The gunshot sounded like thunder inside the underground room.

I threw myself toward Genevieve.

Something shattered behind us.

Glass exploded across the floor.

Then emergency lights flickered on.

Prescott stood near the doorway, his gun lowered.

Blood ran down his left arm.

Evelyn was crouched beside the cabinet, holding a small emergency alarm transmitter she had found beneath the desk.

The alarm had triggered the estate’s security response.

Prescott’s first shot had struck the glass panel behind Genevieve.

The second had come from one of my guards entering the stairwell.

“Drop it!” the guard shouted.

Prescott let the weapon fall.

I barely noticed.

Because Genevieve was in my arms.

Warm.

Breathing.

Alive.

“You’re here,” I whispered.

She touched my face.

“I’m here.”

Then anger surged through my grief.

“Two years, Genevieve. Two years I thought you were dead.”

“I know.”

“Our children cried for you every night.”

Her expression crumpled.

“I know.”

“Then tell me why.”

She looked toward Prescott, now restrained on the floor.

“Because I discovered what they were doing, and I was told that if I came home, the children would suffer.”

The truth emerged in fragments.

Genevieve had discovered a financial scheme involving Mercer family assets, a medical contracting company, and a network of fraudulent invoices.

Prescott had secretly partnered with Crosby Vane to divert money from my empire.

Dr. Yates had been involved in the financial side through a company that supplied private medical services.

When Genevieve uncovered the arrangement, she threatened to expose everyone.

Days later, her car was forced off the road.

But she survived.

A woman working with an independent investigative team helped her disappear before the conspirators could find her.

That woman was Evelyn Hart.

For months, Genevieve had been gathering evidence while staying hidden.

Then the twins became seriously ill.

Genevieve tried to reach me.

Every message disappeared.

Every intermediary was intercepted.

She eventually learned that Prescott controlled my private communications.

“Why didn’t you come to the hospital?” I demanded.

“Because Crosby threatened to have the children moved somewhere I couldn’t find them. I was terrified that any attempt to reach you would put them in greater danger.”

I closed my eyes.

“And Evelyn?”

“She volunteered to get inside the house. She was the only person I trusted who could approach without drawing attention.”

I looked at the woman who had arrived at my gates with nothing.

She had known my wife was alive.

She had known my family was in danger.

And she had walked straight into a fortress controlled by the people responsible.

“You could have been killed,” I told her.

Evelyn gave a tired smile.

“Your wife once saved my life. I wasn’t going to abandon her children.”

Prescott began laughing bitterly.

“You think you’ve won?”

I turned.

He stared directly at Genevieve.

“You still don’t understand what Yates did.”

My blood chilled.

“What did he do?”

Prescott shook his head.

“The financial fraud wasn’t enough for Crosby. He needed Lawson distracted and desperate. When the twins became ill, Yates realized he could exploit the crisis.”

Genevieve covered her mouth.

“He altered records,” Prescott continued. “He concealed test results and interfered with the treatment arrangements. He made sure Lawson believed there was no hope.”

I wanted to strike him.

Instead, I forced myself to listen.

“Are you saying my children aren’t sick?”

“No,” Prescott said. “They’re sick. Very sick. But the records you were given don’t tell the whole story.”

That distinction mattered more than anything.

I called Dr. Chen immediately.

She confirmed that Jonah and Blythe had leukemia, but their independent team had identified missing documentation and inconsistencies in the reported treatment history.

The children needed urgent specialist care.

They were not beyond hope.

Then Genevieve received a message on her phone.

A photograph appeared.

It showed Dr. Yates standing outside the hospital.

Below it were six words.

YOU HAVE ONE HOUR TO DISAPPEAR.

Crosby.

He knew Genevieve was alive.

He knew we had found the evidence.

And he knew where our children were.

I called the hospital security director.

“Lock down access to the pediatric floor. Contact the police. Nobody enters my children’s room without verification.”

I sent the evidence to federal investigators through an attorney Genevieve trusted.

For the first time in my life, I wasn’t going to solve a problem with threats and guns.

I was going to let the truth destroy the men who had hidden behind my power.

But Crosby had already made his move.

At 3:16 a.m., the hospital lost power to one wing.

Backup systems activated.

Security doors sealed.

And a fire alarm sounded on the children’s floor.

Evelyn was still at the hospital.

She called me.

“Lawson, someone’s wearing a doctor’s badge that doesn’t belong to him.”

“Get away from him.”

Her breathing quickened.

“He’s heading toward the twins.”

Then I heard Blythe scream.

And the call disconnected.