Chapter 4 - THE SIXTY-MILLION-DOLLAR TRAP
Saint Mary's Hospital was nearly empty at midnight.
Too empty.
I parked three blocks away.
No convoy.
No guards.
No weapons visible.
Just me and the contract.
The $60 million agreement was inside my briefcase.
If someone wanted it, they knew something about the deal.
Something only five people knew.
I entered through the emergency entrance.
A nurse looked at me.
Then looked away.
Too quickly.
I knew immediately.
She was involved.
I followed the hallway toward pediatrics.
The lights flickered.
A door opened.
“Mr. Caruso?”
I stopped.
A doctor stood there.
“Where's the baby?”
“Room 214.”
I entered.
Empty.
A crib stood beside the window.
The same faded yellow onesie was folded inside.
But Grace wasn't there.
Then I noticed the mirror.
Written across it in red lipstick:
YOU'RE LOOKING FOR THE WRONG DEAD MAN.
I stared at the words.
My phone rang.
“Hello?”
A woman's voice.
“Alexander.”
I knew that voice too.
Claire.
My father's former assistant.
She had disappeared six years ago.
“You're alive.”
“Yes.”
“Where's Grace?”
“Safe.”
“Where?”
“Not with me.”
My jaw tightened.
“Who has her?”
“Her father.”
I stopped breathing.
“Julian.”
“Yes.”
“When did you last see him?”
“Three days ago.”
My hands curled into fists.
“Where?”
“I can't tell you.”
“Then why call me?”
“To warn you.”
“About what?”
“Your family isn't fighting over money.”
“Then what?”
“Power.”
She hung up.
I stared at the phone.
The hospital suddenly seemed too quiet.
Then I heard footsteps.
Five men entered.
Armed.
I reached for my gun.
One of them raised his hands.
“Easy.”
“Who are you?”
He removed his mask.
My blood froze.
I knew him.
Anthony Caruso.
My cousin.
I'd buried him nine years ago.
He smiled.
“You're finally asking the right questions.”
I aimed my weapon.
“Everyone in my family is supposed to be dead.”
“That's what they wanted you to believe.”
“Where's Grace?”
Anthony looked toward the hallway.
“She's already on her way to the person who started all of this.”
“Who?”
He smiled.
“Your father.”
I almost laughed.
“My father died six years ago.”
Anthony's expression hardened.
“No.”
He stepped closer.
“Your father disappeared six years ago.”
The difference hit me.
All these years, I'd never seen my father's body.
There had been a closed casket.
A funeral.
A death certificate.
But no body.
My father's voice suddenly returned to my memory.
The night before his supposed death, he'd said:
“Alexander, if anything happens to me, trust Julian.”
I'd forgotten.
Or perhaps I'd forced myself to forget.
Anthony took the briefcase.
I let him.
Inside was the contract.
He opened it.
Then smiled.
“You don't understand what you just brought us.”
“What is it?”
“The Caruso inheritance transfer.”
I frowned.
“What?”
“The $60 million isn't a business deal.”
He flipped the final page.
My signature was already there.
I stared.
I hadn't signed it.
Someone had forged my signature.
Anthony whispered:
“Once this contract closes, control of the Caruso trust transfers to the person named in the original agreement.”
“Who?”
He looked at me.
“Grace Caruso.”
My heart stopped.
My niece.
The child who legally inherited everything.
Someone had built this entire trap around a nine-month-old girl.
Before I could respond, gunfire erupted outside.
Anthony shoved me down.
Men screamed.
Windows shattered.
He grabbed my arm.
“Run!”
We escaped through a service tunnel.
But as we reached the parking garage, Anthony stopped.
A black SUV was waiting.
The back door opened.
Inside sat a man.
Gray beard.
Scar across his cheek.
Steel-gray eyes.
Julian.
My brother looked at me.
Neither of us spoke.
Then he said:
“You shouldn't have come.”
I stepped toward him.
“Julian.”
His expression broke.
For one second, he looked like the little boy I'd grown up with.
Then his eyes moved past me.
Toward the hospital.
“Where's Grace?”
I froze.
“She's with you.”
Julian shook his head.
“No.”
May you like
His voice cracked.
“They took her from me two hours ago.”
