“Do not let Emilio in. Stop him physically if you must.”

“Yes, sir.”

I crouched beside my brother’s body. My brother’s body…

My mind refused to process the thought. It was a trick. He’d faked his death—killed someone else and placed this impostor here, a man who looked like him, or a man under a glamour spell. Preposterous, of course, but it made more sense than the truth—that Hector Cortez, the ogre of my childhood, had been felled by something as ordinary as an assassin’s bullet.

My brother…

“I’m sorry.”

I looked up to see Paige. “Can you confirm…?”

“Yes, of course.”

As she knelt beside Hector, I took out my phone. There were steps that needed to be taken after the murder of a Cabal son, and I was not about to ask my father to take them. In fact, the first thing I did was insist that news of Hector’s death be kept from him until I was there to break it.

An investigation had to be launched and a cover-up begun. The police could not be called. His wife could not even suspect that they’d needed to be called, a situation made more difficult by where he’d died. She had to be kept out of this room until his body could be removed, and to do that, we’d have to keep news of his death a secret until it was too late for her to rush in. If that happened, our only recourse was to claim suicide, an explanation that would raise almost as many questions as murder. Heart failure or a stroke would be easier, if it could be managed.

One call set the wheels in motion. I explained the situation succinctly, then said, “Until I inform my father, all calls regarding this matter are to come to me, at this number.”

I expected some hesitation. But the chief of security agreed, and promised to keep me informed of all developments.

“Carlos,” Paige said, coming over to me. “I never would have believed it. Working with Hector, maybe. But on his own? Something this complicated? Either we all seriously underestimated his intelligence, or this really was Hector’s work—and Carlos just got greedy.”

For a moment, I wondered what she was talking about. Then it hit me.

I sent one of the guards out to enlist the Cabal household staff to help tend to the family—and keep them out—then bring the butler to me.

“Did you admit Carlos earlier?” I asked the butler.

“Yes, sir.”

“And the exact time?”

“Close to what Mrs. Cortez said. He arrived at nine-forty-five and left shortly after ten.”

“And you’re certain it was Carlos?”

He didn’t take umbrage at the question. In our world, illusion and deceit are facts of life.

“I certainly believed it to be him, sir.”

“And you didn’t see Hector or admit anyone into this room after Carlos left?”