"That's our working theory. I've reached out to some of the older members, the ones who were active twenty-five years ago. Most claim they don't remember anything, but one namekeeps coming up in connection with records erasure during that period."
"Who?"
"Bryan Vanderwal."
The name hits me like a fist to the chest. Bryan Vanderwal—my father's closest friend, one of the most powerful Brotherhood members of his generation. The man I was planning to contact about Linda's past.
If Bryan was involved in erasing Linda's history, then whatever she was running from wasn't just personal. It was Brotherhood business. Family business.
And Zach knows something about it. That's why he's circling Poppy. That's why he's been digging into her mother's past. He's found a thread, and he's pulling it, trying to unravel something that's been buried for a quarter century.
"I need to speak with Bryan," I say. "Arrange a meeting. Tomorrow, if possible."
"Yes, sir. And the Mercer situation?"
"Keep monitoring. I want to know every move he makes. If he so much as looks in her direction again—"
"Understood, sir."
I end the call and sit in the silence of my study, rage and fear warring in my chest.
She didn't tell me. That's the part I can't get past. Whatever Zach said to her, whatever lies he fed her, she chose to keep it secret. She looked me in the eye and saidnothing happened, and I could see the lie sitting on her tongue.
Why? What could Zach possibly have offered that would make her hide from me?
A way out.
The thought surfaces unbidden, and I shove it away. She doesn't want a way out. She chose to stay, to move in, to build a life here with me. She's not looking for escape routes—she's just tired, just overwhelmed, just adjusting to a situation that would test anyone's limits.
But the doubt lingers, poisonous and persistent.
What if I've been wrong about her? What if the connection I thought we had was just survival instinct, her body adapting to captivity the way all prey eventually adapts? What if the moment someone offered her an alternative—a door that locks from the inside instead of the outside—she started calculating how to walk through it?
I pour myself a whiskey and stand at the window, watching the darkness gather over the grounds.
I could confront her. Demand to know what Zach said, what she's hiding, why she lied to my face. I could show her the surveillance reports, the proof that I know exactly what happened at that market. I could make her understand that there are no secrets between us—not because she chooses to share them, but because I see everything.
But that would reveal how thoroughly I've been watching her. Tracking her. Monitoring her every movement, even when she thinks she's alone.
She knows I had her followed before. She knows about the surveillance during our early days, the way I learned her routines and patterns. But she doesn't know the extent of it—the cameras, the operatives, the reports that land on my desk detailing every conversation she has with the staff.
If she knew, would she still trust me?
Does she trust me now?
I don't know. And that uncertainty is more unbearable than anything Zach could do.
I spend the next hour pacing my study, unable to settle, unable to focus on anything but her. The whiskey goes untouched—I need my mind sharp, need to think through every angle of this situation.
Zach is playing a long game. That much is clear. He didn't approach Poppy to scare her or threaten her—he approached her to plant seeds. To make her question her reality, her choices, and her trust in me.
And it's working. I can see it in the way she looked at me tonight. Something has cracked, some foundation of certainty that I thought we'd built together.
The question is: can I repair it before Zach widens the breach?
***
I find her in the kitchen around midnight.
