Lahat ng Kabanata ng His hidden heir : Kabanata 41 - Kabanata 50

The home visit was scheduled for Thursday. Two days away. Alicia wrote it on her calendar in black ink, underlined it twice, then stared at it until the letters blurred. Forty-eight hours to prove she was a fit mother to the child she’d raised alone for four years. Forty-eight hours to sanitize a life that had never been dirty to begin with.Alex found her scrubbing the baseboards at 11 p.m. “Alicia.”“I know.” She didn’t look up. “It’s late.”“It’s already clean.”“It can be cleaner.” He crouched beside her, took the rag from her hand. Her fingers were red, raw. She didn’t fight him. “They want to see normal,” he said quietly. “Not perfect. You don’t have to bleed for them.”She let out a breath that sounded too much like a sob and pressed her forehead to his shoulder. Just for a second. Then she pulled back. “Aiden can’t see me like this,” she whispered. “He won’t.”But he did. The next morning, Aiden stood in the kitchen doorway watching Alicia repack his backpack for the

Margaret Dickson didn’t raise her voice when she was angry. She raised her standards. By 8 a.m. Monday, three things happened. First, Alicia’s studio landlord hand-delivered a notice. _Lease under review due to “zoning compliance audit.” Vacate in 30 days if violations are found. There were no violations. There never were. Second, Aiden’s pediatrician called. We're so sorry, Ms. Dickson, but we’re over capacity and have to refer you to another provider. Effective immediately. They’d been his doctor since birth. Third, Ms. Hendricks from CPS requested a second home visit. Just procedural. Given recent media attention and new information received._ New information. Alicia read the email three times, then set her phone face-down and went to throw up. Alex found her on the bathroom floor twenty minutes later. “Tell me,” he said. No preamble. She told him. He didn’t curse. Didn’t punch a wall. He just went very, very still. The way he used to look before he destroyed

The Dickson estate hadn’t breathed in twelve years. The gate stood open. Alex killed the engine on the road. “We wait for Reyes.” Alicia was already unbuckling Aiden. “She’s had a head start. She knows this place.” Keith took Aiden without a word. “We stay here.” Zara pressed a flashlight into Alex’s hand. “Don’t die.” Inside, it reeked of damp wood and Margaret’s perfume—Chanel No. 5 and rot. “Margaret?” Alex’s voice bounced off the foyer. Nothing. Alicia moved past him. “Cellar. Dad’s office. Where Grandpa died.” The door gaped open. Stairs swallowed light. At the bottom: candles. Dozens. Margaret sat at Robert’s desk like she owned the dark. Gun on the wood. Finger not on the trigger. Yet. “You’re late,” she said. “You pushed Dad down stairs,” Alicia said. Margaret shrugged. “Weak men fall.” “Feds are two minutes out,” Alex said, stepping left, slow. “Good,” Margaret said. “We’ll keep it brief.” Her eyes locked on Alicia. “You think a judge erased yo

The car didn’t have plates. Reyes said it on speakerphone while Alex tore through a red light. “Rental. Paid in cash. GPS wiped ten minutes after pickup. We’ve got traffic cam footage: black SUV, heading west on I-20. Zara’s phone is in the glove compartment. Pinging off a tower near Arlington.” Alicia sat in the passenger seat, knuckles white around the handle. “Is she alive?” “Her vitals are still transmitting from the tracker in her bracelet,” Reyes said. “She’s breathing. Sedated, but breathing.” “And Aiden?” “Still in the car,” Reyes said. “We’re not losing them.” Alex floored it. “Marcus Thorne has to be behind this. Where is he?” “Penthouse downtown,” Reyes said. “Already got a team moving. But Alicia—” “What?” she cut in. “If Thorne has federal connections, he’ll have lawyers waiting. We need more than him having your son. We need him to admit it.” Alicia looked at Alex. “Then we make him admit it.” ---They reached Thorne Holdings forty minutes later.

Viktor Kessler didn’t meet them himself. That was the first red flag. At 9 a.m., Alicia, Alex, and Reyes sat in a sterile conference room at Kessler & Partners, a law firm that occupied the entire 12th floor of a glass tower overlooking Lake Geneva. The view was perfect. The air was colder than the AC. Their contact was a woman in her 50s named Elise Moreau. Silver hair, black suit, no smile. “Mr. Kessler sends his regrets,” she said, setting down a file without opening it. “He’s in Zurich. Health concerns. But he authorized me to speak on his behalf.” Reyes slid her badge across the table. “Federal. We’re investigating financial crimes connected to Margaret Dickson and Marcus Thorne. We need access to all accounts tied to Viktor Kessler from 1994 to present.” Elise didn’t flinch. “And I’m afraid I must deny that request. Client confidentiality.” Alex leaned forward. “Client confidentiality doesn’t cover murder, Ms. Moreau.” Elise finally looked at him. “Do you have ev