"Ali, move!" Carroll shouted. "She's dangerous!"

"The only dangerous person here is the liar standing behind you," Ali said, pointing at Hoover.

Mrs. Hoover recoiled. "I... I am a loyal servant of this family!"

"Stalking?" George Mckay stepped up. He pulled a thick manila envelope from his jacket. "Is that why you received a fifty-thousand-dollar wire transfer from an offshore account on the day my sister was taken?"

He ripped the envelope open.

"These are phone records and bank statements," George said, his voice booming. "Timestamped. An hour after you got the money, you called in sick and left a ten-year-old girl unsupervised in a public park. That wasn't stalking. That was a payoff."

He threw the documents onto the floor. They scattered like leaves.

"My mother," George continued, pointing at Denise, "has spent every day since then searching. We're here because we finally found you."

"Lies!" Hoover shrieked. "He's making it up! She's some grifter trying to extort us!"

"Is that so?" Ali asked.

She turned to Denise. "How can you prove I'm your daughter?"

Denise was trembling, wiping tears from her face. "You... you have a mark. A birthmark. On your left shoulder. It looks like a red butterfly."

Carroll froze. "I... I never saw a mark."

Of course she hadn't. Nannies bathed her. Nannies dressed her. Carroll only saw her when she was presented for photos.

But Ali knew.

"Jazmyne," Isadore said. He didn't need to shout.

Jazmyne stepped forward. She knew exactly what to do.

She reached for the shoulder of Ali's ruined dress-the side she had slashed open with the shears. She pulled the fabric down a few inches.

There, stark against Ali's pale skin, was the birthmark. A distinct, crimson butterfly.

A collective gasp swept through the room.

"Oh my god," Carroll whispered. She looked at Ali, really looked at her, and realized she was looking at a stranger.

"That's my daughter," Denise wept. "That's my Ali."

Ali pulled her dress back up. She turned to Mrs. Hoover.

"You said she was a stalker," Ali said, her voice cold. "You said she was obsessed. If she was a stranger, how would she know about a birthmark that is usually covered by clothes?"

Hoover opened her mouth, but no sound came out.

"The only way she would know," Ali continued, stepping closer to the housekeeper, "is if she gave birth to me. And the only reason you are lying is because you took a bribe to look the other way during my kidnapping. When I was returned, traumatized and with my memory fractured, you fed my parents a story to cover your tracks and keep your job."

The logic was ironclad.

Senator Ellwood looked at the bank statements on the floor, then at Hoover's terrified face. He realized the liability. He realized the scandal waiting to happen.

He turned purple.

"You..." Ellwood pointed a shaking finger at Hoover. "You incompetent... You lied to me? For all these years?"

"Senator, please!" Hoover fell to her knees. "I was scared! They threatened me!"

"Get her out of my sight!" Ellwood roared. "I'm pressing charges! Fraud! Negligence! Conspiracy to kidnap!"

Security grabbed Hoover. She was dragged away, sobbing, following the same path Catarina had taken.

The ballroom was chaotic. The Lancaster family image was in tatters.

Ali stood in the center of the storm, looking at Denise.

"Mom," she said.

It felt strange on her tongue. But it felt right.

Denise rushed forward and hugged her. She smelled of cheap soap and rain, but it was the warmest hug Ali had ever felt.

Isadore watched them from the side. He lit a cigarette, ignoring the 'No Smoking' signs.

He caught Ali's eye through the smoke. He didn't smile, but he dipped his head in a small, acknowledging nod.

Well played, Little Fish, his eyes seemed to say.

The party was effectively over.

Isadore commandeered the private VIP lounge. He didn't ask Ellwood for permission; he just walked in, and they followed.

The door clicked shut, muffling the chaos outside.

Denise wouldn't let go of Ali's hand. Griffith, her biological father, sat silently, staring at her with watery eyes. He had a traumatic brain injury from the past, George had explained, so he didn't speak much, but his love was palpable.

"So," Ali said, sitting on the plush velvet sofa. She looked at Isadore, who was leaning against the mantelpiece. "How do you know my mother?"

Isadore exhaled a plume of smoke. "She saved my life. Twenty years ago. In a war zone that didn't officially exist. She was a combat medic. I was a street rat. She patched me up when no one else would."

He looked at Denise with an expression Ali had never seen on him before-reverence.

"Sister Denise," he said softly, the name a vow.

The room went dead silent.

Sister?

Ali stared at Isadore. She stared at her biological mother.

Denise blinked, squinting at the tall, powerful man in front of her. Then, her hand flew to her mouth.

"Little Yi?" she whispered. "Is that you?"

Isadore nodded. "It's me."

"Oh my god," Denise sobbed. She reached out and touched his arm, as if checking he was real. "Look at you. You're so grown up."

"I heard you were looking for someone," Isadore said gently. "So I made sure you found your way in tonight."

He turned slightly and gestured to Ali.

"She's right here."

He then looked at Ali, a playful glint in his dark eyes.

"Which means," he drawled, "technically, I'm your uncle."

Ali choked on air.

Uncle?

