The desert air turned to pure ice. "Twins," Grace repeated, her body shaking so violently that her knees scraped against the cracked concrete of the porch. "It was twins, Colonel. A boy... and a girl."

The image was blurry, taken through the glass window of a private medical facility in Mexico. But there was no mistaking the woman sitting in the wheelchair, looking out over a courtyard of bougainvillea flowers.

It was Emily.

She was thinner, her pale face framed by long, dark hair, but her profile was burned into my soul.

"This is impossible," I breathed, my hands shaking uncontrollably. "I went to her funeral! I stood in front of her casket! I buried her!"

"You buried an empty mahogany box filled with sand bags, Colonel," Arthur Pendelton said, his voice completely devoid of emotion. "Your mother paid the county coroner fifty thousand dollars to sign a fraudulent death certificate. When Emily went into cardiac arrest during childbirth, Victoria had her transported to a private underground facility in Juarez. She kept Emily hooked to life support for eight years, paying off the facility with funds stolen from your family's trust."

"Why?!" I roared, grabbing Arthur by the lapels of his expensive suit and slamming him against the wall of the porch. "Why would she keep her alive in a coma for eight years instead of just killing her?!"

Arthur swallowed hard, his eyes wide with fear. "Because... because Emily's father left his entire four-billion-dollar fortune in a living trust that could only be unlocked by two things: Emily’s personal biometric signature... or her biological children reaching the age of eight!"

The puzzle pieces snapped together with horrifying clarity.

Victoria didn't just want to get rid of Emily because she hated her background. She wanted the Vance Oil empire. She kept Emily barely alive on a ventilator waiting for the day she could forcibly use Emily’s thumbprint and iris scan to transfer the billions into her own offshore accounts. And when Mia and Oliver turned eight, the trust opened.

"Where is she right now?" I demanded, releasing Arthur.

"The Santa Maria Clinic in Mexico City," Arthur gasped, leaning against the wall and adjusting his tie. "But you have to hurry. Two days ago, after your mother was arrested, her security chief—Marcus—escaped from police custody at the hospital. He knows where Emily is. He's going there to finish the job and erase the evidence!"

My blood ran cold. Marcus. The mercenary who had tried to shoot me at the manor.

I turned around and looked through the window. Oliver and Mia were sitting on the living room rug, drawing pictures with colored pencils. Rose was in the kitchen baking bread.

I couldn't tell them. Not yet. If I gave them hope and failed, it would kill them.

I walked inside, grabbed my tactical bag from the closet—the one containing my old sidearm, combat knife, and military equipment—and pulled Rose into the hallway.

"Rose," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. "I have to leave for forty-eight hours. I need you to lock the doors, turn on the security system, and do not let anyone into this house except military personnel."

Rose looked into my eyes. She saw the storm brewing inside me. "Ethan... what happened? Did your mother’s lawyers do something?"

"I found Emily," I whispered.

Rose gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. "What did you say?"

"She's alive, Rose. She's in Mexico. And I'm going to bring her home."

Without waiting another second, I ran out to my truck. I called my old commander, General Vance at the Pentagon, using my top-secret clearance line.

"Ethan?" the General's voice came through the encrypted channel. "I heard about your mother. The Department of Defense is offering you full support—"

"General, I don't need support," I interrupted, tearing down the highway toward the airport. "I need an unmarked black-ops chopper, two armed operators, and airspace authorization into Mexico City within thirty minutes."

"Ethan, that's an illegal cross-border tactical operation!" General Vance shouted. "If you get caught, the government will disavow you!"

"My wife is alive, General," I said, my tone as hard as iron. "And the man who tried to kill my family is on his way to murder her. Are you going to give me the chopper, or do I cross the border myself and leave a trail of bodies?"