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Vivian caught him at the service stairs.
She'd watched him shake hands for twenty minutes. Watched her father cry into his shoulder. Watched Philip Roy lean in and whisper something that made the impostor smile. Then he'd slipped away from the crowd, and she'd followed.
He was halfway down when she grabbed his arm.
"Don't touch me."
He turned. Up close, he looked nothing like Daniel. Wrong nose. Wrong jaw. Daniel's eyes had been gray. This man's were blue.
"Vivian—"
"Don't say my name."
He pulled his arm free. "You're upset. I get it. Seven years is a long time."
"You're not my brother."
"Your father seems to think I am."
"My father's dying. He'd believe anything."
The man studied her. He wasn't rattled. That was the worst part. He should be sweating. Backpedaling. Instead he leaned against the railing like they were old friends.
"You want to talk here?" he said. "Or somewhere private?"
Vivian's hands were shaking. She shoved them in her pockets. "Fine. Upstairs. My office."
She led him up three flights. The party noise faded. The hotel's upper floors were closed tonight, dark except for the emergency sconces. Her office sat at the end of the east wing, tucked behind a storage room nobody used.
She unlocked the door and flipped the light.
He walked in like he owned it. Looked around. Took in the desk, the filing cabinets, the framed photo of her father at the groundbreaking of the first Ashford property.
"Nice view," he said.
The window faced the alley. Vivian locked the door behind them.
"Sit."
"I'm fine standing."
"Sit down."
He sat. Still smiling.
Vivian stayed on her feet. She wanted the height. Wanted him looking up.
"What did you say to me downstairs?"
"I said a lot of things."
"The last thing. Before I walked away."
His smile didn't move. "I said, 'Tell them I'm sorry.'"
Vivian's chest went tight. Those were the words. Exact. Daniel's last words before he went under.
She'd never told anyone.
"How do you know that?"
"Because I said it."
"Daniel said it. And Daniel's dead."
"Then how do I know?"
Vivian crossed to the desk. Opened the bottom drawer. Her letter opener was there, slim and sharp, a gift from some trade association. She picked it up.
The impostor watched. He didn't move.
"You could've heard it from someone," Vivian said. "Someone who was there."
"Who was there, Vivian?"
She didn't answer.
"It was just the two of us," he said. "On the dock. Late. You remember."
"I remember Daniel drowning."
"Do you."
She came around the desk. He didn't flinch. She pressed the letter opener to his throat, right under his jaw, and he just looked at her.
"You're good," she said. "I'll give you that. You did your homework. Found someone who knew the family. Maybe you bribed a servant. Maybe you read old letters. But you're not him."
"Prove it."
"I will."
"How?" His voice was calm. The blade was touching his skin and he didn't even blink. "You call the police, they'll want the whole story. What really happened that night. You ready to tell them?"
Vivian's hand tightened on the handle.
"You're not," he said. "Because if you were, you'd have done it seven years ago."
"Shut up."
"What are you hiding, Vivian?"
She pressed harder. A bead of blood welled up under the point.
"Go ahead," he said. "But then you'll never know how I found out."
She pulled back. Just an inch.
He reached up and touched his throat. Looked at the blood on his fingers. "You always this friendly?"
"Talk."
"I'll make you a deal. I'll tell you one thing you want to know. And you tell me one thing I want to know."
"No."
"Then we're done." He stood. Vivian stepped back, still holding the letter opener. He straightened his collar. "Good party, by the way. The salmon was dry."
"Wait."
He paused.
Vivian lowered the blade. She needed information more than she needed him scared. "Fine. One question."
"Ladies first."
She took a breath. "How do you know what Daniel said before he died?"
The impostor looked at her for a long moment. Then he walked to the window. Stared out at the alley.
"Because I was there."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only one you're getting." He turned back. "My turn. Why did you let him die?"
Vivian froze.
"You were there," he said. "On the dock. Close enough to hear his last words. Close enough to see him go under. Why didn't you jump in?"
"I couldn't—"
"Couldn't swim? That's a lie. You won the summer club medal three years running."
Vivian's throat closed up.
"Couldn't reach him?" The impostor took a step closer. "The dock was ten feet long. He wasn't far. So why didn't you save him, Vivian?"
"Get out."
"Not until you answer."
"I said get out."
Someone knocked.
They both stopped. Vivian's pulse hammered in her ears.
The knock came again. "Vivian? You in there?"
Philip Roy.
Vivian crossed to the door. Unlocked it. Philip stood in the hallway, smiling that smooth lawyer smile. He looked past her at the impostor.
"There you are, Daniel. Your father's asking for you."
"I'll be right down," the impostor said.
Philip's gaze flicked to Vivian. Then to the letter opener still in her hand. His smile didn't change. "Everything all right?"
"Fine," Vivian said.
Philip stepped inside. He was holding a folder. Old leather, cracked at the edges. "I thought you both should see this. I found it in the firm's archive. We've been storing some of your father's personal papers."
He opened the folder. Pulled out a letter. The paper was yellowed, the ink faded. He handed it to Vivian.
She read the date first. April 1920. A week before Daniel drowned.
Then she read the first line.
