"I need to be someone else," Nathan said, sitting in the chair. "I’m going to Russia. The man I’m meeting has seen me. He can’t know it’s me even if he stands a foot away."

Elena nodded, her eyes scanning his bone structure. "The jaw is the problem. It’s too sharp. And your eyes are too recognizable."

"Don’t tell me what I already know,do your job."

She nodded then started by applying a medical-grade adhesive to his chin and cheeks. She carefully attached a thick, dark beard and mustache. It wasn’t the fake kind you see in stores; each hair was hand-tied into a thin lace that disappeared when it touched his skin. Once it was on, she trimmed and groomed it into a sharp, professional style that completely hid his jawline and the shape of his mouth.

Next, she pulled out a pair of custom contact lenses. "These will change your iris from your natural color to a deep, muddy brown. It will take the light out of your gaze."

Nathan popped them in. He blinked, looking in the mirror. Already, the man looking back started to fade away.

She then used a subtle skin-safe wax to slightly thicken the bridge of his nose and added a small, faint mole just below his left eye. She finished by slicking his hair back with a heavy pomade, changing his hairline.

"Now, the voice," Elena said. "If you speak like Nathan Keith, the face won’t matter."

Nathan practiced for the next four hours. He worked on a deep, slow British accent, pulling the words from the back of his throat. He practiced a new way of walking—stiffer, with his shoulders rolled back like a man who had spent his life in London boarding schools.

When he stood up, Alex walked into the room. He stopped dead, his mouth hanging open.

"Sir?" Alex asked, squinting. "Is that you?"

Nathan looked at him and spoke in his new, posh accent. "I’m afraid I don’t know who you’re talking about, old boy. My name is Christopher Vane."

Alex laughed, shaking his head. "It’s incredible. Even your eyes look different. If I didn’t know you were in this room, I’d think you were a stranger."

Nathan looked in the mirror. The grieving, angry man was gone. In his place was a cold, sophisticated investor.

When the fake passport arrived, Nathan looked at the name. Christopher Vane.

He boarded his private jet the next evening. As the plane took off, he looked at the hard drive sitting on the seat next to him. Inside that little plastic box was the truth that would destroy a family and rebuild his own. He thought about Fiona. He thought about how she looked at him at the restaurant, the way her eyes searched his as if she was trying to find a ghost.

"I’m coming, Fiona," he whispered as the clouds covered the city below. "I’m coming to tell you who you really are."

The flight was long and quiet. When the plane finally touched down in Moscow, the air was freezing. The snow was falling in thick, heavy flakes. Nathan stepped off the plane, his long wool coat pulled tight around him. He looked like any other rich businessman.

A black Mercedes was waiting for him on the tarmac. A man in a suit stepped out and bowed slightly. "Mr. Vane? I am Yuri. Mr. Volkov has sent me to escort you to your hotel. He is very interested in your proposal for the dacha properties."

Nathan nodded, his voice sounding different—haughtier, more British, the way he had practiced. "Tell Mr. Volkov I appreciate the hospitality. I look forward to our meeting."

As the car drove through the snowy streets of Moscow, Nathan looked out at the gold domes of the churches. He felt like he was in the lion’s den. Nikolai was the king here. But Nathan had a secret that could bring the king to his knees.

He checked into a high-end hotel and went straight to his room. He didn’t look at the view. He opened his laptop and looked at the tracker his men had managed to place on Nikolai’s car at the airport in America. A red dot was blinking on a map. It was about an hour outside the city. A large, gated estate surrounded by forest.

That was where she was.

Nathan sat on the edge of the bed and held the small toy car he had taken from the villa. He felt a sudden wave of fear. What if the serum had worked too well? What if she looked at him and felt nothing? What if she loved Nikolai now?

He shook the thoughts away. He had to be Christopher Vane. He had to be cold. He had to get inside that house.

He picked up the hotel phone and called the number Nikolai’s assistant had given him.

"This is Christopher Vane," he said into the receiver. "I’ve arrived in Moscow. Tell Mr. Volkov I’m ready for dinner tonight if he is available. I’d like to discuss the estate purchase in person. And tell him... I’ve heard his wife has excellent taste. I’d love for her to be there to give her opinion on the property."

Nathan hung up the phone and waited. His heart was beating fast. He was about to sit at a table with the man who had his wife, and he was going to have to pretend he didn’t want to kill him.

Ten minutes later, the phone rang.

"Mr. Vane? Mr. Volkov would be delighted to host you at his home tonight at eight. A car will be sent for you. His wife, Viktoria, will be joining you."

Nathan closed his eyes. Viktoria. No. Her name was Fiona. And tonight, the lies were going to start falling apart.

He stood up and began to get dressed. He put on a suit that cost more than a year’s salary for a normal man. He tucked the hard drive into the inner pocket of his jacket, right against his heart. He was ready.

As he walked out of the hotel and into the waiting car, Nathan looked at the snow. It was a beautiful night for a war. He was going to walk into Nikolai’s home, he was going to see his wife, and he was going to start the process of bringing her home.

The car moved through the dark, snowy forest toward the estate. Nathan watched the trees go by, his mind sharp and focused. He wasn’t the grieving CEO anymore. He was a man who had gone through hell and come back with the truth.

The gates of the Volkov estate opened, and Nathan saw the massive stone house glowing with lights. He saw the guards with their rifles, and he saw the expensive cars in the driveway. It was a fortress. But no fortress could hide the truth once it was out.

The car stopped. Nathan stepped out into the cold.

"Welcome, Mr. Vane," a butler said, opening the massive front doors.

Nathan walked inside. The house was warm and smelled of expensive wood and perfume. And there, standing at the top of the stairs, was the woman he had buried three years ago. She was wearing a deep blue dress, and she looked beautiful. She looked like a queen. But when her eyes met his, Nathan saw that same flicker of confusion, that same tiny crack in the mask of Viktoria.

Nikolai stepped out from behind her, putting a hand on her waist. "Mr. Vane! Welcome to my home."

Nathan forced a smile. "Thank you, Mr. Volkov. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you. And this must be your lovely wife?"

He looked straight at Fiona, and for a second, the world disappeared.