Chapter 3 - Shadows of the Past"What is your name?" Bennett asked, his voice dropping into a register that made Walter instinctively take a step back toward the door.
"Clara," the woman whispered, her knuckles turning white where she gripped Mia’s jacket. "Clara Vance."
"Vance," Bennett muttered, turning the name over in his mind. It wasn't a family name he knew, yet the resemblance between Clara and his deceased wife, Elena, was undeniable—not a twin-like likeness, but a striking familial echo in the structure of the jaw, the slope of the nose, the distinct amber flecks in the irises.
"My mother was Elena Vance," Clara said defensively, misinterpreting his silence as a threat. "She died when I was little. We keep to ourselves, Mr. Cross. We don't want any trouble with your... business. Please, just let us go home."
Bennett walked slowly toward them, stopping a few feet away. "Your mother’s name was Elena Vance?"
"Yes."
"Where was she from?"
"Upstate. Near Syracuse," Clara replied, her breathing shallow. "Look, I know men like you don't like people wandering onto your property. Call your guards, do whatever you're going to do, just let me take my daughter home."
Bennett didn't answer immediately. His mind raced back four years, to the investigation he had ordered after the car bomb. He had torn apart every enemy syndicate in the tri-state area, believing the hit was ordered by the Russian Bratva. But Elena had kept secrets. She had always been tight-lipped about her past, claiming an estranged family that had abandoned her.
What if she hadn't been an orphan? What if there was a sister?
"Walter," Bennett commanded without turning around. "Run a full background check on Elena Vance, born in Syracuse, approximately thirty-five years ago. I want every record, every hospital slip, every adoption or birth certificate by midnight."
"Right away, Boss," Walter said, exiting the room swiftly.
Clara clutched Mia tighter. "Why are you doing this? What does my mother have to do with you?"
"Your mother," Bennett said quietly, his eyes fixed on the little girl in her arms, "looked remarkably like my late wife. And your daughter... carries a face I haven't seen in a very long time."
May you like
Before Clara could process the cryptic statement, a sharp, piercing sound cut through the mansion's silence.
It wasn't an alarm. It was the heavy crunch of tires speeding up the gravel driveway, followed immediately by the staccato pop of automatic gunfire shattering the front windows.
