I pulled it out and looked down at the screen.

It was an urgent message from our private investigator, containing a single photograph that changed everything.

I tapped the screen, my thumb trembling slightly against the glass.

The image loaded.

It was a surveillance photo of Marissa Vale, standing near the security entrance of Terminal One just forty minutes ago.

She was talking to a tall man in a grey suit, handing him a thick leather briefcase.

“Ryker,” I whispered, holding the screen up for him to see.

His jaw tightened, a hard line forming along his cheek.

He looked from the screen to the two terrified children clinging to each other on the cold linoleum floor.

Hannah Brooks stepped forward, her heels clicking sharply against the polished tile.

“Identify yourselves,” she demanded, her gaze fixing on Ryker.

The two airport police officers stood behind her, their hands resting near their utility belts.

“I am Ryker Steel,” my brother said, his voice dropping into that calm, commanding register he used in boardrooms.

“And this is my sister, Evelyn.”

“Mr. Steel,” Hannah said, her eyes narrowing slightly as she recognized the name.