Chapter 6 - THE FORGOTTEN SONBefore I could digest the photograph, a sudden footsteps sounded behind me.
"You always were too smart for your own good, Ethan," a cold voice echoed in the tiny basement bunker.
I spun around, pointing my flashlight.
Standing at the top of the stairs wasn't my mother. It was Harold Finch—my father’s lifelong attorney and trustee. He held a sleek black pistol pointed directly at my chest.
"Harold?" I whispered. "What is this?"
"Your father was a weak man," Finch said, descending the concrete steps slowly, his polished shoes tapping on the stone. "He had money, but he lacked the stomach to do what was necessary to protect it. Margaret, on the other hand... she understood power."
"Did you help her kill him?" I demanded, stepping between him and the laptop on the desk.
"Kill him? No," Finch laughed dryly. "Arthur killed himself the moment he decided to rewrite his will and leave everything to a charity for abandoned children. Margaret simply... accelerated his natural timeline with a little heart medication."
"And the house? The trust?"
"Margaret didn't just want the money, Ethan. She wanted the bloodline clean. That photo you're holding? That’s her first son. Julian."
My breath caught in my throat. "I have a brother?"
"You had a brother," Finch corrected, his eye twitching. "Julian was born with a severe congenital brain defect. Margaret couldn't stand the shame of having an 'imperfect' heir. She hid him away in an institution in Switzerland for thirty years. But maintaining Julian's secret life cost millions. Money your father refused to pay."
It all clicked into place with horrifying clarity.
The million-dollar estate. The constant pressure on me to build a high-tech fortress home. The relentless obsession with Sarah's background and our baby.
Margaret wasn't crazy—she was desperate. Julian had died in that Swiss clinic six months ago, leaving behind massive illegal debts to foreign creditors who didn't care about legal proceedings. They wanted five million dollars immediately, or they were going to expose her entire life's crimes to the authorities.
And the only asset Margaret had left to sell... was my home.
"She burned Sarah," I said, my voice dropping to a dangerous register. "She tried to force her to sign the deed over so she could liquidate the property tonight."
"And it would have worked," Finch said coldly, raising the gun to my head. "If you hadn't come back here digging up the dead. Now, unfortunately, you're going to die in a sudden, tragic house fire caused by faulty smart-home wiring. A heartbroken husband, grieving his wife's condition, making a fatal mistake..."
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Finch pulled back the hammer of the gun.
CLICK.
