Chapter 2 - The Woman Who Was Supposed to Be DeadMara refused to answer questions inside the apartment.
She got the boys settled in the guest room, gave them blankets, and stood by the window with her arms crossed.
I watched her from across the room.
"You told my mother I was dead?"
Her eyes flicked toward me.
"No."
"She told me you abandoned me."
Mara laughed once.
It was a hollow sound.
"Your mother told you a lot of things."
My jaw tightened.
"Where have you been?"
"Everywhere I wasn't supposed to be."
"That's not an answer."
"It is when your life is controlled by people with more money than you."
She looked toward the bedroom.
The boys were whispering among themselves.
I heard four tiny voices.
Then silence.
My chest tightened.
"Are they mine?"
Mara didn't answer.
"Mara."
"Do you really want to know?"
"More than anything."
She walked toward me.
For the first time, I could see how exhausted she really was.
"You don't understand what happened six years ago."
"Then explain it."
"I can't."
"Why?"
"Because they're watching."
I looked around the apartment.
"Who?"
Mara lowered her voice.
"Your family."
The words were almost ridiculous.
My family.
The Whitakers.
One of the oldest private banking dynasties in New York.
My mother, Eleanor.
My father, Jonathan.
My grandfather, Arthur.
They owned hotels, banks, shipping companies, real estate.
They didn't need to spy on people.
They simply bought whatever they wanted.
Including silence.
"You think my family is watching you?"
"I know."
She pulled a folded photograph from her pocket.
I opened it.
It showed a young woman standing outside a hospital.
Mara.
Six years younger.
Pregnant.
Heavily pregnant.
Beside her stood my mother.
My blood turned cold.
"When was this taken?"
"Two days before you disappeared."
I stared at the photograph.
"My mother knew?"
"She was the reason I disappeared."
I looked toward the hallway.
"Tell me everything."
Mara shook her head.
"Not yet."
"Why not?"
"Because if I tell you here, those boys won't wake up tomorrow."
I stared at her.
"You're threatening me?"
"No."
Her voice cracked.
"I'm warning you."
Then someone knocked.
Three slow knocks.
Mara froze.
The boys went silent.
Another knock.
My instincts kicked in.
I stepped toward the door.
Mara grabbed my arm.
"Don't."
I looked at her hand.
She released me.
The knocking stopped.
I checked the security monitor.
Nobody.
I opened the door anyway.
The hallway was empty.
But something sat on the floor.
A small black envelope.
No name.
No address.
I picked it up.
Inside was a single photograph.
Me.
Standing outside the restaurant earlier that afternoon.
The four boys were visible in the distance behind me.
Someone had photographed us.
Today.
Recently.
On the back of the photo was one sentence.
YOU WERE NEVER SUPPOSED TO SEE THEM.
I felt the room go cold.
Mara's face drained of color.
"They found us."
"Who?"
She stared at the photograph.
"The people who killed the first witness."
"What witness?"
Mara didn't answer.
Instead, she walked to the bedroom and knelt beside Milo.
The boy looked up.
"Mom?"
She touched his hair.
"I need you to listen carefully."
I stood in the doorway.
She whispered something to him.
Milo looked at me.
Then his expression changed.
He slowly reached beneath his pillow.
He pulled out a small metal key.
And handed it to me.
"This belongs to Daddy."
I stopped breathing.
"Milo..."
He pointed toward my pocket.
"Mom says you have the same one."
I reached into my suit jacket.
My fingers found the old silver key I had carried for six years.
A gift from my father when I was seventeen.
My grandfather had given it to me.
He had told me never to lose it.
I placed Milo's key beside mine.
They were identical.
Not similar.
Identical.
I looked at Mara.
"Who is Daddy?"
Her eyes filled with tears.
"You are."
Silence.
The boys watched me.
My heart pounded so hard I could barely think.
"You just said..."
"I said they are yours."
I looked at the four boys.
Milo.
Mason.
Max.
Micah.
Four children.
Four lives.
Four years of birthdays I had missed.
Four Christmas mornings.
Four first days of school.
Four times they had probably asked where their father was.
And suddenly another question hit me.
"Why did you hide them?"
Mara looked away.
"Because six years ago, your mother gave me a choice."
"What choice?"
"Disappear with the babies..."
She swallowed.
"...or watch them disappear without me."
The key in my hand suddenly felt heavier.
"Why would she do that?"
Mara's eyes met mine.
"Because your family already knew something about those babies."
"What?"
She opened her mouth.
A phone rang.
Not mine.
Not hers.
It was coming from the boys' room.
Milo crawled out from under the blanket.
He was holding an old phone.
One I had never seen.
He answered.
"Hello?"
His eyes widened.
Then he looked directly at me.
"Daddy..."
A pause.
"Someone says Grandpa knows where the fourth baby was buried."
The phone slipped from his hand.
I caught it.
"Who is this?"
A man's voice whispered through the speaker.
"The question isn't which four boys are yours."
My blood went cold.
May you like
"It's which one of them your family tried to kill."
The line went dead.
