PART 2
For several minutes, I stood outside the emergency room door staring at the words written on the glass.
ELEANOR CROSS — CRITICAL CONDITION.
A name I had spent twelve years trying to find.
A name connected to the last mystery my parents left behind.
And now she was lying on the other side of that door, fighting for her life.
I looked down at Leo.
The little boy was sitting in a hospital chair, his legs swinging above the floor because they couldn’t reach it.
He was still holding the blue toy car.
The same toy car he had carried through the streets.
The same toy car he refused to let go of even when his mother was dying.
“Leo.”
He looked up.
“Where did you get this?”
His fingers tightened around it.
“Mommy gave it to me.”
“When?”
He looked confused.
“Always.”
I studied his face.
“What do you mean?”
He lowered his voice.
“She said if something bad ever happened, I had to keep it safe.”
A chill moved through me.
“Safe from what?”
Leo looked around the hospital hallway.
Then he whispered:
“From the people looking for us.”
My heart stopped.
“What people?”
But before he could answer, the doctor came out.
I immediately stood.
“How is she?”
The doctor removed his mask.
“She’s stable for now.”
I released a breath I didn’t realize I was holding.
“But she’s severely malnourished. She has signs of long-term medical neglect. If you hadn’t brought her in when you did…”
He didn’t finish.
He didn’t need to.
I looked through the window.
Eleanor Cross.
The woman my father trusted.
The woman who disappeared after my parents’ deaths.
The woman who somehow ended up homeless with a five-year-old child.
Nothing made sense.
“Can I see her?”
The doctor hesitated.
“Only briefly.”
I walked into the room.
Machines surrounded her.
The woman looked nothing like the person I had seen in old company records.
Back then, Eleanor Cross was a brilliant financial director.
Elegant.
Confident.
Trusted by my parents.
Now she looked broken.
But then I noticed something.
Her hand.
Even unconscious, she was holding onto something.
A small piece of paper.
I carefully removed it.
My heart nearly stopped when I saw the handwriting.
My father’s handwriting.
The same handwriting from the note recovered after the crash.
I unfolded it.
Only one sentence was visible:
“Eleanor, if they find out the truth, they will come for my son next.”
My hands began shaking.
My son?
I stared at the words.
What did my father mean?
I had no siblings.
No hidden family.
No one.
At least, that was what I believed.
I rushed back into the hallway.
“Leo.”
The boy looked at me.
“Where is your father?”
His face changed instantly.
Like I had asked something forbidden.
“He’s gone.”
“When?”
Leo looked down.
“Before I was born.”
My heart started racing.
“What was his name?”
Leo didn’t answer.
He just held the toy car tighter.
“Mom said never tell anyone.”
“Why?”
“Because Daddy said the wrong people would come.”
I looked at the blue toy car.
Something about it bothered me.
The scratches.
The faded paint.
The way Leo protected it.
“Can I see the car?”
He hesitated.
Then slowly handed it to me.
At first, it looked like an ordinary child’s toy.
Old.
Cheap.
Broken.
But when I turned it over, I noticed something strange.
A small metal screw on the bottom.
Not part of the original design.
Someone had modified it.
I looked at Leo.
“Who fixed this?”
“My daddy.”
My breathing stopped.
I grabbed a small medical tool from the nearby tray and carefully loosened the screw.
Inside the toy car was a tiny hidden compartment.
And inside that compartment…
Was a small memory card.
A piece of paper.
And a photograph.
I unfolded the photograph first.
My entire body went cold.
It was my parents.
Standing beside Eleanor Cross.
But they weren’t alone.
There was another person in the picture.
A man I recognized immediately.
Someone who had been part of my family’s company for years.
Someone who had comforted me after my parents died.
Someone who had helped take control of Vance Gastronomy after the crash.
My uncle.
Richard Vance.
The man who told me:
“Your parents’ death was a tragic accident.”
The man who convinced me to stop searching.
The man who had been running my family’s empire while I built my own.
I turned the photograph over.
There was a date written on the back.
Three days before the plane crash.
And beneath it were six words:
“They know Richard betrayed them.”
I felt the room spinning.
For twelve years, I thought I lost my parents because of a tragic accident.
But what if it wasn’t an accident?
What if someone wanted them gone?
A soft voice interrupted my thoughts.
“Mr. Vance?”
I looked up.
Leo was standing there.
His eyes were filled with fear.
“Mom told me if you ever found the car…”
He stopped.
“What?”
He swallowed.
“She said you would know what to do.”
I stared at the five-year-old boy.
“What else did she tell you?”
Leo looked toward Eleanor’s hospital room.
Then whispered:
“She said…”
A pause.
“She said my daddy saved your parents.”
My heart stopped.
“Who is your father, Leo?”
The boy looked at me.
And his answer changed everything.
Because the name he whispered…
Was a name I thought had died twelve years ago.
“Daniel Vance.”
My older brother.
The brother everyone told me had never existed.
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