When he responded, his voice had changed.
Softer.
“Because she believes remaining away is how she keeps them alive.”
My throat tightened.
“No.”
“She is mistaken about many things.”
The familiar voice sighed.
“But not about that.”
“What do you want?”
“At last.”
“Answer me.”
“I want you to locate what I failed to find.”
“The archive.”
Silence.
Confirmation enough.
“Where is it?”
“If I knew that, I wouldn’t need you.”
“And Isabella?”
“Found the first key.”
“The nursery.”
“Yes.”
I looked toward the office doorway.
Elena stood there now, listening.
“The hidden room.”
“That room was only a checkpoint.”
“Then what exactly is the key?”
My father laughed again.
“You always rush.”
“Because everyone around me keeps pretending to be dead.”
This time Marco nearly smiled despite himself.
My father didn’t.
“Your grandfather believed the archive should never belong to a single person. So he divided the access.”
“How?”
“Bl00d.”
I became still.
“What does that mean?”
“You’ll understand soon.”
“Don’t play games.”
“I’m trying to keep you alive.”
“You surrendered the right to call this protection six years ago.”
A long silence followed.
Then, unexpectedly, my father said, “Yes.”
There was something in his voice I had never heard during my childhood.
Regret.
“I did.”
That stopped me more effectively than any warning could have.
My father had never apologized.
Not for forgotten birthdays. Not for harsh lessons. Not for leaving Luca and me to be raised by household staff much of the time. Not even after my mother died and both of us begged him to remain home more often.
But now his voice carried something weary.
Human.
“Adrien, listen carefully.”
I remained silent.
“The nursery incident means they know Isabella has contacted you.”
“Who are they?”
“I don’t know every one of them.”
“That’s convenient.”
“The organization has changed.”
“What organization?”
“The one that believed the archive belonged to them.”
“Names.”
“I have three.”
“Give them to me.”
“One is dead.”
“Then give me two.”
“One sits close to you.”
Suddenly, everyone in the office seemed too close.
Marco heard it.
His expression tightened.
I turned slightly away.
“Who?”
“I don’t know.”
“You just said—”
“I said one sits close to you. I didn’t say I knew which person.”
“How do you know?”
“Because the nursery device required internal biometric authorization.”
I thought about Elena opening the hidden steel door.
My gaze shifted toward her.
She noticed.
Her expression changed.
“Mr. Moretti?”
My father continued.
“The access system inside the hidden room was built decades ago and recently modernized. It recognizes descendants from four original custodians.”
I stared at Elena.
“What?”
“Adrien?”
“Repeat that.”
“Four bloodlines,” my father said. “Moretti is one.”
“Who are the other three?”
He started to answer.
Then a sudden crash—
No.
Not a weapon.
Something metallic had fallen on his side of the call.
Voices shouted in the background.
The phone shifted.
“Dad?”
The word escaped before I could stop myself.
For six years, I hadn’t said it.
Dad.
Not Father.
Not him.
Dad.
The entire office became silent.
My father returned to the call, breathing heavily.
“You need to get the children out of the estate.”
“Where are you?”
“Listen to me.”
“Where are you?”
“Do not trust the evacuation protocol.”
I looked toward Marco.
“Why?”
“Because they created it.”
The call ended.
I stood motionless.
Marco immediately began speaking into his radio.
“Full internal security review. Suspend all standard evacuation procedures. Nobody moves the children without direct authorization from either me or Mr. Moretti.”
Responses crackled through the radio.
Elena stepped closer.
“What did he mean about bloodlines?”
I looked at her.
“The hidden door opened for you.”
“I don’t know why.”
“Did Isabella ever ask questions about your family?”
Elena frowned.
“Once.”
“When?”
“About a year ago.”
My stomach tightened.
“What did she ask?”
“My maiden name.”
“What is it?”
“Navarro.”
Marco froze.
I turned toward him.
“What?”
He walked over to the photograph we had found inside the hidden room.
