The silver locket in the hotel lobby

For a few seconds, I forgot Victor existed.

My thumb stayed pressed against the tiny photograph as though I could force it to become someone else’s mother if I looked long enough.

But it was her.

Anna Hart.

The same dark eyes. The same slight lift at one corner of her mouth. The same silver barrette she wore in exactly one old family photo I kept in a drawer because it hurt too much to look at often.

My mother had been dead for two years.

And somehow a terrified hotel magnate had her picture hidden in a locket.

Victor noticed the change in my face immediately.

“What is it?” he asked.

I snapped the locket shut and slipped it into my fist.

“Nothing.”

He didn’t believe me. He didn’t need to. Men like Victor preferred uncertainty. It gave them time to study which lie would be most useful.

He stood, flattened his cuffs, and looked down at Elias. “You have until morning,” he said. “Then the board sees the petition.”

He let his gaze drift to me. “And if you’re advising him, Mr. Hart, I suggest you learn quickly that family disputes can become ugly.”

“I already noticed.”

Victor smiled again, but there was no polish left in it now. Only warning.

When he and the lawyers left, Elias slumped in his chair like a man whose spine had been held upright by pure defiance alone. His breathing was uneven. One hand shook badly enough that water spilled when he reached for his glass.

I leaned in.

“Who is my mother to you?”

His eyes lifted to mine. They were suddenly wet.

“You really don’t know.”

“That depends. Is my full name Daniel Hart, or should I start worrying it’s something else?”

He stared at me for a long second, and for the first time the fear in him changed into something almost painful.

Then he whispered one word.

“David.”

My entire body went cold.

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.” I stood so abruptly my chair scraped hard across the floor. “My mother raised me alone in Milwaukee. My father died before I was born. That’s what she told me.”

Elias gave a broken laugh. “Then Anna loved you enough to lie well.”

I wanted to demand everything at once. Who was David? Why did he think that was me? Why did my mother never speak his name?

But Elias’s hand suddenly went to his chest.

His face went gray.

The glass slipped from his fingers and shattered on the floor.

I caught him before he hit the table.

He tried to speak, but only a rough breath came out.

I hit the service bell, called for emergency medical help, then saw it—half-hidden beside his plate.

A pill case.

Three compartments were empty.

One still held a pale blue tablet.

I picked it up, turned it over, and felt my jaw tighten.