Chapter 2 - The Empty Grave
The room exploded into chaos.
Vivian’s face drained of color, her regal composure shattering into raw panic. Grant moved instinctively, grabbing Nathaniel by the shoulder to pull him back, but Nathaniel turned and delivered a brutal, precise strike to Grant’s sternum. Grant stumbled backward, crashing into a marble pedestal and sending a crystal vase shattering to the floor.
"Who is she?" Nathaniel roared, his voice echoing off the high ceilings of the estate. "Who did you put in this box, Grant?!"
The two transport workers backed away in terror, realizing they had been caught in the middle of something deadly. Grant groaned on the floor, clutching his chest, while Vivian stepped between Nathaniel and the open casket, her posture rigid despite her trembling hands.
"You have lost your mind!" Vivian screamed, her voice cracking. "The trauma has broken you! This is Maribel! She was prepared by the mortuary—embalming changes a person's appearance!"
"Don't lie to me anymore, Mother!" Nathaniel stepped forward, towering over her. "Maribel had a small scar on her left brow from a childhood fall. This woman doesn't have it. Maribel had a butterfly tattoo behind her right ear. This woman's skin is completely clear. You brought a dead stranger into my house to pretend my wife was dead!"
Grant struggled to his feet, wiping a trickle of blood from his mouth. He reached into his suit jacket, but Nathaniel was faster. He closed the distance, grabbed Grant’s lapels, and slammed him against the stone fireplace. The navy jacket tore further, exposing the jagged red scratches running down Grant’s neck.
"Where is she?" Nathaniel growled, digging his thumb directly into the raw wound on Grant’s neck.
Grant hissed in pain, his eyes watering. "Go to hell, Nate! You don't know what you're dealing with!"
"I know you spent the last three weeks bleeding the vineyard dry!" Nathaniel yelled. "I know about the Cayman accounts! And I know you put your hands on my wife!"
Vivian pulled a small, silver revolver from her leather handbag and pointed it directly at her youngest son.
"Step away from your brother, Nathaniel," she ordered, her voice trembling with cold rage. "Now."
Nathaniel slowly turned his head to look at his mother. The barrel of the gun was wavering, but her eyes were lethal.
"You would shoot your own son?" Nathaniel asked softly.
"I will protect this family’s name at all costs," Vivian said icy. "You were always a wild card. Maribel was digging into things that didn't concern her. She was a liability. Grant did what had to be done to secure our survival."
"So she is alive," Nathaniel deduced, catching the slip in his mother's words.
Vivian realized her mistake instantly, her eyes widening slightly.
Before anyone could make another move, the loud sound of sirens echoed from the long driveway leading up to the vineyard. Vivian’s head snapped toward the front windows.
"You called the police?" Grant panicked, staring at Nathaniel.
"I didn't call the police," Nathaniel said, a dark smile spreading across his face. "I called the Federal Bureau of Investigation. Half an hour ago, my corporate security team uploaded the financial audit of Pierce & Vale—and the recorded phone call from Maribel’s burner phone—to the Special Crimes Unit in San Francisco."
Vivian’s gun wavered. The illusion of her absolute control was crumbling.
"You fool," Vivian whispered, real horror filling her eyes for the first time. "You have no idea what Maribel was really doing. You think she was protecting you? She was selling us all out from the start!"
"Where is my wife?" Nathaniel demanded again, stepping toward Vivian, ignoring the gun completely. "Where is my son?"
"If you want to find them," Grant spat, coughing blood as he backed toward the side exit leading to the garage, "you better hurry to Saint Jude’s. Because Dr. Vance is scheduled to perform a final procedure on her in less than twenty minutes."
"Grant, shut up!" Vivian shrieked.
Grant didn't wait. He turned and bolted through the side door. A second later, the roar of a high-horsepower sports car echoed from the garage, tires squealing as Grant smashed through the wooden security gates of the estate.
Nathaniel didn't waste time on his mother. He grabbed his car keys from the foyer table, ignored Vivian’s screams behind him, and ran out into the pouring rain.
As he threw his SUV into gear and tore down the winding mountain road, his mind raced. Saint Jude’s Women’s Clinic was supposed to be a legitimate medical facility, but it had deep financial ties to the Pierce family foundation. Vivian had funded its construction ten years ago. It wasn't a clinic—it was a private prison.
Nathaniel pressed the gas pedal to the floor, the engine roaring as he navigated the slick, dangerous curves of the Sonoma highway. His phone buzzed on the dashboard. It was an incoming call from an unknown private number.
He hit speaker.
"Nathaniel," a frail, panting voice whispered over the speaker amidst the sound of static and loud medical alarms.
Nathaniel’s heart leaped into his throat. "Maribel?! Maribel, where are you?!"
"Nathaniel... listen to me," she gasped, her voice thick with pain and sedatives. "They took him... they took the baby early... he’s in the neonatal wing at Saint Jude’s... but you can't come here!"
"I'm on my way right now! Hold on!"
"No! It's a trap!" Maribel cried out, a loud crash sounding in the background, followed by harsh footsteps. "Grant isn't working for Vivian... he’s working for—"
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The call was violently cut off. A heavy signal jammer had engaged, filling the line with dead static.
Nathaniel slammed his hand on the steering wheel, his eyes wild with fury. He pushed the speedometer past ninety miles per hour into the blinding rain, driving straight into the heart of the storm.
