Grayson frowned. “Then who does it pass through?”
Richard looked at Lily.
Then at Amelia.
Then, strangely, at Grayson.
“It passes through the mother’s chosen heir.”
Amelia shook her head. “I don’t understand.”
Richard read from the page.
“In the event the named heir survives but refuses formal claim, inheritance and authority shall pass to the child designated by her blood, mark, and recorded vow.”
Grayson’s eyes narrowed. “Recorded vow?”
Richard turned the page.
“There’s more.”
A folded note slipped out and landed on the floor of the truck.
Amelia picked it up with shaking fingers.
The handwriting was different from Rose’s.
Elegant. Slanted. Familiar in a way that made Amelia’s chest ache.
Her mother’s handwriting.
She unfolded it.
My daughter must never be used by them. If they find her, let them think the child is the heir. Let them chase the shadow. The true heir will know when the lilies bloom again.
Amelia read the words once.
Then again.
Grayson slowed the truck.
“What does it mean?” he asked.
Amelia could not answer.
Because Lily had started fussing in her arms, pulling at the soft collar of her dress.
And there, against Lily’s tiny wrist, Amelia noticed something she had always thought was only a birthmark.
A pale blue mark shaped almost exactly like a lily.
Richard saw it and went utterly still.
But before anyone could speak, Grayson’s phone rang.
Unknown number.
He answered without a word.
Victor Ashford’s voice returned, calm and smiling.
“Congratulations, Amelia. You found the first lie.”
The truck swerved slightly.
Ashford continued.
“Now find the second before midnight, or your daughter will belong to me by morning.”
The line went dead.
Ahead of them, black smoke rose beyond the trees from the direction of Amelia’s storage unit.
