Chapter 6 - The Nurse's SecretBy Thursday morning, Viktor’s network had delivered results faster than even I anticipated.
We were gathered in my private study—a high-security bunker disguised as a mahogany-paneled library behind a concealed wall panel. On the massive oak desk sat a secure laptop streaming encrypted satellite data, alongside a stack of fresh intelligence files.
Viktor tossed a thick manila folder onto the desk.
"We found Helen," Viktor announced.
I looked up from my tablet, my eyes locking onto him. "Where?"
"A small, heavily guarded safehouse in rural northern Wisconsin," Viktor replied, pulling up a digital surveillance photo on the screen. It showed an elderly, weathered woman tending to a small vegetable garden behind a modest cabin. "She’s been living under an alias ever since she helped Claire and the twins escape the psychiatric clinic a year ago. She’s terrified of Margaret’s cleaners finding her, but she didn't run when our team approached—she knew your name."
"Pack a bag, Viktor," I said, standing up immediately and buttoning my suit jacket. "We're flying north."
"Boss, it could be a trap," Viktor warned. "Margaret’s people might be watching her house too."
"If Margaret's people are there, they're about to have a very bad day," I replied coldly, grabbing my holster and strapping it securely across my chest. "I need answers about Claire. Did Helen say anything about whether Claire is still alive?"
Viktor hesitated, his expression darkening. "She wouldn't talk on an unsecure line. She said she'd only speak to you face-to-face... and only if you brought the silver keepsake box."
I frowned. The silver keepsake box. The one Ivy guarded with her life.
"Alright," I said. "I'm bringing it."
An hour later, my twin-engine private jet touched down on a clandestine airstrip hidden deep within the pine forests of northern Wisconsin. Viktor and four tactical operatives accompanied me in a reinforced SUV, navigating winding dirt roads until we reached the secluded cabin nestled deep in the woods.
The cabin was quiet, surrounded by towering pines and the crisp, pine-scented autumn air.
As we approached the front porch, the wooden door creaked open.
An elderly woman with silver hair tied neatly in a bun and sharp, intelligent eyes stepped out onto the porch. She was holding a steaming mug of tea, her hands trembling slightly—not out of weakness, but out of profound relief mixed with lingering fear.
"Vance Whitmore," Helen said, her voice raspy with age. "You look just like the photographs Claire kept under her mattress."
I stepped up onto the porch, leaving Viktor and the guards stationed at the perimeter. I reached into my coat pocket and pulled out the small silver keepsake box, holding it up so she could see the engraved vines.
"You know this box," I stated flatly.
Helen smiled faintly, stepping aside and gesturing into the cabin. "I helped pack it. Come inside, Vance. It's time you learned the entire truth about what your mother stole from you."
I stepped into the rustic, dimly lit living room, the scent of cedarwood and chamomile tea hanging heavy in the air.
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"Where is my wife?" I demanded before the door even clicked shut behind me.
Helen turned around, her eyes glistening with unshed tears, and delivered a revelation that completely shattered every remaining illusion I had about my life.
