Chapter 1 - The Phantom Brother
The sting on my cheek was nothing compared to the absolute silence that followed my father’s digital confession. Victoria’s hand hovered in the air, trembling slightly, as the reality of the recording washed over the drawing room.
My father’s voice emanated from the laptop, calm and unwavering. “His name is Alexander. He was born before I met your mother, during a time I was young and foolish. But he is my blood. My firstborn. And for the last year, Victoria has been intercepting the private investigators I hired to find him.”
Victoria stumbled backward, her bespoke mourning gown suddenly looking less like a symbol of grief and more like a costume she had outgrown.
“Turn it off!” she shrieked, pointing a shaking finger at Harrison. “That’s a deepfake! My father would never say such a thing. He was sick at the end. His mind was slipping!”
“Your father’s mind was sharper than a scalpel until his final breath,” Harrison replied, adjusting his glasses. “And the digital forensics on this recording have already been authenticated.”
Richard, Victoria’s husband, puffed out his chest, attempting to salvage their crumbling empire. “This is a ridiculous parlor trick. Even if this bastard exists, a secret love child doesn’t automatically inherit over the legitimate children who were raised in this house!”
Harrison didn't flinch. He reached into his leather briefcase and pulled out a secondary file.
“You are correct, Richard. Birth order alone does not dictate inheritance,” Harrison said smoothly. “The trust dictates inheritance. And the trust explicitly states that the estate is to be divided equally between the legitimate heirs—unless an heir is found guilty of gross financial misconduct, fraud, or interference with the executor’s duties.”
I touched my cheek, a cold smile forming on my lips. “Interfering with Dad’s private investigators sounds a lot like fraud to me, Victoria.”
Before she could scream again, the heavy oak doors of the drawing room swung open. The murmuring relatives fell silent.
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Standing in the doorway was a man who looked like a ghost. He had my father’s piercing blue eyes, the same strong jawline, and an aura of quiet, undeniable authority. He was dressed in a tailored charcoal suit, looking completely out of place among Victoria’s hired entourage, yet entirely at home in my father’s house.
“Hello, Victoria,” Alexander said, his voice a deep, resonant echo of the man we had just buried. “I believe you and I have some unfinished business.”
