Chapter 3 - The Man in the Coffin
By sunrise, Roman had three separate teams working without knowing what the others were doing.
One searched hospital records.
One searched the abandoned building across from his tower.
The third quietly began preparing a court petition to exhume Vincent Callaway’s grave.
Roman trusted almost no one now.
Sophia sat at the kitchen table feeding Gabriel from a bottle.
She had slept less than an hour.
Roman placed a cup of coffee near her.
She did not touch it.
“You don’t have to stay awake every second.”
“Yes, I do.”
“No one knows you’re here.”
“Someone knew which hospital room I was in.”
Roman could not argue with that.
Sophia looked toward the folder.
“What else did your mother write?”
Roman sat across from her.
“She said the accident was staged.”
“By Vincent?”
“She didn’t know.”
“She wrote that my father came home the night before the funeral and burned a suit in the fireplace.”
Sophia stared.
“Your father knew too?”
“Possibly.”
Roman turned another page.
“My mother also wrote a name.”
“Jonah Vale.”
Sophia frowned.
“Who was he?”
“Vincent’s closest friend.”
Roman remembered Jonah.
Twenty-four years old.
Restless.
Brilliant.
Always beside Vincent.
He had disappeared around the same time Vincent died.
Roman had been told Jonah had moved to South America after falling into debt.
Now that story sounded painfully convenient.
Roman’s phone rang.
Mason.
“We found the photographer.”
Roman stood.
“Name.”
“No name yet.”
“He entered the Kessler Building using a maintenance credential created yesterday.”
“But there’s something else.”
“What?”
“The credential originated from a Callaway Foundation server.”
Roman looked toward Sophia.
Silas.
Mason continued.
“I also pulled the hospital intrusion logs.”
“Someone accessed Gabriel’s medical file using executive authorization.”
“Whose?”
There was a pause.
“Silas Callaway.”
Sophia heard the answer.
Her face hardened.
Roman walked toward the window.
“Freeze every internal credential belonging to Silas.”
Mason hesitated.
“That may alert him.”
“I want him alerted.”
“Roman.”
“I want him to understand that he no longer has access to anything bearing my name.”
Mason obeyed.
Sophia placed Gabriel against her shoulder.
“What if that makes him desperate?”
“He already sent men into my building.”
“He is desperate.”
Roman’s second phone rang.
This call came from his attorney, Mara Keene.
Mara had represented Roman for twelve years.
She knew the family trusts better than anyone except Silas.
“I saw your message.”
She sounded tired.
“Are you certain about the paternity report?”
“I saw it.”
“Then we have a serious problem.”
“For Silas?”
“For everyone.”
Mara explained that Dominic Callaway’s trust contained a succession clause almost no one remembered.
If a previously unknown descendant of Vincent existed, the child’s share became active immediately after legally verified paternity.
Until Gabriel turned twenty-five, control of that share would fall to a designated family protector.
Sophia looked at Roman.
“Who?”
Mara answered.
“The surviving paternal uncle.”
Sophia relaxed for half a second.
Roman did not.
He knew legal documents.
And he knew his father.
“Read the exact wording.”
Mara went silent.
Then she said it.
“The oldest legally living paternal relative named Callaway at the time of verification.”
Roman felt cold.
Silas was older than Roman.
If Vincent remained legally dead, Gabriel’s family protector would not be Roman.
It would be Silas.
Sophia whispered.
“He doesn’t need to kill Gabriel.”
Roman understood.
“No.”
“He needs to control him.”
His phone buzzed.
A text from Mason appeared.
They had identified a fingerprint from the Kessler Building.
Roman opened the attached file.
The name on the screen was impossible.
VINCENT CALLAWAY.
Sophia saw it.
“He was watching us?”
Roman stared at the result.
“No.”
Something was wrong.
Vincent had called to warn them.
Yet his fingerprint had been found in the building used to photograph them.
Roman zoomed in on the forensic notes.
The print had been left on a glass.
Fresh.
Less than twelve hours old.
Then another message arrived.
The cemetery had approved an emergency supervised exhumation.
Vincent Callaway’s coffin would be opened at noon.
Roman looked at Sophia.
“Today we find out who we buried.”
Neither of them noticed the black sedan parked half a block away.
Inside it, a woman lifted her phone.
“She’s still with Roman,” she said.
A man answered.
May you like
“Good.”
“Let him open the grave.”
