Chapter 3 - The Sister Nobody Was Supposed to Know About
“Your little sister?”
Roman repeated the words slowly.
For three years, Natalie Cross had told him she was an only child.
She had described a lonely childhood, an absent father, and a mother who died before Natalie finished middle school.
Roman had believed every word.
Now Margaret Ellis was sitting in his bedroom, holding a child's bracelet, while Natalie trembled beside the fireplace.
“Her name is Sophie,” Natalie whispered.
Roman looked at her.
“How old?”
“Twenty-five.”
The number struck him.
Twenty-five years.
The same period Margaret had mentioned.
“The baby from the hospital,” Roman said.
Natalie nodded.
Roman looked back at Margaret.
“You knew about this?”
“I knew a baby was born. I didn't know what happened to her.”
Natalie wiped her cheeks.
“My mother raised Sophie until she became too sick. After that, things got complicated.”
“Complicated how?”
Natalie looked at Aaron, then at the open bedroom door.
“Not in front of everyone.”
Roman's jaw tightened.
“Claire nearly lost the use of her hand because you wanted to keep a secret. You're out of private conversations.”
Natalie flinched.
It was the first time Roman had spoken to her like that.
And although part of him regretted the harshness, another part remembered Claire kneeling on those forty-eight stairs.
He wasn't going to confuse pity with trust again.
Margaret leaned forward.
“Roman, you need to understand something. Sophie isn't responsible for the choices that were made before she was born.”
“Where is she?”
Natalie shook her head.
“I can't tell you.”
“Won't tell me?”
“Can't.”
Roman turned to Aaron.
“Find Sophie Cross.”
Natalie moved quickly.
“Please don't.”
Aaron paused.
Roman looked at her.
“Give me one reason.”
Natalie's voice broke.
“Because someone has been using her medication to control me.”
That changed the room.
Roman knew Natalie had been secretly receiving calls for months.
He had assumed they concerned her business.
Now he wasn't so certain.
“What medication?”
“She has a heart condition. She needs specialized treatment. Someone has been paying for it and controlling the arrangements.”
“Who?”
Natalie shook her head.
“I've never met him.”
“Then how did he contact you?”
“Through a private foundation.”
Roman held out his hand.
“Your phone.”
She hesitated.
“Natalie.”
She surrendered it.
Aaron reviewed the messages while Margaret quietly examined the silver bracelet.
Roman looked at the older woman.
“You said my brother sent you.”
“Yes.”
“Why didn't you come six months ago?”
Margaret lowered her eyes.
“Because Daniel made me promise not to come unless someone entered the archive.”
“How would you know?”
“He left instructions with a friend at the property.”
Roman stiffened.
“My property?”
Margaret nodded.
“A maintenance worker named Thomas Reed.”
Roman knew Thomas.
A quiet man who had repaired the estate's heating system for nearly twenty years.
Thomas had taken emergency leave three weeks earlier.
His wife had supposedly fallen ill.
Roman turned toward Aaron.
“Find him too.”
Aaron's expression darkened.
“Boss, there's something you should see first.”
He held out Natalie's phone.
A message from that morning filled the screen.
Have Sullivan clean the staircase. Keep Castellano away from the archive.
Below it was a photograph.
Claire's father.
He was lying in a rehabilitation bed with a therapist standing beside him.
The picture had been taken that morning.
Roman looked at Natalie.
“You let someone photograph a helpless man to frighten his daughter?”
“I didn't send that.”
“But you followed the instructions.”
Natalie covered her mouth.
“Yes.”
Roman felt disgust rising.
He remembered Claire's shaking hands.
The way she had begged not to lose her job.
He had built his reputation on making powerful men afraid of him.
Yet inside his own house, a frightened young woman had been suffering in plain sight.
“How long has this been happening?”
Natalie said nothing.
“How long?”
“Since Daniel died.”
Roman stared at her.
That was when something clicked.
The messages.
The archive.
The missing photograph.
Daniel's bracelet.
Someone had spent six months guiding events inside his home.
And Natalie had been their instrument.
Aaron's phone vibrated again.
He stepped into the hallway to answer.
When he returned, his expression had changed.
“Boss, Claire's X-rays show no fracture. But she has significant soft-tissue damage. The doctor wants her wrist immobilized.”
Roman nodded.
“Arrange whatever care she needs.”
“There's more.”
Aaron hesitated.
“Claire's father was transferred from his rehabilitation facility this afternoon.”
Roman frowned.
“Transferred where?”
“They won't say.”
Natalie closed her eyes.
Roman turned toward her.
“You knew.”
“I didn't know it would happen today.”
Roman stepped back.
He was afraid of what he might do if he remained near her.
“Where is he?”
Natalie whispered, “Mercer Medical Center.”
Aaron checked his phone.
“There's no Mercer Medical Center operating in Pittsburgh.”
Margaret suddenly lifted her head.
“There used to be.”
Everyone turned.
“It closed years ago,” she continued. “It was an affiliated treatment facility for St. Agnes.”
Roman felt his stomach tighten.
The hospital.
The archive.
The same names kept appearing.
“Why would anyone take Claire's father there?”
Margaret looked frightened.
“Because he worked at St. Agnes before his stroke.”
Roman stared.
“Claire told me her father was an accountant.”
“He was,” Margaret replied. “An accountant for the hospital.”
The room fell silent.
Roman remembered Claire saying her father had suffered a stroke eight months earlier.
Two months before Daniel died.
“What did he know?”
Margaret shook her head.
“I don't know.”
Roman picked up his phone.
“Aaron, bring the car.”
Natalie reached for him.
“Roman, please. Sophie—”
He stopped at the doorway.
“I will help your sister if she's in danger. But you don't get to use her suffering to excuse what you've done to Claire.”
Natalie's shoulders collapsed.
Roman turned back once.
“And you're not leaving this house until I know whether Claire's father is safe.”
Twenty minutes later, Roman entered the hospital room where Claire was recovering from her examination.
Her wrist was secured in a medical brace.
She looked exhausted.
But when she saw him, she tried to stand.
“Please don't,” Roman said.
She remained seated.
“Mr. Castellano, I'm sorry about everything.”
He felt a sharp ache of shame.
“You have nothing to apologize for.”
Then he told her about her father.
Claire went pale.
“No.”
“We're looking for him.”
“No, you don't understand.”
She reached for her bag with her good hand.
“My dad gave me something before his stroke. He told me never to open it unless somebody came asking about the Castellano family.”
Roman watched as she removed an old brown wallet.
Inside was a folded hospital identification card.
The photograph showed a woman with dark hair and kind eyes.
Roman recognized her immediately.
The woman from the archive.
Claire turned the card over.
May you like
On the back, written in faded blue ink, were six words.
Roman is not the oldest child.
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