Chapter 6 - The House Beneath the HouseThe police escorted me out.
Robert Vale disappeared before they could question him.
They claimed they couldn't prove he had been there for my brother.
I knew better.
He had wanted me to see him.
That was the point.
That night, Matthews came to my apartment.
“We found something.”
He handed me a photograph.
It showed the house I grew up in.
Except the image had been taken from underground.
A hidden camera.
I stared.
“Where is this?”
“Under the property.”
“There is no basement.”
“There is now.”
We went there.
The police had discovered a concealed access point beneath the garage.
Behind a false wall was a staircase leading down.
The air smelled of concrete and dust.
At the bottom was a hallway.
Then another.
Then a room.
Inside were six metal filing cabinets.
Six.
Each had a name.
Five were unfamiliar.
The sixth had mine.
I couldn't move.
Matthews opened it.
Inside were documents dating back twenty years.
Birth records.
Bank accounts.
Medical files.
School records.
Passports.
Photographs.
All connected to one identity.
Mine.
Except they weren't all mine.
Some belonged to other people.
Names had been changed.
Dates altered.
Accounts redirected.
It was a system.
A network.
Bellmont Holdings wasn't just hiding money.
It was creating people who didn't officially exist.
And my identity was the foundation.
I stared at one document.
A transfer authorization.
My signature.
Again.
But the date was from when I was fourteen.
Underneath was my mother's name.
And another signature.
My father's.
I looked at Matthews.
“This is impossible.”
“No.”
He pointed to a line.
“Look closer.”
I did.
The signature beside my father's name was marked:
DECEASED.
My mother's was marked:
AUTHORIZED.
I felt sick.
Then we found a cassette tape.
Old.
Dusty.
Marked with one word.
ELENA.
My mother's middle name.
Matthews found an old player.
The tape began.
My mother's voice filled the room.
Young.
Terrified.
“We never should have involved the children.”
A man's voice replied.
My father.
“You involved them the moment you signed.”
“They threatened us.”
“They threatened you.”
A pause.
Then my mother's voice.
“I did what I had to do.”
My father's voice became colder.
“You sold our daughter.”
My breath caught.
Matthews looked at me.
The recording continued.
“She was the cleanest identity.”
“What does that mean?”
“No criminal record. No financial history. No connections.”
“She was eleven.”
“They said they needed someone.”
“You gave them our daughter.”
Silence.
Then my mother whispered:
“I saved her.”
My father's voice cracked.
“By making her the owner of their crimes?”
I covered my mouth.
The tape continued.
“I can fix this.”
“No.”
“I can.”
“Linda, if they know I'm taking the files, they'll kill me.”
“Then don't take them.”
“I have no choice.”
Another pause.
Then my mother said something that made my blood run cold.
“Take Derek.”
My father went silent.
“What?”
“Take our son too.”
“No.”
“They need another identity.”
“You're insane.”
“I am trying to keep them alive.”
“You're sacrificing them.”
The tape ended.
Nobody spoke.
I stared into the dark room.
My mother had used both of us.
Not because she hated us.
Because she believed sacrificing pieces of our lives would protect the whole.
But that wasn't protection.
That was ownership.
Then Matthews opened another drawer.
Inside was a single photograph.
My father stood beside a woman I didn't recognize.
On the back was written:
SHE KNOWS WHERE THE MONEY WENT.
“Who is she?” I asked.
Matthews looked at the date.
Then at me.
“This photograph was taken three months ago.”
My pulse stopped.
“My father?”
“No.”
The man in the photograph wasn't him.
But he looked enough like him to make my skin crawl.
Same jaw.
Same eyes.
Same scar above the eyebrow.
Matthews whispered:
“Your father may have had a brother.”
I shook my head.
“He was an only child.”
Matthews turned the photograph over.
Underneath the first message was another sentence.
HE WASN'T HER BROTHER.
My stomach dropped.
“What does that mean?”
We heard footsteps upstairs.
Slow.
Heavy.
Someone was walking through the house.
Matthews pulled his weapon.
Then the basement lights went out.
A voice came through the darkness.
May you like
My mother's voice.
“You should never have come down here.”
