Chapter 12 - The Daughter Before MeThe secret my mother had buried for fourteen years explained why my grandfather never trusted my father.
The girl in the photograph was named Emily.
She was seventeen when she disappeared.
Eighteen when she died.
And according to my mother, my father had spent years pretending she had never existed.
“Why?”
My mother looked down.
“Because she knew about the money.”
“What money?”
“The original business.”
I waited.
“Your grandfather wasn't the only one who distrusted your father.”
Emily had been close to my grandfather.
She worked at the company after school.
She noticed unusual transactions.
Properties purchased in one name and transferred into another.
She found duplicate loan files.
Then she found something worse.
A list.
Names.
Dates.
Amounts.
My name was already on it.
Except I was a teenager.
I hadn't even finished college.
“What happened to Emily?”
My mother's eyes filled with tears.
“She confronted him.”
“And?”
“She threatened to report him.”
I felt sick.
“My father killed her?”
“No.”
My mother shook her head quickly.
“I don't know.”
“Then what do you know?”
“She vanished.”
“Where?”
“No one knew.”
“But you said she died.”
Her voice trembled.
“Her body was found months later.”
“How?”
“Her car was pulled from a river.”
I stared at her.
“Accident?”
“The police called it an accident.”
“You don't believe that.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because the night before she disappeared, she called me.”
My breath caught.
“What did she say?”
“She said your father knew.”
“About what?”
“She said he had found the files.”
I leaned forward.
“Did she tell you where they were?”
My mother nodded.
“Where?”
“In your grandfather's old property.”
The property where we had found the cabinet.
I stared at her.
“You knew.”
“Yes.”
“You sent me there?”
“No.”
“Then who did?”
My mother looked confused.
I showed her the photograph.
The email from Claire.
Her face went pale.
“That wasn't Claire.”
“What?”
“She never had access to your grandfather's property.”
“Then who sent it?”
My mother looked at me.
And whispered:
“Emily.”
My heart stopped.
“She died fourteen years ago.”
“Yes.”
“Then that can't be possible.”
My mother reached into her bag.
She pulled out a letter.
It was old.
Very old.
The paper had yellowed.
The envelope had no return address.
She placed it on the table.
“This arrived three months ago.”
I stared.
“You received a letter from a dead woman?”
“I don't know who sent it.”
I opened it.
Inside was one sentence.
Tell Lillian to open the red folder before her father does.
I couldn't breathe.
“The red folder?”
“Your grandfather's.”
“The one in the safe?”
“Yes.”
I looked at her.
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“Because I was afraid.”
“Of Dad?”
“Yes.”
“Still?”
She shook her head.
“Not anymore.”
I looked at my mother.
For the first time, she seemed small.
Not evil.
Not powerful.
Just exhausted.
“Why did you let him use me?”
She cried.
“I thought I was protecting you.”
“By keeping quiet?”
“Yes.”
“You failed.”
“I know.”
I didn't know what to say.
She touched the edge of the table.
“Lillian, there is another thing.”
“What?”
“The trust.”
I waited.
“It doesn't belong to me.”
“What?”
She looked terrified.
“Your father changed the beneficiary without telling me.”
“To Noah?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“So he could claim everything was for his grandson.”
My stomach turned.
“He used Noah's name to hide the money.”
“Yes.”
“Then why did you sign?”
“I didn't know.”
I believed her.
And that scared me too.
Because if she had truly lost control, then who was controlling everything?
I returned home.
Dana was waiting.
I told her everything.
She immediately requested additional records.
Two hours later, she called.
“Lillian, we found Emily.”
I dropped my keys.
“What?”
“She is alive.”
The room disappeared around me.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“I don't know yet.”
“Where?”
“Another state.”
“Why has she been missing for fourteen years?”
Dana's voice lowered.
“Because someone paid her to disappear.”
“Who?”
“We're confirming it.”
I looked at Evan.
“Is she safe?”
Dana paused.
“Yes.”
“Does she know me?”
“She does.”
“How?”
“Because she has been receiving copies of your financial records for years.”
My blood ran cold.
“From who?”
Dana answered.
“Your grandfather's contingency fund.”
I sat down.
“The fund was still active.”
“Yes.”
“Who controls it?”
Dana hesitated.
Then:
“Lillian, I think we've been looking at this backward.”
“What do you mean?”
“Your father may not have been the architect.”
I felt my heart pound.
“Then who was?”
Dana said:
“We found the original trust instrument.”
“What does it say?”
“It names a successor trustee.”
“Who?”
Silence.
May you like
Then:
“Emily.”
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