Chapter 12
The USB drive was a gold mine.
Everything Jonathan had said was true.
Every email, every bank record, every text message between Elias and his co-conspirators was there.
Plans to kill us.
Plans to steal my mom’s money.
Plans to take over Cross Meridian.
Proof that Elias had fabricated the insider trading evidence.
Proof that he’d paid off the former employee to lie.
Proof that he’d paid the inmates to stab Jonathan.
Proof of everything.
Cole took the drive to the FBI the next morning.
They launched a full investigation, freezing all of Elias’s assets, issuing warrants for his arrest on charges of conspiracy to commit murder, fraud, obstruction of justice, and a dozen other federal crimes.
But Elias was gone.
He’d vanished the night before, right after Jonathan had given me the drive.
Someone had tipped him off.
His house was empty.
His cars were gone.
His phone was off.
No one knew where he was.
The FBI said he’d probably left the country.
That he was laying low, waiting for the heat to die down.
But I didn’t believe it.
Elias wasn’t the kind of man to run.
He was the kind of man to fight.
And he had nothing left to lose.
Nathaniel pulled all his security teams back to the Aspen house.
We had twelve men patrolling the grounds 24/7, snipers on the roof, cameras on every inch of the property.
The FBI had agents posted at the end of the driveway, watching the road.
We were locked down tight.
No one got in.
No one got out.
But the days dragged on, slow and tense.
Clara could feel the fear in the house.
She stopped laughing as much.
She clung to me or Nathaniel every second, crying if we left the room.
I didn’t sleep.
I sat up every night, a baseball bat beside me, watching Clara breathe, waiting for the sound of breaking glass, of gunshots, of Elias coming for us.
On the seventh night, it happened.
I was in the nursery, feeding Clara a bottle, when the power went out.
The whole house went dark.
Silent.
Then—
*BANG!*
A gunshot from the front of the house.
Then another.
Then screaming.
I grabbed Clara, holding her tight, running to the closet, locking the door behind me.
I pulled my phone out of my pocket, my hands shaking so bad I could barely dial Nathaniel’s number.
He answered on the first ring.
"Stay in the closet," he yelled over the sound of more gunshots.
"Lock the door. Don’t come out for anyone but me. Not security, not the FBI, no one. Do you understand me? Only me."
"I understand," I whispered, tears streaming down my face.
Clara was crying now, scared by the noise, by my fear.
I clamped my hand over her mouth, quieting her, rocking her back and forth.
*"Shh, baby, shh,"* I whispered.
*"Mama’s here. We’re okay. We’re gonna be okay."*
I heard boots running down the hall.
Men yelling.
More gunshots.
Then silence.
Dead, heavy silence.
I held my breath, listening.
Waiting.
Five minutes passed.
Ten.
Fifteen.
Then a soft knock on the closet door.
"Grace?"
It was Nathaniel.
His voice was rough, breathless.
"It’s me. Open up. It’s over."
I unlocked the door, pulling it open.
Nathaniel was standing there, his shirt torn, a cut on his forehead, blood running down his face, a gun in his hand.
But he was alive.
He pulled us into his arms, holding us tight, kissing the top of my head, kissing Clara’s tear-streaked face.
"You’re okay," he said, over and over.
"You’re okay. I’ve got you. It’s over."
He carried us down the hall to the living room.
The lights were back on.
The room was a mess—broken glass, overturned furniture, bullet holes in the walls.
Three men in black masks were lying on the floor, cuffed, bleeding.
Two security guards were sitting on the couch, being treated for gunshot wounds to the arm and leg.
FBI agents were everywhere, collecting evidence, taking statements.
Elias wasn’t there.
He’d sent the hitmen.
Four of them.
Two had been shot dead by security.
Three were in cuffs.
One had gotten away.
The FBI said Elias had paid them a million dollars each to kill us all.
They’d cut the power, stormed the house, planned to shoot everyone in their beds and set the place on fire to cover it up.
If security hadn’t been ready...
If Nathaniel hadn’t had the snipers on the roof...
We’d all be dead.
That night, we flew back to Westchester.
The Aspen house was a crime scene.
It wasn’t safe anymore.
