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The PI drives fast but controlled, one hand on the wheel while the other holds her phone to her ear. "...check traffic cams in that radius. Focus on black SUVs entering the industrial zone between six AM and—" She glances at Dennis. "When was the press conference?"

"Nine." Dennis's leg bounces against the floor mat. "My father made the announcement at nine."

She relays this to her team, then: "Cross-reference with any vehicles registered to shell companies linked to—" She breaks off, listening. "Good. Keep me updated."

They leave Sacramento behind, suburbs giving way to scattered houses set back from the road. Dennis watches unfamiliar streets blur past, throat tight with questions he doesn't know how to ask.

"The address Chris gave you," she says finally. "Did he tell you who you'd be meeting?"

Dennis's fingers clench in his lap. "His mother."

She nods once. "What else did he say?"

"That she's alive. That he finally had proof." Dennis swallows. "That's all I know."

"It's more complicated than that." Her voice softens slightly. "But it's not my story to tell."

They turn onto a quiet street lined with maple trees. Small houses with neat gardens stretch into the distance, American flags hanging still in the morning air. The PI pulls up to a white craftsman with climbing roses framing the porch.

"Ready?" she asks.

Before Dennis can answer, the front door opens. A woman steps out—tall, elegant, with Chris's eyes and lips. Down the length of one cheek, there's a faint scar that reaches her jaw, visible when the light catches it. She moves with familiar grace as she descends the porch steps.

Dennis's chest constricts. How many of Chris's features come from her? How much of his smile, his determination?

"Jess." The PI's voice carries warning. "We have a situation."

"I know." Chris's mother's eyes fix on Dennis, sharp and assessing. "I wasn't expecting this introduction to my son's boyfriend, but we must move quickly." Her mouth sets in a line so like Chris's it hurts. "If he's not answering, we have to assume Christopher has him."

Dennis’s world tilts sideways. Here stands the woman Chris thought dead for ten years, calmly discussing his kidnapping like it's a contingency she's planned for.

And when did he become Chris’s boyfriend? The word takes him by surprise—but he doesn’t dislike it. Not one bit.

"Come inside." She turns toward the house. "There's much to explain, and very little time."

The living room feels warm, lived-in—what seems to be family photos line shelves, but none show Chris or his mother. A folder sits on the coffee table beside a laptop displaying multiple security feeds.

This isn't a home, Dennis realizes. It's a command center pretending to be one.

"Isabelle's been my eyes and ears," Chris's mother says, gesturing for Dennis to sit. The PI—Isabelle—moves to the laptop, fingers flying across keys. "Watching over Chris while I gathered what we needed."

"For ten years?" The words scrape Dennis's throat. "He thought you were dead."

"I had to let him think that." Her fingers twist together—Chris's nervous gesture. "Christopher killed my father for control of Rhodes Construction. Made it look like an accident." She meets Dennis's eyes. "I discovered evidence, but speaking out would've put Chris in danger—he would’ve hurt Chris to try and silence me."

"The PI fees Chris paid," Isabelle adds without looking up from her laptop, "went into a fund his mother established for him. My real employer has always been Jessica."

Jessica Rhodes. The name hits Dennis like a physical blow. He'd seen it in the background check—Chris's mother who'd changed her name back before disappearing.

"Why come forward now?"

"Because Chris was finally ready." Jessica's voice carries steel beneath the softness. "Strong enough to stand against his father. All these years, I've gathered evidence of Christopher's crimes—financial fraud, corporate espionage, systematic destruction of rivals." She reaches for the folder. "Everything needed to ensure he can never hurt anyone again."

"But first," Isabelle interrupts, "we need to find Chris." Her phone buzzes. She scans the message, face tightening. "Team's traced recent activity to—" She looks up at Dennis. "Oakview Heights."

The air leaves Dennis's lungs. Of course. Where else would Lancaster hide Chris but in his own building?

"Christopher's arrogance made him sloppy," Jessica says. "He never imagined the son of Kim Industries would live in one of his properties."

"Top floor." Dennis's mind races through possibilities. "I know every inch of that building. The security systems, the staff, the layout—"

"That's our way in." Isabelle's already pulling up building schematics. "But we have to move fast. If Christopher realizes we're closing in—"

"He won't hurt Chris permanently," Jessica says quietly. "But he'll try to break him. Turn him into what Christopher's always wanted—a perfect copy of himself."

Dennis thinks of Chris's bruised face in the garage. Of everything Chris has endured trying to protect them all.

To protect Dennis .

"Then let's go get him back."