Chapter 75 Don’t bind your freedom by secular morality

"Take the time to know both sides of your family before making any decisions," he said. "Your adoptive mother raised you with love. That doesn't change because of how you came to her. And the Morris family has been searching for you for twenty-eight years. That kind of dedication means something too."

"And Bernard?" I couldn't help asking.

Tommy smiled slightly. "Bernard is complicated. But his feelings for you are genuine—perhaps the only genuine feelings he's allowed himself in years."

"He's my uncle," I said, the words still feeling contradiction.

"Legally, yes," Tommy acknowledged. "But relationships are defined by more than legal documents, Diana. They're defined by connection, by how people relate to each other. You and Bernard met as colleagues, then potentially something more. Don’t bind your freedom by secular morality."

I ran my hands through my hair in frustration. "It's all such a mess. And now I'm stuck in this beautiful prison because some man who kidnapped me when I was a baby might be watching my apartment."

"It's a lot to process," Tommy agreed. "But you don't have to figure it all out tonight."

The gentle reminder helped me take a breath. "You're right. One step at a time."

Tommy checked his watch. "I should go. Mr. Wilson will be calling soon with his security assessment."

As he stood to leave, I felt a surge of gratitude for his kindness. "Thank you, Tommy. For the talk and... just for being normal when everything else is crazy."

"Anytime, Diana," he said with a small smile. "Sometimes the best view of a situation comes from the third view."

After Tommy left, I unpacked my overnight bag, hanging up the clothes he'd retrieved from my apartment. Such an ordinary task felt grounding amid the extraordinary circumstances.

My phone rang just as I was finishing—James Wilson, the security chief.

"Ms. Peters," his voice was crisp and professional. "I have a preliminary assessment of the surveillance situation."

"Go ahead," I said, sitting on the edge of the bed.

"We've confirmed that the two individuals in the van are associated with Thomas Johnson's security team," James said. "They left the area after approximately four hours but were replaced by another vehicle with different personnel."

My heart raced. "So they are watching me?"

"It appears so," James confirmed. "Though we can't yet determine if they're aware of your identity as Elizabeth Morris or if they're monitoring you because of your connection to the project."

I tried to keep my voice steady. "What does this mean practically? Am I in danger?"

"We don't believe there's immediate physical threat," James said. "But we recommend you remain at the secure location for at least the next 24-48 hours while we continue assessment and implement countermeasures."

"Countermeasures?" I repeated.

"We're establishing our own surveillance perimeter around your apartment building and developing a security protocol for when you return," James explained. "Mr. Jones has authorized whatever resources are necessary to ensure your safety."

Of course he had. Bernard would spare no expense when it came to control—though in this case, it seemed justified.

"Thank you for the update," I said. "Please keep me informed of any developments."

"Of course, Ms. Peters," James replied. "And for what it's worth, this level of surveillance suggests Johnson considers you significant. We need to determine why."

After we hung up, I wandered back to the living room, feeling oddly detached from reality.

My phone buzzed with a text from Bernard: "Just landed in Chicago. James briefed me on the surveillance situation. I'm sorry you're during with this."

I stared at the message, trying to decide how I felt.

"Thanks for the secure accommodation," I texted back. "Any infers on why Johnson is watching me now?"

Bernard's response came quickly: "Several possibilities. Most concerning is that he may suspect your true identity. We're investigating how that information might have leaked."

I frowned at the screen. "You think someone told him who I am?"

"It's one theory," Bernard replied. "Security protocols were tight but not infallible. Alternative theory is that he's monitoring all key personnel on the project, and your apartment was simply next on his list."

Neither option was particularly comforting.

"What exactly does Johnson have against the Morris family?" I asked. "Why kidnap me as a baby and oppose the project now?"

There was a longer pause before Bernard's next message: "It's a complex history. Thomas Johnson and Gregory Morris were once business partners. The partnership ended badly when Gregory discovered Johnson was embezzling. Johnson lost everything while Gregory's business thrived. Your kidnapping was revenge, pure and simple."

I felt sick reading this. My entire life had been upended because of some business feud? I'd been stolen from my family, my birth mother had lost her mind, all because Thomas Johnson wanted revenge on Gregory Morris?

"That's monstrous," I texted.

"Yes," Bernard agreed simply. "Johnson has spent decades rebuilding his empire, mostly in traditional energy sectors. Our technology threatens that empire. Your kidnapping was personal; his opposition to the project is both personal and financial."

I sank onto the sofa, letting this information settle. "So I'm what—innocent victim in some decades-long business vendetta?"

"You were meant to be," Bernard replied after a moment. "But when I finding you changes the equation. You're no longer just a loss the Morris family suffered. You're a potential triumph—the heir returned."