I stared at Emily.

Her eyes were barely open.

“Emily.”

She tried to speak again.

I leaned closer.

“Is it Daniel?”

Her breathing changed.

That was enough to tell me the name meant something.

But not what I expected.

She shook her head.

Slowly.

“No…”

Alan stepped closer.

“Richard, she needs rest.”

I ignored him.

“Then who?”

Emily’s fingers tightened around the torn piece of fabric.

She looked toward the door.

Fear returned to her eyes.

“Someone… inside.”

“Inside where?”

She swallowed.

“The family.”

My stomach tightened.

I had spent thirty years learning how to identify threats.

Not by emotion.

By patterns.

Access.

Opportunity.

Motive.

And right now, every piece pointed somewhere I didn’t want to look.

I stepped outside the trauma room.

“Alan.”

He followed.

“What aren’t you telling me?”

He looked down the hallway.

“Emily wasn’t brought here by her husband.”

I froze.

“Who brought her?”

“A woman called emergency services from a pay phone.”

“Did she identify herself?”

“No.”

“Did you get a description?”

Alan hesitated.

“Black coat. Dark hair. She left before the ambulance arrived.”

I looked back toward the room.

“Did she say anything?”

“She told the paramedics one thing.”

“What?”

“She said Emily had been kept somewhere for several days.”

My jaw tightened.

“Where?”

“We don’t know.”

I looked at my watch.

12:07 a.m.

Seventeen minutes since Alan called me.

Too many unanswered questions.

I returned to Emily’s bedside.

“Sweetheart.”

Her eyes opened again.

“Where were you?”

She stared at me.

Then whispered:

“Dad… don’t call Daniel.”

I looked at the torn shirt.

“Why?”

“He wants you to.”

That sentence stopped me cold.

“What?”

Emily’s voice was barely audible.

“He wants you to think he did it.”

I looked at Alan.

Then back at my daughter.

“Why would he want that?”

“Because…”

She struggled to breathe.

“He knows you’ll come after him.”

I understood immediately.

A setup.

Someone wanted me angry.

Someone wanted me focused on Daniel.

Someone wanted me to stop looking elsewhere.

Then Emily whispered the words that changed everything.

“The initials aren’t his.”

I looked at the fabric.

“D.C.M.”

She nodded weakly.

“Daniel’s initials are D.C.M.”

“Yes.”

“But that shirt belonged to someone else.”

I stared at her.

“Who?”

Emily’s eyes filled with tears.

“My father’s old friend.”

The room seemed to shrink.

Alan looked at me.

I didn’t move.

“My old friend?”

Emily nodded.

“Someone you trust.”

I immediately thought of three names.

Then she whispered one.

“General Mercer.”

My blood ran cold.

Alan Mercer.

The man standing beside me.

My closest friend.

The doctor who had called me to the hospital.

I turned slowly toward him.

Alan’s face had gone pale.

“Emily…”

She closed her eyes.

“Dad…”

I looked at her.

“Don’t trust him.”

Silence.

Alan stepped backward.

“Richard, you can’t seriously believe—”

The trauma room doors suddenly opened.

Two military investigators stood outside.

One held a sealed evidence bag.

Inside was a second piece of fabric.

The same dark navy thread.

The same initials.

But this time…

The initials were unmistakably different.

A.M.

Alan stopped breathing.

And for the first time that night…

I realized the person who had called me to the hospital might have done so for one reason.

To make sure I walked directly into his trap.