I Found My Eight-Year-Old Daughter Being Forced to Eat Beside the Dog Kennel—Then One Threat About Her Birth Records Changed Everything.

Victor sat behind his heavy oak desk in the master study, the green light of the laptop screen illuminating his stone face.

"Carmine’s account was accessed three days ago in Zurich," Marco reported, setting a stack of financial printouts on the desk. "A transfer of ten million dollars was approved using Carmine’s original biometric thumbprint."

"My father died ten years ago in a hospital in Manhattan," Victor said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I buried him myself."

"Then who has his biometric thumbprint, Don Victor?" Marco asked.

Victor stood up, walked over to the corner of the study, and approached an antique steel floor safe embedded in the wall behind a portrait of his family. He entered the master combination, turned the heavy iron wheel, and swung the vault door open.

Inside lay his father's personal archives: old land deeds, gold coins, and a wooden box containing family heirlooms.

Victor picked up the wooden box and opened it. Inside, resting on red velvet, was supposed to be his father’s solid gold signet ring—the ring used to stamp official Commission documents thirty years ago.

The box was empty.

Victor’s jaw tightened. "Someone took the signet ring."

"Who had access to this vault, Boss?" Marco asked.

"Only three people ever knew the combination," Victor said, turning around slowly. "Me, my brother Julian... and my first wife, Clara."

Marco stared at him in utter shock. "Clara? But Don Victor... Clara died eight years ago! You held her hand when she passed!"

"I held the hand of a woman whose face was covered in medical bandages during her final days," Victor said, the realization washing over him like an icy wave. "Dr. Vance handled her death certificate. Vance handled the baby swap. Vance sealed the hospital records."

Victor grabbed his coat from the chair. "We're going back to the basement."

Two minutes later, Victor unlocked the heavy iron door of the cellar.

Julian sat on a wooden bench, his face bruised, his hands handcuffed behind his back. Beside him, Celeste wept quietly in the corner.

Victor walked straight up to Julian, grabbing him by his lapels and slamming him against the cold stone wall.

"Where is she, Julian?" Victor growled.