Chapter 22 - The Mastermind Unmasked
The blizzard hit with apocalyptic fury as our snowcat tracked the helicopter’s transponder signal to a remote, multi-million-dollar chalet perched on the sheer cliff face of Mount Titlis.
Armed with high-altitude gear and the last of our courage, Sarah and I bypassed the disabled security gates. The heavy wooden front doors of the chalet were unlocked, swaying gently in the freezing gales. Inside, a grand stone fireplace crackled, casting long, dancing shadows across a room filled with historical medical journals and antique glass vials.
"Eleanor," Sarah gasped, pointing toward the sweeping glass balcony overlooking the abyss.
Sitting in a high-backed leather armchair beside the fire was an elderly woman wrapped in a cashmere shawl. Her silver hair was pinned back with diamond clips, and her posture exuded absolute authority. Sitting on a velvet cushion in her lap was baby Leo, fast asleep, his tiny chest rising and falling softly.
Victoria stood behind the chair, her bandaged face pale, her hands folded submissively.
"Put the gun down, Eleanor," the elderly woman said, her voice rich, melodic, and terrifyingly familiar.
I froze, the barrel of my pistol shaking in my grip. I knew that voice. I had heard it in my dreams, in my childhood lullabies, in the quiet prayers I said at night when I was a little girl.
"Mother?" Sarah choked out, falling back against the doorframe.
May you like
Evelyn Grayson—the woman we had buried twenty-two years ago after a long, tragic battle with terminal brain cancer—slowly turned her head to face us. Her eyes were bright, clear, and devoid of a single trace of illness.
"Hello, my beautiful daughters," Evelyn said with a faint, motherly smile. "It’s time you learned the truth about why you were born."
