Chapter 3 - THE SHADOW OF THE PASTThe arrest of Victoria Knight made national headlines.
"DECORATED ARMY COLONEL’S MOTHER ARRESTED FOR KIDNAPPING, CHILD TRAFFICKING, AND SECOND-DEGREE MURDER."
The news networks were relentless. Cameras flashed as federal agents dragged Victoria out of the mansion in handcuffs, her face covered by a silk scarf as she screamed obscenities at the reporters.
I sat in the back of an ambulance outside the gates, holding Mia wrapped in a warm blanket. Paramedics were treating the gunshot graze on my shoulder, but I couldn't feel it. All I could feel was Mia’s small heart beating against my chest.
"Daddy?" Mia asked softly, looking up at me. "Are we going to see Oliver now?"
I froze. "You... you know about Oliver?"
Mia nodded gently. "When I was little, the lady who took care of me before Grandma locked me in that wing... she whispered to me. She said I had a brother who lived where the sun goes down."
My heart broke into a million pieces. "Yes, sweetie. We're going to go get your brother right now."
Six hours later, a military transport plane landed at a small airfield near Miller's Crossing. I walked off the tarmac holding Mia's hand. Sitting in a military humvee waiting for us was Rose Parker and Oliver.
When Oliver saw us step off the plane, he hid behind Rose's leg. But Mia let go of my hand and ran forward.
"Oliver!" she called out, her voice echoing over the dusty tarmac.
Oliver peeked out. He looked at Mia. For the first time, I saw the boy’s eyes widen in absolute wonder. They were identical. Two halves of a broken family, separated by evil, finally standing face-to-face.
Oliver slowly walked forward. He reached out a small, dirt-streaked hand and touched Mia's face.
"You look like me," Oliver whispered.
"You look like me too," Mia giggled, tears rolling down her cheeks.
Rose Parker stood behind them, wiping her eyes with her apron. She looked at me, her stern, bitter demeanor finally cracking.
"You brought her back," Rose said softly.
"I promised you I would, Rose," I said, stepping closer. "I know I can never make up for the eight years I lost. I know I can never bring Emily back. But I swear to you, as long as I have breath in my body, these children will never suffer again."
Rose looked down at the two children, who were now holding hands and laughing quietly as Mia showed Oliver her teddy bear.
"They need a father, Ethan," Rose said quietly. "Not a Colonel. Not a ghost. They need you."
"I'm resigning my commission tomorrow," I said firmly. "I'm done with the Army."
For three weeks, life seemed to finally settle into a peaceful rhythm. I bought a sprawling ranch house just outside Miller's Crossing, ten minutes from Rose's home. Oliver and Mia were inseparable. Every morning, I woke up to the sound of their laughter filling the hallways. I began the long process of earning Oliver's trust—teaching him how to ride a bicycle, throwing a football in the yard, and reading them bedtime stories just as Emily used to dream we would.
Everything felt like a dream.
Until the lawyer arrived.
It was a Tuesday afternoon. A sleek silver sedan pulled up to the ranch. A man in a tailored black suit stepped out, holding a thick leather briefcase.
"Ethan Knight?" the man asked, stepping onto the porch.
"Yes," I replied, standing defensively near the door. "Who are you?"
"My name is Arthur Pendelton. I am the executor of your late wife's secret estate."
I frowned. "Emily didn't have an estate. Her family was poor."
Arthur pulled a heavy document sealed with red wax from his briefcase.
"That is what your mother wanted everyone to believe, Mr. Knight," Arthur said calmly. "Emily Parker was not a poor country girl. She was the sole surviving heiress to the Vance Oil Cartel—a company worth over four billion dollars. Her mother, Rose Parker, went into hiding twenty years ago to protect Emily from her father's dangerous associates."
My head swam. "What?"
"And there's one more thing," Arthur said, looking me straight in the eye. "Emily’s death certificate... the official one signed by the coroner in Denver... was faked."
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My chest seized. "What did you say?!"
"Emily Vance-Knight didn't die eight years ago, Ethan," Arthur said, pulling out a grainy, high-resolution photograph taken just three days ago in Mexico City. "She was placed in a medically induced coma... and she woke up six months ago."