Dear Father,
I'm coming home.
Her stomach dropped.
Philip was still smiling. "Daniel mailed this from Lausanne. It arrived two days after the news of his death. Your father couldn't bear to open it. I filed it away."
Vivian scanned the rest. The handwriting looked right. The tone sounded right. Daniel had always written like he talked, casual and quick.
I know we fought. I know you didn't want me to leave. But I've thought about it and you were right. I want to come back. I want to help with the hotels. I want to be part of the family again.
I'll be on the first ship I can book. I'll write again when I have a date.
Tell Vivian I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said what I said.
Love, Daniel
Vivian looked up. The impostor was watching her.
"He was coming home," Philip said. "And then he vanished. No ship record. No follow-up letter. Just gone."
Vivian's hands were shaking again. "This doesn't prove anything."
"It proves he planned to return," Philip said. "And now he has."
The impostor took the letter from her. Read it. His face didn't change, but something in his eyes shifted.
"I don't remember writing this," he said quietly.
Philip's smile widened. "Memory loss is common after trauma. The doctors said you might have gaps."
"What doctors?" Vivian said.
"The ones I've already consulted. Daniel's return will need to be properly documented. Medical records. Legal affidavits. I'm taking care of it."
Vivian stared at him. "You're taking care of it."
"Someone has to. Your father's too ill. And you—" Philip's gaze was steady. "You seem determined to push your brother away."
"He's not my brother."
Philip folded the letter back into the folder. "A DNA test will settle it. I've already arranged for one. Daniel's agreed. Have you?"
Vivian's throat went dry.
Philip turned to the impostor. "Your father's waiting. We should go."
The impostor nodded. He looked at Vivian one more time. "See you at breakfast."
They left.
Vivian stood alone in her office, staring at the door.
A DNA test.
She couldn't take a DNA test. If she did, the results would prove he wasn't Daniel. But they'd also prove something else.
Something she'd kept buried for seven years.
She locked the door. Sat down at her desk. Her hands were still shaking.
The letter opener was still in her hand. Blood on the tip.
She set it down.
Daniel had written that he was coming home. A week before he died. But he'd never mentioned it to her. Never said a word when they met on the dock.
Why?
And how did this man know what Daniel had said in his last moment?
Vivian opened her desk drawer. Pulled out the one photograph she'd kept. Daniel at sixteen, standing on the hotel roof, grinning at the camera.
She looked at his face. Tried to remember.
The impostor's eyes were wrong. His voice was wrong. Everything was wrong.
But he knew things he shouldn't know.
And that letter. If it was real—
Someone knocked again.
Vivian shoved the photo back in the drawer. "What?"
The door didn't open. A voice came through. Low. Familiar.
"Vivian. It's James."
She unlocked the door.
James Bellamy stood in the hallway, his coat still on, his detective's badge clipped to his belt. He looked tired.
"You left the party," he said.
"So did you."
"I'm working." He stepped inside. Closed the door. "I just spent an hour talking to your father. And to Philip Roy. And to the man claiming to be your brother."
"He's not my brother."
"Then prove it."
Vivian didn't answer.
James looked at the desk. At the letter opener. At the blood.
"What happened here?"
"Nothing."
"Vivian."
"I said nothing."
James crossed his arms. "Philip told me about the DNA test. He also told me you refused."
"I didn't refuse. I just didn't agree."
"Why not? If he's a fraud, the test will prove it."
Vivian looked away.
James waited. When she didn't speak, he sighed. "You're hiding something."
"I'm not."
"You are. You've been hiding it since the night Daniel died."
Vivian's chest tightened.
"I was there, remember?" James said. "I was the one who pulled you off the dock. You were soaking wet. Shaking. You wouldn't talk. Wouldn't say what happened. And then the next day, you told everyone Daniel drowned and you couldn't save him."
"That's the truth."
"Is it?"
Vivian met his eyes. James had known her since they were kids. They'd grown up three blocks apart. He'd taught her to ride a bike. She'd helped him pass Latin.
He knew when she was lying.
"What really happened that night, Vivian?"
She didn't answer.
James shook his head. "Fine. Keep your secrets. But that man downstairs knows them too. And if you don't stop him, he's going to take everything."
He walked out.
Vivian locked the door behind him. Leaned against it.
Her father believed the impostor. Philip was already building a legal case. And James thought she was lying out of greed.
She was alone.
She walked back to the desk. Opened the drawer. Pulled out the photograph again.
Daniel smiled up at her.
She'd watched him drown. She'd heard his last words. She'd seen them pull his body from the water.
But she'd never seen his face.
The body had been too damaged. Too long in the water. They'd identified him by his clothes. His watch. The ring he always wore.
What if they'd been wrong?
Vivian's hands started to shake again.
No. That was impossible. Daniel was dead. She knew it. She'd been there.
But the impostor knew things. Things nobody else knew.
And that letter.
She picked up the phone. Dialed the front desk.
"This is Miss Ashford. I need the guest registry from 1920. April. Yes, all of it. Bring it to my office."
She hung up.
If Daniel had come home, he would've stayed at the hotel. And if he'd stayed at the hotel, there would be a record.
She just had to find it.