Chapter 17 - The Woman in the PhotographI stared at Linda.
I didn't understand.
“The baby was me?”
She nodded weakly.
“The photograph was taken when you were seventeen.”
“How could that be?”
“You don't remember because you were drugged.”
My body went cold.
“What happened?”
“You saw the ledger.”
“Then?”
“Your father tried to erase your memory.”
“He couldn't.”
“Not completely.”
I shook my head.
“Why was Stephanie there?”
“She wasn't.”
I stared.
“The girl beside you wasn't Stephanie.”
“Then who?”
“Your biological daughter.”
My heart stopped.
“I don't have a daughter.”
Linda looked at me.
“You did.”
The room seemed to disappear.
“You lost her.”
“When?”
“Before you met Donald.”
“Who is she?”
Linda swallowed.
“I'm afraid she's dead.”
I sat beside her.
“Then why does everyone keep talking about her?”
“Because they believe she wasn't.”
I remembered the baby.
The photograph.
The ledger.
The bank.
A lifetime of missing pieces.
Linda explained that when I was seventeen, my father was involved in a financial investigation.
He discovered illegal accounts.
One night, I witnessed a meeting.
I was carrying a baby.
My baby.
A daughter born in secret.
I had given birth young.
My family told me she died.
But she hadn't.
Someone had taken her.
That child had become part of the network.
And Donald had spent decades trying to find her.
“Who was she?”
Linda gave me a name.
“Rachel.”
I had never heard it.
Then she said something worse.
“Rachel is alive.”
I stared.
“Where?”
“She changed her identity.”
“To what?”
Linda looked toward the photograph.
“You've met her.”
My heart pounded.
“Who?”
“Dr. Moore's wife.”
I felt sick.
Henry's wife.
Rachel.
The child I had lost.
My daughter.
I couldn't breathe.
“She knows?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn't she tell me?”
“She doesn't know you're her mother.”
“Then who does?”
“Henry.”
Everything clicked.
Henry had manipulated everyone because he knew Rachel's true identity.
He had used her to build a system around the family.
Thomas had protected the network.
Linda had been trapped between both sides.
Donald had tried to stop them.
And I had been living in the middle of it without knowing.
“We need to find Rachel.”
Linda nodded.
“She works at the old hospital.”
The same hospital where Stephanie was once taken.
I ran.
Harold followed.
We entered through the emergency entrance.
A woman in a white coat turned.
I knew her face.
Not because I had seen it recently.
Because I had seen it in the photograph.
My daughter.
Rachel.
She stared at me.
Then at the photograph I was holding.
Her face turned white.
“Where did you get that?”
I couldn't speak.
She whispered,
“That's me.”
I stepped toward her.
“You're Rachel.”
She backed away.
“Who are you?”
I was shaking.
“I think I'm your mother.”
She laughed.
Then started crying.
“No.”
“Yes.”
She stared at the photograph.
“I was told my mother was dead.”
“So was I.”
Silence.
Then she asked,
“Who told you?”
“Henry Moore.”
Rachel's expression changed.
“He lied.”
“What do you mean?”
“He told me my mother abandoned me.”
My heart broke.
“I never abandoned you.”
“I know.”
“What?”
Rachel looked toward the hallway.
“I found out three weeks ago.”
“How?”
“He left a file open.”
A medical file.
My name.
My photograph.
My old records.
Rachel stepped closer.
“He's been watching you for forty years.”
Then she whispered,
“Mom, I think Stephanie knows who I am.”
My stomach tightened.
“Where is Stephanie?”
Rachel answered,
“She's downstairs.”
We ran.
At the end of the corridor was a locked door.
Behind it, someone was crying.
“Stephanie?”
Silence.
Then her voice.
“Mom?”
I opened the door.
Stephanie was inside.
Alive.
Bound to a chair.
And beside her stood Thomas.
He looked at Rachel.
Then smiled.
“Finally.”
He wasn't looking at Stephanie.
May you like
He was looking at me.
“You brought the real heir.”
