My brother Vittorio stood in the doorway with a bottle of expensive wine.

He looked relaxed.

Almost cheerful.

And for one terrifying second, I remembered Lily’s voice.

“The person who sold me was Uncle Vittorio.”

Vittorio smiled at Daisy.

“Well, aren’t you a beautiful little princess?”

Brutus growled.

The sound came from deep inside his chest.

Vittorio stopped walking.

“What’s wrong with that animal?”

“Nothing,” I replied.

I slipped Lily’s recording device into my pocket.

“He just doesn’t like strangers.”

My brother laughed.

“Strangers? I’ve lived in this family longer than that dog.”

“Then perhaps he knows something I don’t.”

Vittorio’s smile weakened.

Emily stood silently beside the fireplace.

Daisy hid behind my leg.

“Grandpa,” she whispered.

That single word nearly broke me.

Grandpa.

I’d never heard anyone call me that before.

I lifted her into my arms.

Vittorio stared.

“Grandpa?”

“She’s Lily’s daughter.”

The bottle slipped slightly in his hand.

For the briefest moment, I saw genuine shock.

Then he recovered.

“Lily had a child?”

“Yes.”

“And you believe this housekeeper?”

“I believe the hospital bracelet.”

Vittorio’s eyes flicked toward Emily.

Something passed between them.

Recognition.

Emily looked away.

I pretended not to notice.

“Join me for dinner tonight,” I told him.

“Of course.”

“Bring your wife.”

Vittorio’s expression darkened.

“My wife is visiting her sister.”

“Then come alone.”

After he left, I locked the study door.

Emily was shaking.

“You shouldn’t have told him.”

“He already knew.”

“No,” she whispered. “He knew Lily had a baby. He didn’t know Daisy had survived.”

I stared at her.

“Survived what?”

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Emily sat down.

And finally told me the truth about Saint Catherine’s Hospital.

Twenty-six months earlier, Lily had given birth to Daisy during a violent thunderstorm.

Emily was the nurse assigned to her room.

Shortly after midnight, two men arrived claiming to be private security.

They carried documents authorizing Daisy’s transfer to a specialist neonatal unit.

The documents bore my signature.

A signature I’d never written.

Emily had refused to release the baby.

One of the men threatened her.

Then Lily whispered something extraordinary.

“Switch the bracelets.”

Emily stared at her.

“What?”

“Please. They’ll take my daughter.”

There were two newborn girls in the maternity ward that night.

Daisy.

And another baby whose mother had requested a private adoption.

Lily asked Emily to switch the identification paperwork temporarily, making it appear that Daisy had already been discharged.

Emily did.

When the men returned, they found an empty bassinet.

Lily told them her daughter had been transferred.

They took Lily instead.

“And the other baby?” I demanded.

“Safe. She was never taken. Her records were corrected after the men left.”

I struggled to breathe.

“Why didn’t you call me?”

Emily looked ashamed.

“Because the transfer papers had your signature. Lily believed you might be involved.”

The words struck me.

My daughter had believed her own father had betrayed her.

“Where did you take Daisy?”

“To my sister’s apartment in Queens.”

“And Lily?”

Emily’s voice broke.

“I didn’t see her again for more than two years.”

I stood.

“Until three nights ago.”

She nodded.

“She came to my apartment.”

“Why?”

“To tell me it was finally safe to bring Daisy here.”

I stared at her.

“That makes no sense.”

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“Lily said she needed Daisy to find something only she could uncover.”

“The box beneath the tree?”

Emily shook her head.

“No. The box was just the beginning.”

Before I could question her further, my phone vibrated.

A message from my head of surveillance.

BOSS, YOU NEED TO SEE THIS.

Attached was footage from the mansion’s west gate.

Timestamp: 2:13 a.m.

Three nights earlier.

A woman in a gray coat approached the gate.

She lowered her hood.

My heart stopped.

Lily.

Older.

Thinner.

But unmistakably my daughter.

She placed something inside the gate’s delivery compartment.

Then turned toward the camera.

And smiled.

Not at the guard.

At me.

As if she knew I’d eventually see the recording.

Then she raised one finger to her lips.

Be quiet.

A second message arrived.

WE CHECKED THE DELIVERY COMPARTMENT.

A small silver key had been found taped beneath the metal tray.

Attached was a tag.

GREENHOUSE. MIDNIGHT.

I looked at the clock.

11:42 p.m.

Eighteen minutes.

I ordered six guards to surround the greenhouse.

Then I went alone through the back entrance.

The old greenhouse had belonged to Isabella.

After my wife’s passing, nobody had touched it.

The glass panes were dusty.

Dead roses climbed the walls.

At exactly midnight, a light flickered inside.

I stepped forward.

“Lily?”

No answer.

Then a woman’s voice whispered from the darkness.

“Dad?”

My knees nearly buckled.

A figure emerged.

Chestnut hair.

Familiar eyes.

The same small scar above her eyebrow from falling off a bicycle at seven.

“Lily.”

I rushed toward her.

She stepped back.

“Don’t!”

I stopped.

She was crying.

“Dad, listen carefully. We have less than five minutes.”

“Where have you been?”

“I’ll explain everything. But first, you need to understand something.”

She reached into her coat.

I saw a flash of metal.

My hand instinctively moved toward my gun.

Lily noticed.

And began sobbing.

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“You still don’t trust me.”

“Sweetheart—”

She pulled out a small silver locket.

My wife’s locket.

Inside was a photograph of Lily as a child.

And beneath it, a tiny memory card.

“Mom left this for me before she died,” Lily whispered.

I stared.

“Your mother passed away six years ago.”

Lily shook her head.

“No, Dad.”

My heart began pounding.

“She didn’t die the way they told you.”

Before I could answer, every light in the greenhouse went out.

A man’s voice sounded behind us.

“That’s enough, Lily.”

Vittorio.

I turned.

My brother stood in the doorway.

Beside him were four armed men.

And in his hand was Daisy’s pink stuffed bunny.

“Where is my granddaughter?” I demanded.

Vittorio smiled.

“Exactly where your daughter was twenty-six months ago.”

He lifted the bunny.

“Waiting for you to make the wrong decision.”