The poor maid’s daughter wouldn’t stop crying…

Forty-eight hours later, the DNA results arrived in a sealed leather portfolio delivered directly to Jonathan’s private study by his chief medical officer, Dr. Harrison.

Jonathan sat behind his massive mahogany desk, his hands clasped tightly together as Dr. Harrison extracted the legal documents.

"The results are definitive, Jonathan," Dr. Harrison stated, placing the paper on the desk. "The genetic markers pulled from Lily’s cheek swab show a ninety-nine point nine percent paternal match to the DNA profile we had on record for Ethan Miller."

Jonathan let out a long, shuddering breath he felt like he had been holding for days. He picked up the paper, staring at the bold black letters declaring the truth.

Lily was Ethan’s daughter. There was no longer any shadow of a doubt.

"Thank you, David," Jonathan said quietly. "Have the legal team finalize the trust documents immediately."

As Dr. Harrison left the study, the door opened again, admitting Marcus Vance—Jonathan’s head of security and former military intelligence officer. Marcus walked with a slight limp, his rugged face etched with years of black-ops experience. He looked grim, holding a confidential intelligence dossier in his gloved hand.

"You found something," Jonathan said, leaning forward.

"I found a hornets' nest, boss," Marcus said, laying the dossier on the desk. "I dug into Ethan Miller’s file from seven years ago—specifically the engine explosion off the coast of Maine."

Jonathan frowned. "The Coast Guard ruled it a catastrophic fuel line rupture."

"The Coast Guard ruled it based on evidence provided by the secondary inspector," Marcus corrected, leaning over the desk. "The secondary inspector was paid two hundred thousand dollars off-shore three days after the accident. The wire transfer originated from a shell company registered in the Cayman Islands."

Jonathan’s eyes narrowed into slits of dark fury. "Who owned the shell company?"

"Sterling Logistics," Marcus revealed flatly. "Arthur Sterling."

Jonathan felt a cold, lethal rage flood his veins. "Arthur Sterling sabotaged my vessel?"

"It gets worse, boss," Marcus continued, flipping open the dossier to reveal black-and-white surveillance photographs. "Ethan didn't just stumble upon an amnesia episode seven years ago. Our team tracked down the retired doctor at the Portland VA hospital who treated Ethan when he was brought in."

Marcus pointed to a photograph of an older, gray-haired man. "The doctor admitted off the record that Ethan was brought to the emergency room by two unknown men who paid for his admission in cash. Ethan had suffered a severe blow to the back of the head—blunt force trauma, not an explosion injury. Someone hit him, dumped him on a dock in Maine, and left him for dead."

Jonathan slammed his fist onto the mahogany desk, the sharp crack echoing through the large room like a gunshot.

"Arthur Sterling wanted to destroy Carter Maritime seven years ago by killing me and my chief engineer," Jonathan rasped, his jaw clenching so hard his teeth hurt. "When Ethan survived the blast, Sterling’s men found him, struck him down, and abandoned him, assuming the amnesia and brain trauma would keep him quiet forever."

"And when Ethan died three years ago in that dock accident," Marcus added quietly, "it was ruled a tragic cable snap. But guess who owned the commercial dock where Ethan was working?"

"Sterling," Jonathan spat out the name like poison. "They realized Ethan was alive, working in Maine, and they eliminated him before his memory could ever return."

"They thought they wiped out the Miller bloodline completely," Marcus said, looking toward the window overlooking the estate garden. "They don't know Ethan left behind a child. And they certainly don't know she's sitting in your east wing right now."

Jonathan stood up slowly, stepping over to the floor-to-ceiling window. Down in the sunlit garden, he could see Emily pushing a stroller along the stone path. She stopped beside a bush of blooming white roses, lifting Lily into her arms, pointing at the flowers and laughing. Her smile was pure, untainted by the dark corruption of the corporate world.

"Victoria came here two days ago because she was terrified Ethan’s child might lead us to the truth," Jonathan said, his voice dropping into a dark, promise of vengeance. "Arthur Sterling murdered my brother. He tried to destroy my life. And now his daughter is trying to intimidate the woman Ethan loved."

"What are your orders, boss?" Marcus asked, his hand resting near his sidearm.

Jonathan turned around, his eyes burning with an unyielding flame.

"Tonight is the Sterling Logistics Annual Gala," Jonathan stated, a cold, lethal smile touching his lips. "Arthur Sterling invited every major investor and press outlet in the northeast to celebrate his company's anniversary."