Chapter 1 - THE GIRL UNDER THE OAK TREE
My seven-year-old daughter let go of my hand in Lincoln Park and ran toward a little girl sitting alone beneath an oak tree.
Then Lily turned around and screamed the six words that shattered everything I believed about my life.
“Dad, she looks exactly like me!”
I stopped walking.
For one second, I thought Lily was exaggerating.
Kids saw similarities everywhere.
Same shoes.
Same hair.
Same jacket.
Then the little girl lifted her face.
And my heart stopped.
Same heart-shaped face.
Same narrow nose.
Same stubborn little chin.
Even the same small crease between the eyebrows when she was scared.
She looked like Lily after three bad nights of sleep.
But it was her eyes that nearly knocked me backward.
Bright green.
Grace’s eyes.
The eyes of the woman I had buried seven years earlier.
“Lily.”
My voice came out rough.
“Come back here.”
She ignored me and climbed onto the weathered bench.
The other girl hugged a ragged teddy bear against her chest.
Her sweater was too thin for the October wind.
Gray duct tape wrapped both shoes.
Her cheeks were hollow.
Her lips were cracked.
Lily leaned toward her.
“Don’t be scared.”
Then she pointed at me.
“My daddy looks mean, but he’s nice to kids.”
Behind me, one of my bodyguards coughed into his fist.
I ignored him.
Sunday afternoons belonged to Lily.
For those few hours, I wasn’t Marcus Blackwell.
I wasn’t the man whose name made half of Chicago lower their voices.
I wasn’t the head of a family built on money, loyalty, fear, and old blood.
I was just a father buying ice cream for his daughter.
Then I saw that second little face.
And Marcus Blackwell came back.
I crouched in front of the girl.
“What’s your name?”
She stared at me.
“Emma.”
Lily’s face lit up.
“See?”
She looked at me triumphantly.
“She even has a sister name.”
I almost smiled.
Almost.
“Emma, where are your parents?”
Her fingers tightened around the teddy bear.
“My mommy died.”
The words struck deeper than they should have.
“When?”
“Three months ago.”
“And your father?”
She shook her head.
“I don’t have one.”
Lily frowned.
“Everybody has one.”
Emma looked down.
“My mommy said mine didn’t know about me.”
My blood went cold.
I kept my voice steady.
“Who are you staying with?”
“My Aunt Karen.”
“Where is she?”
Emma pointed toward the grass.
“She told me to wait.”
I checked my watch.
4:52 p.m.
“When did she leave?”
Emma hesitated.
“Before the sun came up.”
My bodyguards stopped moving.
I looked toward the walking path.
Families were leaving the park.
The temperature was falling.
And someone had left a seven-year-old child alone for nearly ten hours.
“Did she give you food?”
Emma shook her head.
Lily immediately grabbed my sleeve.
“Daddy.”
Her eyes filled with anger.
“She’s hungry.”
Emma’s stomach growled loudly.
She turned red.
“Sorry.”
That apology did something to me.
A hungry child apologizing for being hungry.
I removed my coat.
Emma flinched.
“It’s okay.”
I wrapped it around her shoulders.
“You’re coming with us.”
Fear flashed across her face.
“Aunt Karen said I have to stay.”
“I don’t care what Aunt Karen said.”
Emma shrank back.
I softened my tone.
“I’m not mad at you.”
She looked up.
“Then who are you mad at?”
Before I could answer, movement caught my eye.
A woman stood beyond the trees.
Dark jacket.
Blond hair.
Watching us.
The moment she saw me looking at her, she turned.
Then she started walking fast.
One of my men stepped beside me.
“Boss?”
I nodded once.
“Get her.”
He moved.
Emma suddenly grabbed my wrist.
“No!”
Her face went white.
“That’s Aunt Karen.”
Every instinct in my body sharpened.
Karen hadn’t forgotten Emma.
She hadn’t gotten stuck in traffic.
She hadn’t been searching for help.
She had been watching.
Waiting to see who found the girl.
Why?
I turned back to Emma.
There was one question I needed answered before anything else.
“Emma.”
She looked at me.
“What was your mother’s name?”
Her lower lip trembled.
“Anna.”
My chest tightened.
“Anna what?”
“Anna Callahan.”
I went still.
Grace’s maiden name had been Callahan.
But she had never had a sister named Anna.
At least, not one I knew about.
“Do you have a picture of your mother?”
Emma nodded.
She opened the tiny backpack beside her and pulled out a cracked plastic frame.
The photograph inside was old.
A woman held newborn Emma against her chest.
Dark hair.
Green eyes.
Soft smile.
I knew that face.
Not because she looked like Grace.
Because I had seen her before.
Seven years ago.
At Grace’s funeral.
Standing beneath a black umbrella.
Watching from across the cemetery.
Then disappearing before I could reach her.
My phone rang.
One of my men.
I answered immediately.
“Talk.”
His voice was tense.
“We caught Karen.”
I stood.
“And?”
“She had a plane ticket to Canada.”
My jaw tightened.
“There’s something else.”
“What?”
He paused.
“She had two birth certificates in her bag.”
I looked at Lily.
Then at Emma.
My man lowered his voice.
May you like
“Boss, both certificates list you as the father.”
And suddenly, the park around me disappeared.
