Chapter 7 - The Girl in the PhotographThe girl looked about sixteen.
Dark hair.
Pale dress.
A small scar beneath her right eye.
And a resemblance I couldn’t explain.
Not to Mom.
Not to Dad.
To me.
I stared at the photograph until my vision blurred.
“Lily,” I whispered, “where did Grandma get this?”
“She gave it to me in the envelope.”
“Did she tell you who the girl was?”
Lily shook her head.
“She said you would know.”
I almost laughed.
“I’ve never seen her.”
“Grandma said you had.”
That sentence stopped me.
“When?”
“When you were little.”
I looked at Mark.
His face had gone serious.
“We need to talk to your mother.”
“No.”
Evan stepped forward.
“We need answers.”
“We’ve been asking for answers all night.”
I turned the photograph over.
On the back was an address.
An old apartment building.
Three miles from the house.
And one name.
Emily Cross.
I recognized it.
Dad had once owned property under that name.
I had never understood why.
We drove there in silence.
Melissa followed in her own car.
The apartment building had been renovated, but the address remained.
The current tenant opened the door only after Mark explained that we were looking for an old resident.
“Emily Cross?”
The woman frowned.
“Years ago.”
“Do you know where she went?”
The woman thought.
“Texas, maybe.”
“Did she have a family?”
“Yes.”
“Who?”
She hesitated.
“A daughter.”
My heart stopped.
“What was the daughter’s name?”
She shook her head.
“I don’t remember.”
Then she added:
“Actually, wait.”
She looked toward the hallway.
“There used to be an old mailbox downstairs. Some mail was never collected.”
We followed her.
The mailbox had been converted into storage.
Behind a broken cabinet, we found a small cardboard box.
Inside were letters.
All addressed to:
Emily Cross.
Return address:
Richard Bennett.
My father.
I opened the first one.
Emily,
I know you believe I abandoned you.
I didn’t.
The second letter was dated twenty-five years ago.
I will tell Laura when the time is right.
The third:
Your daughter deserves the truth.
I stopped reading.
“Your daughter?” Melissa whispered.
Evan looked at me.
“Laura?”
“No.”
But my voice sounded weak.
We continued.
The letters revealed fragments.
Dad had known Emily before he met Mom.
They had been young.
They had a daughter.
Then Mom had entered the picture.
The final letter was written six months before Dad died.
I found the sentence that made everything click.
I signed the trust in Laura’s name because the other child is already exposed.
Other child.
I looked at Melissa.
Then Evan.
Neither was old enough.
There had been another child.
I looked at the photograph again.
The girl with the scar.
My sister?
My father’s daughter?
My mother’s daughter?
Then my phone rang.
Mom.
I answered.
“Who is Emily Cross?”
Silence.
Then Mom said:
“Where did you find that name?”
“That’s not an answer.”
“You need to come home.”
“No.”
“Laura, listen carefully.”
Her voice was trembling.
“The girl in that photograph is dangerous.”
“Why?”
“Because she knows what really happened.”
“Who is she?”
Mom whispered:
“Your sister.”
I stopped breathing.
“What?”
“She is your father’s daughter.”
“Not mine?”
Mom cried.
“You have always had one sister you knew about and one you were never supposed to meet.”
I felt sick.
“Where is she?”
“I don’t know.”
“You’re lying.”
“I’m trying to protect you.”
“You used that sentence for twenty years.”
“Because it was true.”
“Why did you hide her?”
“Because your father made a promise.”
“What promise?”
“That if anything happened to him, you would inherit everything.”
I frowned.
“Everything?”
“The trust.”
“What trust?”
Mom’s voice dropped.
“The real one.”
I closed my eyes.
“What does it contain?”
“Your father’s company.”
“Which company?”
“Bennett Family Holdings.”
I almost dropped the phone.
Mom continued.
“Your father didn’t create it for you.”
“Then why?”
“He created it for your sister.”
I froze.
“But he put my name on it.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because he believed Emily’s daughter would be killed if anyone knew she existed.”
My heart pounded.
Then Mom said the one thing I never expected.
“And Laura, that girl in the photograph isn’t the only secret your father left behind.”
May you like
“What else?”
“She has a brother.”
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