Chapter 3 - The Lie Richard Sinclair Buried
Richard Sinclair’s silence lasted only a few seconds, but for Chloe, it was long enough to destroy twenty-seven years of certainty.
“My mother is alive?”
The red emergency lights painted Richard’s face in deep shadows.
He looked older now.
Not powerful. Not untouchable.
Guilty.
Alexander Sterling saw it too.
He stepped between Chloe and the shattered window, keeping his body positioned protectively despite the blood slowly soaking through his shirt.
“Answer her.”
Richard tightened his grip around the silver handle of his cane.
“I don’t know.”
Chloe stared at him.
“That isn’t what your face says.”
“I said I don’t know.”
“No.” Her voice trembled. “You said you believed she died. That recording says she didn’t. And when you heard it, you weren’t surprised.”
Richard looked away.
That was enough.
Chloe crossed the cabin before anyone could stop her.
She slapped him.
The sound cracked through the aircraft.
Marcus froze.
Richard’s bodyguards moved forward.
Alexander immediately blocked them.
“Take another step,” he said quietly, “and you’ll regret it.”
The men stopped.
Richard raised one hand.
“Leave her.”
Chloe’s eyes filled with tears.
“You came here calling me your granddaughter. You showed me photographs. You told me the woman who raised me wasn’t my mother.”
Her voice broke.
“And all this time you were lying too?”
“I was protecting you.”
“Everyone keeps saying that!”
She struck the table with both hands.
“Emily protected me. You protected me. Apparently people with guns are protecting secrets about me. Has anyone ever considered simply telling me the truth?”
Richard’s expression tightened.
“The truth got your mother hunted.”
“Then let me decide whether I’m afraid of it.”
Alexander studied Richard.
“Tell us what happened after the fire.”
Richard looked toward him.
“This is family business.”
Alexander almost laughed.
“Someone just fired bullets through my aircraft.”
He pointed toward the shattered window.
“It became my business.”
Chloe glanced at the blood on Alexander’s shoulder.
“You need a doctor.”
“I need answers.”
“You’re bleeding.”
“It’s superficial.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I know what being shot feels like.”
Chloe stared at him.
“That sentence creates several questions I don’t have time for.”
Despite everything, Marcus almost smiled.
Alexander did not.
But something in his eyes softened.
Chloe noticed.
Then Richard spoke.
“I received a letter eleven months after the fire.”
Everyone turned toward him.
“From Evelyn?” Chloe asked.
Richard nodded.
Chloe stopped moving.
Alexander’s eyes narrowed.
“You told the world your daughter was dead.”
“I believed she was.”
“For eleven months.”
Richard’s gaze hardened.
“Yes.”
“And after the letter?”
“I told the world nothing.”
Chloe looked horrified.
“Why?”
Richard slowly sat down.
“Because the letter told me to.”
He reached into the inner pocket of his coat and removed an old leather wallet.
From it, he took a folded piece of paper sealed inside a transparent protective sleeve.
The paper had yellowed.
Richard placed it on the table.
Chloe reached for it.
His hand covered hers.
“Before you read this, understand something.”
She pulled her hand away.
“You’ve lost the right to prepare me.”
Richard released the letter.
Chloe unfolded it carefully.
The handwriting was elegant but hurried.
She began reading silently.
Alexander watched her face.
Confusion came first.
Then pain.
Then something colder.
“What does it say?” Marcus asked.
Chloe swallowed.
“She says she survived.”
Richard closed his eyes.
“She says Charlotte survived too.”
Chloe’s fingers trembled.
“She says Emily took the baby somewhere safe.”
Alexander stepped closer.
“What else?”
Chloe continued reading.
Then stopped.
“What?”
She looked at Richard.
“You cut part of it out.”
Alexander looked down.
She was right.
A rectangular section had been carefully removed from the bottom of the page.
Richard said nothing.
Chloe laughed bitterly.
“Of course you did.”
“What was there?” Alexander demanded.
Richard remained silent.
Alexander slammed his palm against the table.
“What was there?”
Richard finally looked at him.
“A name.”
“Whose?”
“I never confirmed it.”
“That wasn’t the question.”
