The morning sun did little to warm the chill hanging over the Croft Estate. Dr. Julian Sterling steered his beat-up sedan through the wrought-iron gates, flashing his ID at the new security team Dante Ricci had forced onto the perimeter.
Julian was here as a “Stabilizer”–delivering anxiety medication for Victoria at Marcus’s request. He parked his car near the library entrance, grateful for the normalcy of his medical bag after the chaos of the wedding.
A sleek black town car pulled up behind him. The driver opened the rear door, and a pair of polished oxfords stepped onto the gravel.
Julian turned and froze. The man who emerged was tall, broad-shouldered, and wore a navy suit cut with military precision. He turned to look at the house, his profile sharp against the grey sky.
“William?” Julian called out, confused. “I thought you were in meetings with the board.”
The man turned.
Julian felt the blood drain from his face. The eyes were the same piercing blue. The jawline was the same sharp ridge. The hairline, the nose, the height–it was a genetic mirror. But the expression was wrong. William Croft wore his trauma on his skin; he was frantic, emotional, manic.
This man was cold. His eyes were devoid of panic. He looked at Julian with the detached assessment of a shark viewing a fish.
“I’m afraid you have me confused with my client,” the man said, his voice a smooth baritone that matched William’s pitch but lacked his warmth.
“Client?” Julian stammered. “You look exactly like him.”
“Genetics are a fascinating variable, aren’t they?” The man smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. He extended a hand. “Malcolm Fotheringham. Crisis Counsel for the Croft Board.”
Julian shook the hand. It was firm and dry. He looked closely at Malcolm’s earlobes, then at the specific arch of his brow. As a doctor, Julian knew that this level of similarity wasn’t just a coincidence. It was biology.
“Nice to meet you,” Julian said slowly, his mind racing.
“Likewise,” Malcolm said. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a company to save from its owner.”
Malcolm turned and walked into the house with a predatory grace. Julian stood in the driveway, watching.