Nathaniel said we’d stay in the city penthouse, where security was tighter, where the FBI could watch us easier.
But I knew it wasn’t over.
Elias was still out there.
He’d failed once.
He’d try again.
And next time, he’d be even more desperate.
Even more dangerous.
Two days later, we got a package in the mail.
No return address.
Just a plain brown box, addressed to Nathaniel.
He opened it carefully, with the FBI standing by.
Inside was a single, fresh red rose.
And a note, written in Elias’s handwriting.
You got lucky this time, brother.
But luck runs out.
I have what I need now.
And next time...
I won’t miss.
E.
Under the note was a photo.
It was of Clara.
Taken that morning, in the penthouse backyard, while she was playing with her ball.
He was still watching us.
He was still close.
And he had what he needed.
Whatever that meant.
Nathaniel crumpled the note in his hand, his face white with rage.
"I’m gonna kill him," he said, quiet and deadly.
"I’m gonna find him, and I’m gonna kill him with my bare hands. Before he hurts any of you ever again."
But how?
Elias was a ghost.
No one knew where he was.
No one knew who was helping him.
And he was always one step ahead.
That night, I was going through the old box of my mom’s things, looking for anything that might help us understand why Elias was so obsessed with her money, when I found it.
Tucked in the back of the box, under her old yearbook, was a small, leather-bound journal.
My mom’s journal.
I’d never seen it before.
I opened it, flipping through the pages, reading her words, written in her looping handwriting.
Most of it was about Nathaniel—how much she loved him, how scared she was of his father, how she’d had to leave to protect me.
But the last entry, written the day before she left me at the foster home, made my blood run cold.
I found out today that Richard’s brother, Elias, is alive.
He was in the car accident with Richard, everyone thought he died, but he survived.
He’s been in a coma for twenty years.
He woke up last month.
And he’s already asking about the money.
He says it’s his.
That Richard never would’ve left it all to me.
He says he’ll kill me and the baby to get it.
I have to hide.
I have to protect Grace.
If anything happens to me, Nathaniel has to know.
Elias Hale is not dead.
And he will stop at nothing to get what he thinks is his.
I dropped the journal, my hands shaking.
Elias Hale.
My mom’s uncle.
Richard Hale’s brother.
The man who was supposed to be dead.
The rightful heir to the Hale fortune, if my mom had never been born.
And Nathaniel’s brother was named Elias too.
Elias Cross.
It wasn’t a coincidence.
It couldn’t be.
I ran to Nathaniel’s office, holding the journal, my heart pounding.
He was on the phone with the FBI, but I didn’t care.
I slammed the journal down on his desk, pointing to the last entry.
"Read this," I said, breathless.
"Now."
He hung up the phone, reading the entry, his face going pale.
He looked up at me, his eyes wide with shock.
"Elias Hale," he whispered.
"My mother’s maiden name was Hale. She was Richard Hale’s little sister. Elias Hale was my uncle. The one everyone thought died in the car crash with Richard. We named my brother after him. Elias Cross."
He paused, connecting the dots, his voice dropping to a horrified whisper.
"Oh my God. They’re the same person. Elias Cross is Elias Hale. He didn’t die in the crash. He woke up from the coma, changed his name, came to work for my dad, married my mom, had me and Elias... No. Wait. No. That can’t be. The timeline doesn’t add up."
He stopped, thinking, his face going even paler.
"Unless... Unless Elias Hale didn’t just wake up from the coma. Unless he killed my real uncle Elias, took his identity, married my mom, and had me and my brother as part of a twenty-year plan to get the Hale fortune back. Oh my God. That’s why he hated me. That’s why he stole from the company. That’s why he wants the money so bad. It was never about Cross Meridian. It was always about the Hale money. He thinks it’s his birthright. And he’s spent his whole life planning to take it."
The room spun.
Our whole lives had been a lie.
Nathaniel’s dad wasn’t his real dad.
He was Elias Hale.
The man who’d killed my grandfather.
The man who’d driven my mom into hiding.
The man who’d spent the last twenty years pretending to be someone else, building an empire, waiting for the day he could take back what he thought was his.
And now he was out there.
Watching us.
May you like
Waiting.
And he had nothing left to lose.