Richard’s eyes hardened.
“William Sterling.”
Alexander went completely still.
His father.
Chloe looked at him.
“What did the letter say about him?”
Richard hesitated.
Then answered.
“Evelyn wrote that William Sterling could not be trusted.”
Alexander’s expression became unreadable.
“My father helped build half the security systems your family used.”
“Yes.”
“He also hated you.”
“Yes.”
“Then why would Evelyn have anything to do with him?”
Richard leaned back.
“Because your mother trusted her.”
Alexander remembered Richard’s earlier claim.
Catherine Sterling had supposedly warned Evelyn before the fire.
“Why?”
“That,” Richard said, “is the question your father spent years ensuring you would never ask.”
Alexander grabbed Richard by the collar.
Marcus moved instinctively.
“Sir.”
Alexander ignored him.
“You know nothing about my father.”
Richard looked directly into his eyes.
“I knew him before you were born.”
“Then you know what happens to men who lie about him.”
“I know exactly what happened to the people who discovered his secrets.”
Alexander’s grip tightened.
Chloe stepped between them.
“Stop.”
Neither man moved.
“Alexander.”
He looked at her.
For the first time since the shooting, Chloe placed her hand against his chest.
Not affectionately.
Firmly.
“Let him go.”
Alexander slowly released Richard.
Chloe looked at the blood on her fingers.
“You’re bleeding more.”
“It’s still nothing.”
“You’re impossible.”
“I’ve been called worse.”
“Sit down.”
Alexander almost refused.
Something in her expression stopped him.
He sat.
Chloe immediately shifted from frightened granddaughter to trained nurse.
She pulled open the aircraft’s emergency medical kit.
“Shirt.”
Alexander raised an eyebrow.
“Take it off.”
Marcus turned away, suddenly very interested in the damaged window.
Richard watched silently.
Alexander unbuttoned his shirt enough to expose the wound.
The bullet had cut across the upper part of his shoulder.
Chloe cleaned it.
Alexander barely reacted.
“You don’t have to pretend it doesn’t hurt,” she said.
“I’m not pretending.”
“That’s worse.”
Her fingers were gentle despite her anger.
Alexander watched her.
Less than an hour ago, she had been an exhausted stranger.
Now armed men had attacked because of her identity.
And she was treating his wound while learning that almost everything she knew about her childhood might have been manufactured.
“How are you still functioning?” he asked quietly.
Chloe paused.
“What?”
“Most people would have collapsed.”
“I already did that once tonight.”
He almost smiled.
Almost.
Then Chloe noticed something.
A scar across Alexander’s shoulder.
Old.
Long.
Not from tonight.
Her fingers stopped.
“What happened?”
Alexander’s expression closed instantly.
“Nothing relevant.”
“Looks relevant to whoever tried to kill you.”
“They weren’t trying to kill me.”
Chloe looked at him.
“How do you know?”
Alexander turned toward the shattered window.
“The first shot came through the glass before anyone moved.”
Marcus understood immediately.
“If the shooter wanted Mr. Sterling dead, he had a clear shot.”
Richard’s expression darkened.
“They wanted panic.”
Alexander nodded.
“And they wanted us to find the phone.”
Chloe finished dressing the wound.
“So the attack was staged?”
“The bullets were real,” Alexander said. “The message was staged.”
Richard looked at him.
“Which means we cannot assume the recording is true.”
Chloe’s face fell.
“My mother may actually be dead.”
Alexander saw the pain in her eyes.
“We don’t know.”
She looked at him.
It was the first time that night he had said those words without making them sound like a threat.
Marcus’s phone rang.
He answered.
Listened.
Then frowned.
“What?”
He ended the call.
“The airport security system was compromised fourteen minutes before the shooting.”
Alexander stood.
“Footage?”
“Deleted.”
“Backups?”
“Also deleted.”
Richard gave a humorless laugh.
“Professional.”
Marcus continued.
“There’s something else. The attackers knew which aircraft Chloe was on.”
“Obviously.”
“No, sir.”
Marcus looked directly at Alexander.
“They knew before Mr. Sinclair arrived.”
Alexander’s expression changed.