The man who had been her lover in a past life? The man whose jacket she had asked Jazmyne to hold? The man who looked at her with eyes that were definitely not avuncular?

"Uncle," Ali repeated, the word tasting like ash.

Isadore smirked. He enjoyed her discomfort.

"Don't worry," he said. "I'm not blood. Just... family by debt."

He pushed off the mantelpiece and walked over to them. He pulled a sleek black card from his pocket and tossed it onto the coffee table in front of Ali.

"A welcome gift," he said. "Centurion Black. No limit. It's linked to my personal trust."

Ali stared at the card.

"And this," George said, placing a thick document beside the card. "Is from us."

Ali looked at the document. Share Transfer Agreement: Panacea Pharmaceutical Group.

"5%," George said. "It's not much, but it's a start. We're the majority shareholders. We just... keep a low profile."

Ali's jaw dropped.

Panacea? The largest pharmacy chain in the country? Her "poor" family owned it?

She looked at their worn clothes.

"We prefer to reinvest in research," Denise said apologetically. "And your father likes the simple life."

Ali wanted to laugh. She was rich. Independently, staggeringly rich.

The door opened. Senator Ellwood slid in. He looked deflated, a man who realized he had just lost his prize racehorse.

"Ali," he began, his voice wheedling. "I know this is a shock. But you're still a Lancaster. We raised you. You can't just leave."

He was looking at Isadore. He wanted the connection to the Shadow Regent. He wanted the Mckay money he was just starting to sniff out.

Ali picked up the Black Card. She tapped it against the Panacea file.

"I'm not leaving," she said.

Ellwood let out a breath. "Good. Good."

"But," Ali said, her voice hardening. "Things are going to change."

"Name it," Ellwood said.

"First," Ali said. "I want full independence. No curfews. No questions about where I go."

"Done."

"Second," she pointed to the door. "Catarina goes to jail. You do not pull strings to get her out. You let the prosecutor do his job."

Ellwood winced. The Collins family were major donors. "Ali, that's..."

Isadore cleared his throat. It sounded like a growl.

"Done," Ellwood said quickly.

"And third," Ali stood up. "You apologize to my mother. Publicly. Tomorrow."

Ellwood looked at Denise, the woman he had called a beggar an hour ago. He swallowed his pride.

"I will."

Ali sat back down. She had the money. She had the power. And she had the Shadow Regent standing guard in the corner.

"Then we have a deal, Senator," she said.

Later that night, the house was quiet.

Ali couldn't sleep. The adrenaline was fading, leaving her jittery. She walked out onto the balcony of her room, wrapping Isadore's jacket around herself against the chill.

Below, in the garden, she heard a voice.

It was Cody.

He was pacing by the fountain, his phone pressed to his ear.

"Dad, you have to do something!" he was whining. "That psycho Walker... he threatened me! Yeah, in front of everyone!"

Ali leaned over the railing, hidden by the ivy.

"I didn't even do anything!" Cody kicked a rosebush. "I just tried to help the bitch out of the pool!"

Suddenly, a shadow detached itself from the darkness of the oak tree behind him.

It moved with terrifying speed.

A hand-gloved in black leather-clamped onto the back of Cody's neck.

Cody yelped, dropping his phone.

Isadore slammed him against the rough bark of the tree. He lifted Cody off his feet, holding him there with one hand.

"I heard," Isadore said, his voice low and carrying on the wind, "that you saved her."

"I... I..." Cody stammered, his feet dangling.

"Did you touch her?" Isadore asked.

"No! I swear!"

"Liar."

Isadore's free hand didn't grab his wrist. It produced a small, almost silent digital recorder. He played a sound file. It was Cody's voice, brokering a deal for illegal campaign funds. Cody's blood ran cold.

"Do you know who she is?" Isadore whispered. "She is not for you. She is not for anyone like you."

"My dad is the Vice President!" Cody choked out.

"I don't care if your father is God himself," Isadore said. His voice dropped to a blade in the dark. "The next time you even breathe her name, this file goes to the Federal Prosecutor I was just having drinks with. Your father's career will be over. And you... you'll just disappear."

He dropped him. Cody fell into the mud, scrambling backward, his face a mask of pure terror.

Isadore stood over him, adjusting his cuffs.

"That was a warning," Isadore said. "There won't be another."

He turned and walked away, disappearing into the night as if he had never been there.

Ali stood on the balcony, her hand over her mouth.

He had just destroyed the Vice President's son with a whisper. For her.

It was brutal. It was silent.

And god help her, it was the most romantic thing she had ever seen.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket.

She jumped. She pulled it out. Unknown number.

She answered. "Hello?"

"Go to sleep, Little Fish."

Isadore's voice was deep, rough, like gravel over velvet.

"You..." Ali looked down at the empty garden. "You're watching me?"

"Always," he said. "Come to my office tomorrow. K Street. We have paperwork to sign."

"Isadore," Ali whispered. "Thank you."

There was a pause. She could hear him lighting a cigarette on the other end.

"Don't thank me yet," he said darkly. "You have no idea what you've just agreed to."

The line went dead.

Ali looked at the phone, her heart racing so fast it hurt.