Chapter 4 - The Name KlaraMy mother's death certificate was a lie
Emergency lights flickered on again.
I stared at Maxwell.
“What did you mean?”
He didn't answer.
“Maxwell.”
He looked at the floor.
“Your mother worked for my father.”
“My mother cleaned houses.”
“No.”
“She was a housekeeper.”
“She was an informant.”
My stomach dropped.
“That makes no sense.”
“It will.”
He opened a metal cabinet.
Inside were dozens of folders.
He pulled out one with a faded red stamp.
KOVAK, KLARA.
My hands started shaking.
“Where did you get that?”
“My father's records.”
“Why would my mother be in your father's records?”
“Because she knew what happened to his money.”
I stared at the file.
There were photographs.
My mother.
Standing outside warehouses.
Talking to men I had never seen.
And one photograph of a little girl.
Me.
I looked at Maxwell.
“Why is there a picture of me?”
He didn't answer.
I opened the file.
A handwritten note was clipped to the first page.
Protect the child at all costs.
The signature belonged to Maxwell's father.
I couldn't breathe.
“My mother wasn't a criminal.”
“I never said she was.”
“You just said she was an informant.”
“She was trying to bring down my father.”
“Why?”
“Because of what he was doing.”
“What was he doing?”
Maxwell sat heavily on a steel bench.
“Human trafficking.”
The word hit me like a physical blow.
I shook my head.
“No.”
“Klara discovered it.”
“No.”
“She tried to expose him.”
“My mother died of cancer.”
Maxwell looked at me.
“Did she?”
I stared.
He pulled another document from the file.
A medical report.
Cause of death: metastatic pancreatic cancer.
Then he placed a second page beside it.
Autopsy authorization denied.
My voice cracked.
“Someone stopped the autopsy?”
“Yes.”
“Who?”
“My father.”
“Why?”
“Because he didn't want anyone looking too closely.”
I stepped backward.
Everything I knew about my childhood felt suddenly unstable.
“What happened to her?”
Maxwell's expression softened.
“She disappeared.”
“When?”
“Fourteen years ago.”
I looked at him.
“That's when you became paralyzed.”
He didn't respond.
I frowned.
“You said your father was involved.”
“He was.”
“And my mother disappeared.”
“Yes.”
“And you've been in that wheelchair for fourteen months.”
“Yes.”
“What happened fourteen years ago?”
His jaw tightened.
“A fire.”
“What fire?”
“The Kovak house.”
My blood ran cold.
“Our house?”
“Yes.”
“You were there?”
“I was nineteen.”
“You knew me.”
Maxwell looked away.
“I carried you out.”
I couldn't speak.
“You carried me?”
“Yes.”
“Why don't I remember?”
“You had smoke inhalation. You were unconscious for three days.”
My heart raced.
“I don't remember seeing you.”
“You wouldn't.”
“Why did my mother disappear?”
“We thought she died in that fire.”
“Did she?”
“No.”
“How do you know?”
“Because she sent me one message.”
He pulled out a small sealed envelope.
My name was written across it.
Martha.
My fingers trembled.
“Why didn't you give me this?”
“Because if you read it, you'd become part of this.”
“You already made me part of it.”
He looked at me.
“That wasn't my choice.”
I opened the envelope.
Inside was one sentence.
Martha, if Maxwell Rourke ever tells you he can walk, do not trust him.
I slowly looked up.
Maxwell didn't move.
Neither did I.
Then he whispered:
“She wrote that because she knew I would eventually find you.”
“Why shouldn't I trust you?”
He took a breath.
“Because there are things I haven't told you.”
The safe room door rattled.
Someone outside shouted.
“Maxwell!”
Victor.
Maxwell raised his pistol.
“Stay back.”
The door shook again.
Then a voice came from the other side.
A woman's voice.
Soft.
Weak.
Familiar.
“Martha?”
My breath stopped.
I looked at Maxwell.
He looked at the door.
The voice came again.
“Baby?”
My knees nearly gave out.
It was my mother's voice.
“Martha, it's Mom.”
Maxwell grabbed my wrist.
“Don't open it.”
I was crying now.
“She’s alive.”
He tightened his grip.
“And if that's really your mother, opening that door may be the last mistake you ever make.”
The voice on the other side whispered one final sentence.
“Maxwell is the reason I disappeared.”
Then something slammed against the door.
May you like
Hard.
The lock began to bend.
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