Richard leaned forward.
“How?”
“The flight manifest.”
Alexander understood immediately.
Only Sterling Global personnel could access it before departure.
Someone inside his organization had leaked Chloe’s location.
Chloe looked between them.
“So someone working for you is involved?”
Alexander did not answer.
He was already mentally reviewing names.
Pilots.
Dispatchers.
Security officers.
Executive assistants.
Then Marcus’s phone vibrated again.
A message.
He opened it.
His face became pale.
“Sir…”
“What now?”
Marcus held out the screen.
A security photograph showed Daniel Cross—the former Sterling contractor who had been following Chloe.
But he was not alone.
The photograph had been taken outside St. Matthew’s Children’s Hospital three days earlier.
Cross was speaking to someone.
A woman wearing hospital scrubs.
Chloe stepped closer.
Her face changed instantly.
“I know her.”
Alexander looked at her.
“Who?”
“Dr. Rebecca Lane.”
“Friend?”
Chloe hesitated.
“My supervisor.”
Marcus enlarged the photograph.
Rebecca was handing Cross something.
A folder.
Chloe stared at it.
“That looks like a patient file.”
Alexander turned toward her.
“Could it be yours?”
“I’m not a patient there.”
Richard spoke quietly.
“Perhaps you were.”
Chloe looked at him.
“What?”
“People who hide children create records. Medical records. School records. Birth certificates.”
Chloe shook her head.
“No. Rebecca has known me for four years.”
“That does not mean she met you four years ago by accident,” Alexander said.
Chloe stared at him.
“You think my job was arranged?”
“I think coincidences are becoming expensive.”
Marcus began typing.
“I’ll run Lane.”
Alexander nodded.
“Everything. Family, finances, travel, communications.”
Chloe’s anger returned.
“You can’t investigate everyone in my life.”
“I can investigate anyone connected to someone shooting at my plane.”
Before Chloe could respond, Marcus stopped typing.
“What?”
Alexander recognized the expression.
“Rebecca Lane doesn’t exist.”
Chloe laughed once.
“You’re kidding.”
“Her medical license exists. Employment records exist. Tax records exist.”
Marcus looked up.
“But before 2018, nothing.”
Richard slowly stood.
“Another manufactured identity.”
Chloe backed away from the table.
“No.”
Her breathing accelerated.
“Emily. Rebecca. Who else?”
Alexander moved toward her.
“Chloe.”
She backed away from him too.
“Don’t.”
He stopped.
“Who else in my life isn’t real?”
No one answered.
Her phone suddenly rang.
Everyone looked toward the sound.
Chloe pulled it from her pocket.
Unknown number.
Alexander immediately said, “Don’t answer.”
Chloe stared at the screen.
It stopped ringing.
A message appeared.
One image.
Chloe opened it before Alexander could stop her.
Her knees almost gave way.
Alexander caught her arm.
“What is it?”
She handed him the phone.
The photograph showed a woman sitting beside a window.
Older now.
Perhaps in her early fifties.
Dark hair streaked with gray.
Thin face.
Gray-green eyes.
The resemblance to Chloe was unmistakable.
Around the woman’s neck hung a silver locket.
The Sinclair crest.
Below the photograph was a message.
**IF YOU WANT TO MEET YOUR MOTHER, COME ALONE.**
A second message appeared.
An address.
Then a third.
**DO NOT TRUST RICHARD SINCLAIR.**
Richard stared at the screen.
His face tightened.
Chloe noticed.
“You know that address.”
Richard did not answer.
Alexander stepped toward him.
“Where is it?”
Richard looked at Chloe.
For the first time since arriving, genuine fear appeared in his eyes.
“That house belonged to your mother.”
Chloe’s lips parted.
“Where?”
Richard swallowed.
“Outside the city.”
Alexander took Chloe’s phone.
“You’re not going.”
She looked at him.
“You don’t decide that.”
“Whoever sent this wants you isolated.”
“If she’s alive—”
“It could be bait.”
“And if it isn’t?”
Alexander had no answer.
Chloe took the phone back.
“I spent eleven years believing my mother was dead.”
“The woman who raised you is dead.”
“That isn’t what I meant.”
