The day after the press conference, the estate’s study filled with the scent of burning wood and the rustle of ancient paper. Mia sat across from a representative from Interpol—Agent Delacroix, a tall, dark-skinned woman with sharp eyes and a calm voice.
“There’s something you need to see,” Delacroix said, placing a brown folder on the table. The file contained declassified documents, letters, and photographs.
“These were uncovered during the raid of Charles Bellington’s archives. Your family tree—it doesn’t end where you think it does.”
Mia flipped through the pages, Amara peering over her shoulder. There were photographs of a woman who looked exactly like Mia—taken decades ago.
“That’s... not possible,” Amara whispered.
Delacroix explained. “Your grandmother, Leona Bellington, had a
