Chapter 1 - THE BLOODLINE CONSPIRACYSpencer’s hand gripped his phone so tightly the glass casing cracked under his knuckles. The toy store around him, filled with pastel colors and cheerful melodies, suddenly felt like a suffocating nightmare. He stared at Charlee, who was eagerly showing a oversized blue teddy bear to a store clerk, totally oblivious to the bomb that had just dropped over the receiver.
"Say that again, Casey," Spencer demanded, his voice dropping an octave into a dangerous whisper.
"Florence Miller," Casey repeated on the line, her voice trembling slightly. "She’s seventy-two years old, currently in the ICU at St. Jude’s. Thirty years ago, she was the head housekeeper for the Warren family estate. The medical and employment records match, Mr. Warren. Before your father passed, he quietly set up a trust fund for a child born to Florence—a girl named Nora. Charlee is Nora’s daughter. Which makes Charlee your biological niece."
Spencer swung his gaze back to Pamela Ortiz. The renowned fertility specialist looked terrified, her eyes darting toward the store exit as if she were contemplating making a run for it.
"You knew," Spencer growled, stepping into Pamela’s personal space. "You didn't just breach medical ethics, Pamela. You dragged an innocent infant into a war zone. Who knew about Jocelyn Cooper's pregnancy?"
"Nobody! I swear on my life!" Pamela sobbed, covering her mouth with her trembling hands. "Jocelyn paid in cash. She was terrified of someone finding out. She kept saying her ex-partner would kill her if he knew she was carrying a Warren child!"
"Her ex-partner?" Spencer’s mind raced. Jocelyn Cooper had been a high-society interior decorator who worked exclusively for wealthy families in Pinecrest Heights. "Who was her partner, Pamela? Speak before I have my legal team put you behind bars for the rest of your life!"
"It was Marcus!" Pamela choked out, tears spilling down her cheeks. "Marcus Vance! Your corporate attorney!"
A chill ran down Spencer's spine, colder than the icy rain pouring outside. Marcus Vance wasn't just his corporate attorney; he was his closest confidant. Marcus had been managing the Warren family estate, the offshore accounts, and the legal structures of Warren Enterprises for over fifteen years. Marcus had full access to Spencer’s estate plans, his security codes, and his mansion's perimeter systems.
And Marcus was sitting inside Spencer’s mansion at this exact moment, pretending to draft temporary guardianship papers for baby Dexter.
"Charlee, put the bear on the counter. We’re leaving right now," Spencer said calmly, suppressing the sheer panic surging through his veins. He grabbed Charlee’s small hand, shoved a stack of hundred-dollar bills toward the cashier without waiting for change, and rushed out the door.
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As they stepped into the storm, Spencer’s phone buzzed again. It was a text message from an unknown, encrypted number:
DROP THE BABY AT THE DUMPSTER AGAIN, OR FLORENCE DIES IN HER HOSPITAL BED TONIGHT. THE ESTATE BELONGS TO THE TRUE HEIR.
