GET THIS CONFUSED OLD WOMAN OUT OF HERE!” Sloane Mercer, wearing a red designer gown, snatched the magnifying glass from the elderly woman’s hand and dropped it into a champagne bucket

The morning sun broke over the Chicago skyline, casting a warm, golden light across the floor-to-ceiling windows of Ethan’s corporate office.

The storm had passed.

Ethan stood by the window, looking out over the city. He wore a fresh suit, but his eyes showed the exhaustion of a man who had lived three lifetimes in one night.

The office door opened softly.

Leo stood there, wearing a new sweater, looking nervous and out of place in the billionaire’s sanctuary.

Margaret walked in behind him, placing a reassuring hand on the boy’s shoulder.

“You wanted to see us, Mr. Vale?” Leo asked hesitantly.

Ethan turned around. He looked at the boy—the messy hair, the nervous stance, the artistic hands clutching the portfolio.

He didn’t see a terrified kid forced into a crime anymore. He saw his own blood.

“Sit down, Leo,” Ethan said, his voice warm and steady.

Leo sat on the edge of the leather sofa.

Ethan walked over to his massive oak desk. Sitting on top of it was the original painting of the farmhouse, beautifully displayed on a silver easel. Beside it rested the child’s violin.

“Sloane was arrested at O’Hare airport this morning attempting to board a flight to Paris,” Ethan said. “Richard Mercer has officially stepped down, and my lawyers—my new lawyers—have secured the return of all original Vale patents.”

Leo let out a breath of relief. “So, it’s over? We’re safe?”

“You’re safe, Leo. Your mother’s new house is being finalized as we speak.”

Ethan walked around the desk and sat in the chair opposite Leo.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out the faded photograph from the crypt. He slid it across the coffee table toward the boy.

Leo looked at it, his eyes widening. “That’s me. When I was fourteen. Where did you get this?”

“My grandfather took it,” Ethan said softly. “He used to watch you from a distance. He paid your mother’s rent anonymously for years.”

Leo looked completely bewildered. “Why?”

“Because, Leo,” Ethan said, leaning forward. “Your father was Arthur Vale. My grandfather’s secret son.”

Leo froze. The air in the room went completely still.

“I’m... a Vale?” Leo whispered, looking at the photograph, then at the painting, and finally at Ethan.

“You’re my cousin,” Ethan said, a genuine smile breaking across his face. “You’re family.”

Tears welled up in Leo’s eyes. He had spent his whole life thinking he was nobody, a poor kid at the mercy of landlords like the Mercers.

“I don’t know what to say,” Leo choked out, wiping his eyes.

“You don’t have to say anything,” Ethan said. He stood up and held out his hand.

Leo stood and took it. Ethan pulled the younger boy into a firm, grounding hug. It was the first time in years Ethan felt like he had a real family.

When they pulled apart, Ethan picked up the heavy silver pocket watch from his desk.

He pressed it into Leo’s hand.

“This belonged to our grandfather,” Ethan said. “It’s yours now.”

Leo looked down at the watch, tracing the silver casing with awe. He stood a little taller. The fear was gone, replaced by a quiet, undeniable dignity.

Margaret smiled from the doorway, wiping a tear from her own cheek.

“You did well, Ethan,” she said softly.

“I couldn’t have done it without you, Margaret,” Ethan replied. He picked up a thick legal folder from his desk and handed it to her.

“What’s this?” she asked.

“It’s a deed,” Ethan said. “I bought the gallery. You are the new head curator and director of restorations. If you want the job.”

Margaret looked at the papers, her hands trembling with joy. After being humiliated and pushed out, she was being given the keys to the kingdom.

“I would be honored,” she whispered.

Everything was finally right. The past was honored, the villains were defeated, and the Vale family was whole again.

But as Ethan poured them all a celebratory cup of coffee, his private line rang.

It was a restricted number.

Ethan answered it. “Ethan Vale.”

“Enjoying the victory lap, Ethan?”

The voice on the other end was smooth, calm, and terrifyingly familiar.

It was Sloane.

“You’re in police custody, Sloane,” Ethan said, his smile vanishing.

“I’m in a private holding cell with my lawyer,” she corrected with a dark laugh. “And I’m making a phone call. Because while you were busy playing happy family, I made a deal with the District Attorney.”

Ethan gripped the edge of his desk. “You have nothing to bargain with.”

“Oh, Ethan. You found the violin. You found the boy. But did you really think your grandfather was the only one with secrets in 1987?”