Alexander Ashford just stood there. His father’s face, bathed in the dim emergency lights of Sanctuary, remained calm, steady even with armed men looming behind him. Alexander had imagined this moment for years, picturing anger, feeling pride. But all he felt was utter shock. “My father died twenty years ago,” he stated. The older man looked at him with a quiet understanding. “That’s what I wanted you to believe.” A thick silence fell between them, and in the other room too. Jonathan Mercer shut his eyes. “I watched the funeral.” “You watched an empty coffin,” the older Ashford replied, his voice devoid of any triumph. “True power thrives in the shadows.” Daniel Hart, leaning against a stone column a few feet away, the notebook from Edward tucked under his coat, kept his breathing even des
