The call connected on the first ring. Burrell's voice came through the line, calm and alert despite the hour. "Caddie. Are you alright?"
"I'm ready." Her voice was steady now. "Come get me."
She gave him the address. The black Bentley arrived within minutes. This time, Caddie didn't hesitate. She opened the door and slid inside.
Burrell handed her a warm cup of coffee and a paper bag with a croissant. "Eat something. You look like you haven't slept in days."
She took the coffee, cradling it in both hands. The warmth spread through her fingers. "I haven't."
The car pulled away from the curb, leaving the steel canyons of Manhattan behind. They drove north, crossing into the green, gated estates of Greenwich, Connecticut. The sky was turning pale at the edges.
Back in Julien's apartment, chaos was still unfolding. He was on the phone, calling every tech expert he knew. The answer never changed: the data was gone. Irretrievable.
Caleb Nash arrived to find the apartment in disarray and Julien looking like a ghost. "What the hell happened? Where's Caddie?"
Julien clawed at his hair, his voice ragged. "She left. She destroyed everything."
Caleb, trying to distract him, turned on the TV to the morning news.
A news anchor was giving an update. "...more details on the miracle landing of Flight UA580 on the Hudson River yesterday. According to passengers, during the critical moments after the engines failed, a mysterious female passenger entered the cockpit and, using her exceptional aviation knowledge, assisted the captain in stabilizing the aircraft..."
A blurry cell phone photo appeared on the screen—the profile of a woman with long, dark brown hair and a determined jawline.
"The identity of this heroine remains a mystery," the anchor continued. "The airline has publicly appealed for her to come forward, but she seems intent on remaining anonymous."
Julien's head snapped up. He stared at the photo. That blurry profile—it felt familiar. He shook his head, dismissing the thought. Caddie hated driving. The idea of her flying a plane was absurd.
The Bentley carrying Caddie passed through imposing iron gates and stopped in front of a classical white mansion.
A woman in a crisp housekeeper's uniform, white hair pulled into a neat bun, was waiting at the entrance. Eleanor Dawson, the long-serving head of the Kensington household staff. Her eyes reddened the moment she saw Caddie. "Welcome home, Miss."
Caddie was led into a vast, light-filled living room. Burrell gestured for her to sit and placed a manila folder on the coffee table.
"Open it," he said quietly.
Inside were a DNA report, trust documents, and a detailed summary of events.
Burrell began without preamble. "Twenty years ago, your parents—Doyle and Jane Kensington—were brilliant scientists. After the so-called accident, your mother lost her memory and was protected by the family. You were mistakenly placed with the Parrish family."
Caddie's jaw tightened.
"The Parrishes found a Kensington family heirloom in your swaddling clothes. They claimed you as their own daughter to collect the child support payments from a trust fund the family had set up for its lost descendants."
"Their own daughter, Kiersten Parrish, was raised as their biological child. She enjoyed everything that should have been yours."
Caddie's hands curled into fists on her lap. She wasn't the impostor. Kiersten was. Her entire life had been stolen.
"My mother," she said. "Where is she now?"
Burrell's expression softened. "She is still receiving treatment. Her condition is complicated. But she never stopped looking for you. We only confirmed your identity recently through the DNA test you arranged. Before that, the Parrish family's financial irregularities kept leading us in circles."
He pointed to a document in the folder. "This is the trust fund established for you by the Kensington family. And the stock certificates for several family-owned companies. Legally, you are their sole owner."
Caddie looked at the figures without registering them. The money was nothing.
Eleanor returned with a bowl of warm soup. "Miss, please eat something. Your room has been kept for you all these years. Every piece of furniture, every book on the shelf—your mother chose them herself, before she lost her memory. She wanted you to have a home to return to."
Caddie took the bowl. Her eyes burned, but she forced the tears back.
She looked up at Burrell. "I want to take back what's mine. Not just the money."