The words struck all of them.
Chloe stared at Evelyn’s photograph again.
“I have another mother.”
Richard lowered his head.
“And if there is even a one-percent chance she’s waiting for me, I’m going.”
Alexander stepped closer.
“Then you’re not going alone.”
“The message specifically says—”
“I can read.”
“Then why—”
“Because whoever sent it already knows who I am. They know who Richard is. They know where you work. They knew which aircraft you boarded.”
His voice lowered.
“Going alone will not make you safe. It will only make you easy to take.”
Chloe looked at him for a long moment.
“Why do you care?”
The question surprised him.
Richard watched carefully.
So did Marcus.
Alexander could have given a dozen practical answers.
Security.
Responsibility.
Curiosity.
The Sinclair mystery.
Instead he said the only one that felt true.
“I don’t know yet.”
Something changed between them.
Small.
Dangerous.
Chloe looked away first.
Marcus interrupted.
“Sir.”
He had received another search result.
“I found something connected to the address.”
“What?”
“The property has been abandoned for seventeen years.”
Richard frowned.
“That’s impossible.”
“Why?”
Richard looked at the address again.
“Because I’ve been paying someone to maintain it.”
Silence.
Alexander turned slowly.
“You’ve been paying whom?”
Richard’s face hardened.
“A private caretaker.”
“Name?”
Richard hesitated.
“Thomas Vale.”
Marcus dropped his phone.
It hit the table.
Alexander looked at him.
Marcus had gone completely pale.
“What?”
Marcus stared at Richard.
“Say that name again.”
“Thomas Vale.”
Chloe looked between them.
“Who is he?”
Marcus did not answer immediately.
When he finally spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper.
“My father.”
Alexander stared at his head of security.
Marcus had worked beside him for twelve years.
He had trusted him with his homes, his aircraft, his company—and his life.
Marcus looked as shocked as everyone else.
“That’s impossible.”
Richard studied him.
“Your father has worked for me for twenty-six years.”
Marcus shook his head.
“No.”
“He has.”
“My father died twenty-two years ago.”
Richard’s eyes narrowed.
“Who told you that?”
Marcus looked at Alexander.
Then at Chloe.
Finally, his gaze returned to Richard Sinclair.
“My mother.”
Richard’s expression changed.
“What was her name?”
Marcus hesitated.
“Margaret Vale.”
Richard stopped breathing.
Alexander saw recognition immediately.
“You know her.”
Richard whispered one word.
“Margaret.”
His face seemed to age another decade.
Chloe stepped forward.
“Who was she?”
Richard looked toward the old photograph of Evelyn and Emily lying on the table.
Then he closed his eyes.
“When Sinclair House burned, there were three women who knew Charlotte survived.”
Chloe’s heart seemed to stop.
“Emily?”
“Yes.”
“Evelyn?”
“Yes.”
Richard looked at Marcus.
“And Margaret Vale.”
Marcus stared at him.
Richard continued.
“Your mother wasn’t merely involved.”
He paused.
“She was the woman who carried baby Charlotte out of the burning house.”
Marcus said nothing.
Then his phone vibrated.
A new message had arrived from an unregistered encrypted number.
Marcus looked at it.
His face went blank.
Alexander stepped closer.
“What does it say?”
Marcus slowly turned the screen toward them.
There were only seven words.
**SON, BRING CHARLOTTE HOME. COME WITHOUT STERLING.**
Below the message was a photograph taken less than one minute earlier.
It showed Thomas Vale standing outside the abandoned house.
Alive.
And beside him stood the woman from Chloe’s photograph.
Evelyn Sinclair.
But Alexander noticed something else.
Something Chloe had not seen yet.
Behind Evelyn, reflected faintly in the dark window of the house, stood a third person.
An older man.
Alexander enlarged the reflection.
His blood ran cold.
He knew that face.
He had seen it every day of his childhood.
Chloe looked at him.
“Alexander?”
He did not respond.
She followed his gaze to the reflection.
“Who is that?”
Alexander stared at the man who had supposedly been buried eighteen years earlier.
When he finally spoke, his voice was almost unrecognizable.
“My father.”