Chapter 11: The Memory They Stole
I sat in silence for nearly an hour.
There was no possible way the file could be real.
Amnesia.
A medical procedure.
A missing childhood.
Memories removed.
Yet every document pointed to the same conclusion.
When I was nineteen, I had been involved in an accident.
I remembered almost nothing.
My mother told me I had fallen down a flight of stairs.
My grandfather said I had been under enormous stress.
Doctors blamed trauma.
I believed them.
But the medical records told another story.
I hadn't suffered an accident.
I had undergone an experimental neurological procedure.
Voluntarily.
I stared at the signature.
Cassidy Hart.
It was mine.
Arthur sat across from me.
“Do you remember signing this?”
“No.”
“Do you remember the doctor?”
“No.”
He turned the page.
The doctor was Dr. Adrian Cross.
Arthur looked grim.
“We're searching for him.”
I stared at the date.
The procedure had taken place three days before I met Brendan.
I suddenly remembered something.
A hallway.
Cold fluorescent lights.
A woman crying.
My mother yelling.
A man saying:
“Don't let her remember.”
I stood abruptly.
“I remember.”
Arthur looked at me.
“What?”
“Not everything.”
I closed my eyes.
“Fragments.”
I saw a door.
A red light.
My grandfather.
Brendan.
Diane.
And someone else.
A young man.
My age.
He was holding my hand.
I whispered:
“There was another person.”
Arthur leaned forward.
“Who?”
“I don't know.”
My memory sharpened.
The young man had said:
“Cassidy, when you wake up, don't trust Brendan.”
I opened my eyes.
Arthur looked stunned.
“You heard that before meeting Brendan?”
“Yes.”
“Then the procedure wasn't designed to erase everything.”
“What do you mean?”
“To erase one specific memory.”
I thought of my grandfather.
“What memory?”
Arthur examined the files.
“According to the records, the procedure was intended to remove knowledge of a private trust.”
“So they erased the company from my memory?”
“Not exactly.”
He pointed to one section.
The trust wasn't the target.
The beneficiary was.
I felt cold.
“Who?”
Arthur looked at me.
“You.”
I laughed bitterly.
“So they erased the fact that I owned my own inheritance.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“So someone else could control it.”
My phone vibrated.
A message from an unknown number.
Remember the greenhouse.
I stared.
The greenhouse.
Another memory hit me.
A summer afternoon.
I was nineteen.
I was standing in my grandfather's greenhouse.
Brendan was there.
Diane was there.
My mother.
And the young man.
I suddenly knew his name.
Ethan.
My mother's assistant.
He had disappeared after the procedure.
I looked at Arthur.
“Find Ethan.”
“We're trying.”
“No.”
I shook my head.
“He isn't missing.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I remember where he went.”
“Where?”
“My grandfather's private island.”
Arthur's expression changed.
“We have a problem.”
“What?”
“The island doesn't exist.”
I stared.
“It does.”
“No official records.”
“My grandfather owned it.”
“We can't find proof.”
“Then find it.”
Two hours later, we were boarding a helicopter.
The island appeared at sunset.
It wasn't abandoned.
A mansion stood on the cliffs.
Lights were on.
Someone was waiting outside.
Ethan.
I stepped out.
He hadn't aged the way I expected.
He looked older, but familiar.
He walked toward me.
“You remembered.”
I stared.
“You knew?”
He nodded.
“Your mother asked me to stay hidden until Protocol Seven was activated.”
“Why didn't you find me?”
“Because I wasn't allowed.”
“By whom?”
Ethan looked toward the mansion.
“Your father.”
My heart stopped.
“My biological father?”
He nodded.
“Victor?”
“No.”
Silence.
“Then who?”
Ethan took a breath.
“William Hart.”
I stared.
“The man I thought was my father?”
“Yes.”
“He's alive?”
Ethan nodded.
“Very much alive.”
“Where?”
Ethan looked toward the mansion.
“Inside.”
I walked forward.
The doors opened.
A man stood in the doorway.
Older.
Thin.
But unmistakably the man from my childhood photographs.
William Hart.
My father.
He looked at me.
Tears filled his eyes.
“Cassidy.”
I couldn't move.
He opened his arms.
“I've waited seventeen years.”
I whispered:
“Why did you let me believe you were dead?”
He looked past me.
“At first, to protect you.”
Then his expression changed.
“And later…”
He lowered his voice.
“Because I was afraid of what you would remember.”
I stepped closer.
“What did I forget?”
My father looked directly into my eyes.
“The truth about your first marriage.”
I froze.
“I was married before Brendan?”
“No.”
He shook his head.
“You were engaged.”
“To who?”
My father swallowed.
“To Ethan.”
I turned.
Ethan stared at the floor.
And suddenly another memory returned.
I remembered Ethan's hand in mine.
My grandfather shouting.
A gunshot.
Then darkness.
Then the procedure.
My father whispered:
“You were going to marry Ethan.”
I looked at him.
“Why didn't I?”
He answered:
“Because your grandfather killed him.”
I turned toward Ethan.
He was alive.
I stared.
My father whispered:
“He was never killed.”
I looked at Ethan.
“Then who did your grandfather kill?”
May you like
Ethan's face went pale.
“My brother.”
