Chapter 10 The Dead Man's Timeline
The room fell silent.
No one moved.
No one even seemed to breathe.
Marcus repeated the medical examiner's conclusion as though saying it twice might somehow make it less impossible.
"The preliminary estimate places Nathan Mercer's time of death between 7:30 and 8:00 p.m."
Leo frowned.
"That's impossible."
Marcus nodded grimly.
"Our station logs show Nathan was sitting in the interrogation room until 8:17."
"I spoke to him."
"So did I," Marcus replied.
"You asked him questions."
"He answered."
"And then the power failed."
Richard Sinclair slowly lowered himself into a chair.
"There are only two possibilities."
Leo looked at him.
"What?"
"The coroner is wrong."
Richard's expression remained unchanged.
"...or someone wanted you to believe you were questioning Nathan."
Marcus refused to accept either answer without proof.
By sunrise, he had assembled every available recording from the police station.
Body-camera footage.
Hallway cameras.
Interrogation-room audio.
Emergency backup systems.
Frame by frame, they reconstructed the final thirty minutes.
Everything matched.
Nathan entered the room.
Nathan answered questions.
Nathan smiled.
Nathan warned Amelia.
Nathan vanished.
Nothing appeared unusual.
Until Marcus slowed the footage to one-quarter speed.
"There."
He froze the image.
Nathan reached for the glass of water on the table.
His right hand wore a silver ring.
Marcus enlarged the frame.
The ring carried a black stone surrounded by six tiny stars.
Richard leaned closer.
"The Blackstone seal."
Marcus opened another photograph taken at the harbor crime scene.
Nathan's body lay slumped behind the steering wheel.
His hands were visible.
No ring.
The finger itself carried a pale indentation where a ring had once been.
Leo whispered,
"Someone removed it after he died."
My stomach tightened.
"If Nathan died before the interrogation..."
"Then who was sitting across from me?"
No one answered.
Because no one had an answer.
Across the city, Dominic stared at the suspension letter lying on his desk.
For the first time since founding Vance Holdings, he had nowhere to go.
No meetings.
No decisions.
No authority.
His phone rang.
Unknown number.
He almost ignored it.
Instead, he answered.
"What?"
A familiar voice replied.
"Hello, Dominic."
His face turned pale.
"Nathan?"
The line crackled.
"I don't have much time."
"Where are you?"
"Somewhere you can't help me."
Dominic stood abruptly.
"The police said—"
"They're already lying to you."
"What do you mean?"
"Listen carefully."
Nathan's breathing sounded strained.
"You were never supposed to become rich."
Dominic frowned.
"What?"
"You were chosen because you were desperate."
The call abruptly disconnected.
Dominic immediately dialed the number back.
It no longer existed.
Later that afternoon, Marcus visited the county morgue.
Nathan's body had arrived only hours earlier.
The chief medical examiner, Dr. Helen Ortiz, met him in the examination room.
"You wanted to see the wound yourself."
Marcus nodded.
Dr. Ortiz pulled back the white sheet.
"The bullet entered here."
She pointed to Nathan's chest.
"Straight through the heart."
"Instant death?"
"Within seconds."
Marcus studied the wound.
Then noticed something unusual.
"There are fresh bruises around both wrists."
Dr. Ortiz nodded.
"He was restrained recently."
"Handcuffs?"
"Most likely."
Marcus looked confused.
"If he died before the interrogation..."
"...who handcuffed him?"
Dr. Ortiz quietly reached into an evidence tray.
"We found something else."
She held up a tiny piece of transparent plastic.
Marcus frowned.
"What is it?"
"A theatrical prosthetic."
His eyes narrowed.
"What?"
"It was attached behind his left ear."
She placed it beneath a microscope.
Artificial skin.
Professional-grade adhesive.
Tiny traces of makeup.
Marcus slowly realized what he was looking at.
Someone had altered Nathan's appearance.
Or...
Someone had altered another man's appearance to resemble Nathan.
That evening, Marcus gathered everyone at Sinclair & Black.
He placed the prosthetic on the conference table.
"There were two men."
Leo frowned.
"You've identified the second?"
"No."
"But whoever sat in that interrogation room wasn't Nathan."
Richard Sinclair closed his eyes.
"They've perfected it."
Marcus looked at him.
"Perfected what?"
Richard hesitated.
"The Blackstone Method."
He stood and walked toward the window.
"When the Accord began, its members understood one simple truth."
"Power survives only if people believe the story they're being shown."
Leo folded his arms.
"I don't follow."
"They replaced witnesses."
"They forged identities."
"They created public truths."
Richard turned back toward us.
"For decades, Blackstone trained specialists who could become anyone."
Silence.
"They called them..."
"Shadows."
The word lingered in the room.
Marcus immediately wrote it on the whiteboard.
"Shadows."
Professional impersonators.
Not actors.
Not spies.
People who erased themselves to become someone else.
If Nathan had been replaced...
Then the person I questioned had likely been one of them.
Meanwhile...
Olivia Vance entered a private chapel on the outskirts of the city.
She hadn't visited in years.
An elderly priest greeted her warmly.
"Olivia."
She smiled faintly.
"It's been a long time."
"You look troubled."
"I've made mistakes."
He nodded gently.
"We all have."
She reached into her purse and removed a sealed envelope.
"If anything happens to me..."
"...give this to Amelia Sinclair."
The priest looked surprised.
"Does she know me?"
"No."
"Should I ask questions?"
Olivia shook her head.
"No."
"Just promise me."
After a long pause...
He accepted the envelope.
That same night...
Grace woke crying just after midnight.
I carried her into the living room, humming softly until she settled against my shoulder.
Outside, rain tapped lightly against the windows.
Everything felt strangely peaceful.
Too peaceful.
Then every light inside the house suddenly went out.
The power had failed.
Again.
My heart began to race.
Not again.
Marcus's warning echoed in my mind.
"They always strike during confusion."
I reached for my phone.
No signal.
The landline was dead.
Emergency backup lights should have activated.
They didn't.
Someone had cut the electricity.
Deliberately.
A floorboard creaked somewhere downstairs.
I held Grace closer.
Another sound.
The front door slowly opened.
Not forced.
Unlocked.
As though someone had a key.
A calm male voice drifted through the darkness.
"Amelia..."
"I know you're awake."
I couldn't see his face.
Only the outline of a tall figure standing in the doorway.
May you like
Then he spoke four words that made my blood run cold.
"I'm here for Grace."
