeared almost immediately.

"Yes, Madam?"

"Has anyone entered my guest room today?"

She hesitated.

"Not while I was on duty."

"What about before dinner?"

"I saw Mr. Fletcher near the east corridor."

"The estate manager?" Damien asked.

"Yes, sir."

"He said he was checking the air conditioning."

Damien's expression darkened.

"The guest room doesn't have a separate ventilation system."

"Exactly," I said.

He turned towards the hallway.

"I'll speak with him."

"No," I stopped him.

"If he's involved, confronting him only warns everyone else."

"Then what do you suggest?"

"We let them believe I still know nothing."

His eyes remained on mine for several seconds.

Then he nodded.

"Fine."

"We'll wait."

"No," I corrected quietly.

"We'll watch."

The grandfather clock struck midnight.

The sound echoed through the silent house.

Suddenly Damien's phone vibrated.

He answered immediately.

"Ashford."

The call lasted less than thirty seconds.

When it ended, his face had lost every trace of colour.

"What happened?"

"Victor Hayes."

"What about him?"

"He asked me to meet him."

"Now?"

"Immediately."

"Why?"

"He said he finally confirmed the identity of the witness from the clinic."

My heartbeat quickened.

"Who is he?"

Damien looked at me carefully.

"Victor refused to tell me over the phone."

"He said only one sentence."

"What sentence?"

He repeated it slowly.

"Tell Vivian... her brother never lied."

Within twenty minutes we were driving through the empty streets.

Neither of us spoke.

Rain continued to fall across the windscreen.

Victor's office occupied the second floor of an old brick building overlooking the river.

The lights were already on.

He opened the door before we knocked.

"Come inside."

His usual calm expression had disappeared.

Several files covered his desk.

A laptop played silent security footage.

"You found him?" I asked.

"No."

"Then what happened?"

Victor handed me a thin folder.

"Read the first page."

I opened it.

Hospital admission records.

Private facility.

Three years ago.

Patient name.

Blank.

"Why isn't there a name?"

"Because someone paid to remove it."

"Continue."

The second page contained photographs.

A man lying unconscious.

His face bruised.

Most of it hidden beneath oxygen tubing.

Only the left side remained visible.

My breathing stopped.

"I know him."

Damien leaned closer.

"Who is he?"

"I don't know his name."

"But I've seen him before."

"Where?" Victor asked.

I searched my memory.

Then it returned.

"Nathaniel's workshop."

"Two weeks before the accident."

"He arrived after midnight."

"They argued for nearly an hour."

"About what?"

"I couldn't hear."

"Nathaniel sent me upstairs."

Victor exchanged a quick glance with Damien.

"That matches the timeline."

"Who is he?" I asked again.

"According to hospital records, he was brought in fifteen minutes after Nathaniel's crash."

"Different ambulance."

"Different location."

"But the injuries matched the same collision."

"Then he was in the other vehicle."

"No."

"He was inside Nathaniel's car."

The room fell completely silent.

"That's impossible," Damien whispered.

"Police photographed only one body."

"Exactly," Victor replied.

"Which means someone removed him before the official investigation began."

"Who?"

"That's what I've spent three years trying to answer."

Victor opened another file.

Inside lay a single security photograph.

A hospital corridor.

Two men pushing a wheelchair.

The unconscious patient sat between them.

"This was taken twelve hours after the surgery," Victor explained.

"Minutes later every camera in that corridor stopped recording."

"Can you identify the men?" Damien asked.

"One of them."

Victor slid the photograph across the desk.

My eyes focused on the man standing behind the wheelchair.

He wore a surgical mask.

A cap covered most of his face.

But not all of it.

A silver signet ring caught the camera flash.

The Ashford family crest.

"Another Ashford ring," I whispered.

"Yes," Victor said.

"But that's not the important part."

"Look at his wrist."

I leaned closer.

A tattoo peeked from beneath the sleeve.

Three black ravens flying in a circle.

My pulse quickened.

"Raven Capital," I breathed.

"Exactly."

"The company wasn't just laundering money."

"They had people inside the hospital."

Damien stared silently at the photograph.

Then Victor spoke the words neither of us expected.

"The witness everyone is searching for isn't the real surprise."

"Then what is?" I asked.

Victor looked directly at me.

"Three independent sources confirmed the same information this morning."

"Nathaniel Ashford's body was never identified by a member of his family."

I frowned.

"Because they told me not to see him."

"The coffin remained closed."

"Exactly."

Victor took one final document from the folder.

It was the coroner's release form.

The signature line where a family member should have signed was completely blank.

"Vivian," Victor said quietly.

"Until someone proves whose body was actually buried..."

"You cannot legally say your brother is dead."