Chapter 13 - The TwinThe woman beside me began crying.
“I knew this would happen.”
Harris raised his weapon.
“Hands where I can see them.”
Claire obeyed.
“Your sister?”
“She never told me where she was.”
“What's her name?”
Claire hesitated.
“Celeste.”
“Why didn't you tell us?”
“Because nobody knew.”
“That is not an answer.”
Claire looked at me.
“Celeste disappeared when we were teenagers.”
“Why?”
“Our father sold us into different families.”
I stared.
“For what?”
“Debt.”
Harris's face hardened.
“Adrian?”
“Yes.”
Claire continued.
“He took me out.”
“And Celeste?”
“She stayed.”
I looked at the screen.
“Then she became part of his operation?”
Claire nodded.
“Eventually.”
“What does she want?”
“The evidence.”
“Why?”
“Revenge.”
“That doesn't explain Emma.”
Claire looked away.
“Emma is leverage.”
The word made my stomach turn.
“Against whom?”
“Adrian.”
I frowned.
“What does a six-year-old have to do with him?”
Claire looked at me.
“Your daughter is the only person who knows where the last piece of evidence is.”
I shook my head.
“She doesn't know.”
Claire whispered:
“She does.”
I remembered the watch.
The capsule.
The microfilm.
“What evidence is left?”
Claire said:
“A recording.”
“What recording?”
“Your father talking about the people who helped Adrian.”
I stared.
“The microfilm isn't complete.”
“No.”
“Where is the recording?”
“Your daughter.”
I couldn't speak.
Emma's stuffed rabbit.
The recordings.
The hidden card.
She had been carrying evidence without knowing it.
Then Harris received a call.
His face turned white.
“Mr. Carter.”
“What?”
“They're heading toward your old house.”
“My mother's house?”
“Yes.”
We drove.
The house was surrounded by police.
But the front door was open.
Inside, everything looked untouched.
Then I heard something.
A radio.
From upstairs.
We ran.
My mother's bedroom door stood open.
My mother was gone.
On the bed was a photograph.
My father.
Adrian.
Melissa.
Claire.
And a little girl.
I stared.
There were two girls.
Twins.
On the back someone had written:
ONE WAS SAVED.
THE OTHER WAS SOLD.
Harris looked at me.
“This changes the timeline.”
“What?”
“The twins weren't separated after Adrian's operation.”
He pointed.
“Look at the date.”
The photograph was taken before my mother met my father.
Before Melissa married me.
Before any of this.
I looked closer.
The little girl on the right was Claire.
The one on the left had a birthmark.
I knew that birthmark.
I had seen it.
On Melissa.
My stomach dropped.
“Melissa is Celeste.”
Harris stared.
“What?”
“The scar.”
I remembered Melissa's shoulder.
A small crescent-shaped birthmark.
The same one in the photograph.
Claire's face went blank.
“No.”
“It's her.”
Claire shook her head.
“That's impossible.”
But the evidence kept coming.
Melissa's fingerprints matched an old identification record under the name Celeste Benton.
Not Marianne Vale.
Not Melissa Carter.
Celeste Benton.
The entire identity was fabricated.
Melissa hadn't been Adrian's sister.
She had been Claire's twin.
And she'd been using multiple identities for decades.
That meant every part of our marriage had been built on a lie.
Every document.
Every story.
Every memory.
The front door slammed downstairs.
We ran.
A figure stood in the hallway.
My mother.
Alive.
But tied to a chair.
Behind her was Celeste.
Melissa.
The woman I'd slept beside for nine years.
She held a gun.
“Hello, Daniel.”
Harris raised his weapon.
“Drop it.”
She smiled.
“Not until you give me the recording.”
“You don't have it.”
Her eyes moved toward me.
“Your daughter does.”
She pointed the gun toward the window.
A phone appeared in her other hand.
A live video.
Emma was on the screen.
Crying.
Celeste whispered:
“Bring me the evidence.”
“Or?”
May you like
She smiled.
“Then you will learn what happens when a mother loses patience.”
