PART 2
The man standing at the steel door was Arthur Vance.
Jessi’s father.
My daughter’s grandfather.
Eight years earlier, I had stood beside Jessi at his funeral while Wendy sobbed over a mahogany coffin that looked strangely empty.
Yet Arthur was alive.
And Wendy had been secretly bringing Fiona to see him.
I waited until the door shut, then crossed the street.
Through a narrow side window, I saw Fiona seated at a table while Arthur laid several photographs in front of her.
“Which man came to your house last Thursday?” he asked.
Fiona pointed hesitantly.
My blood went cold.
Those weren’t family photos.
They showed me, my business partners, my security chief—and men I recognized from confidential acquisition meetings.
Wendy stood behind Fiona. “Remember what Grandma taught you,” she said softly.
I reached for my phone.
Then Arthur asked something that stopped me.
“Does your father still keep the silver key in his office?”
Fiona nodded.
That silver key opened a private safe containing documents tied to the Chicago acquisition.
This wasn’t some strange secret family reunion.
They were using my daughter to collect intelligence.
I stepped away from the window and called my security director. “Lock my office. Nobody enters.”
A pause. “Sir… someone already did.”
My stomach dropped. “When?”
“Twenty minutes ago.”
I looked through the window again.
Wendy’s phone rang.
She answered, listened, then smiled. “We have it.”
Arthur immediately began gathering the photographs.
Then Fiona suddenly turned toward the window.
She saw me.
For one terrible second, we both froze.
Then my seven-year-old daughter did something I never expected.
She shook her head desperately.
Don’t come inside.
And behind Arthur, another door opened.
Jessi walked into the room.
My wife showed no shock at seeing her supposedly dead father.
She hugged him.
