Chapter 3 - The Woman Who Was Supposed to Be DeadI grabbed Grace.
The apartment was black.
My heart slammed against my ribs.
“Who's there?”
No answer.
I reached for the emergency flashlight on the counter.
Nothing.
Then I heard footsteps.
Slow.
Measured.
Coming from the hallway.
I moved toward the bedroom.
The voice spoke again.
“You should have stayed away.”
I hit the panic button on my phone.
The hallway remained silent.
Then the emergency lights from the building flickered on.
For half a second, I saw a shadow.
A man.
Tall.
Wearing a dark coat.
He disappeared through the balcony door.
I ran after him.
The balcony was empty.
Snow fell through the open doorway.
No footprints.
Nothing.
Except a small envelope sitting on the railing.
I opened it.
Inside was a photograph.
My mother.
Young.
Smiling.
Standing beside a woman I had never seen.
On the back:
YOUR MOTHER NEVER DIED.
I sat down.
My knees gave out.
My mother.
Alive?
It was impossible.
Michael arrived twenty minutes later.
I handed him the photograph.
He stared.
“Where did you get this?”
“Someone broke into my apartment.”
His face hardened.
“You need security.”
“I need answers.”
He studied the photograph.
“Abigail, I checked your mother's death records when we reopened your father's file.”
“And?”
“There was no body.”
I stared at him.
“What?”
“There was a death certificate. But no hospital record, no morgue record, no burial permit.”
I felt sick.
“So she disappeared too.”
“Yes.”
“And my father knew.”
“It looks that way.”
I returned to the old letter.
Ask your father about your mother.
But my father was dead.
Then I realized something.
The ledger.
There was a page I hadn't examined.
I searched through it.
Near the bottom was a recurring payment.
Recipient:
E. Hartwell.
Location:
Portland.
The payments had continued for twenty-one years.
Twenty-one years.
My entire childhood.
Michael searched the name.
“Evelyn Hartwell,” he said.
I stared at him.
My mother's name had been Elizabeth.
Elizabeth Carter.
“It's not her.”
“Maybe it's an alias.”
We flew to Portland the next day.
The address led to a small house on a quiet street.
An old woman opened the door.
She stared at me.
Then dropped the cup in her hand.
“Oh my God.”
I froze.
“You know me?”
Her eyes filled with tears.
“You have her eyes.”
“Whose?”
She looked behind me.
Michael was standing on the porch.
The woman opened the door wider.
“Come inside.”
Her name was Evelyn Hartwell.
She had worked for my father.
For twenty-seven years.
And she knew everything.
“My mother didn't die,” I said.
Evelyn lowered her head.
“No.”
“Where is she?”
She looked at Michael.
Then back at me.
“You need to leave.”
“Why?”
“Because the people who came after your mother will come after you.”
My voice shook.
“Richard?”
She hesitated.
“Richard was only one piece.”
My stomach tightened.
“What does that mean?”
Evelyn walked to a cabinet and removed an old tape recorder.
She pressed play.
My father's voice filled the room.
“If Abigail ever discovers the truth, tell her this.”
Static.
Then:
“She was never abandoned.”
I covered my mouth.
My father's voice continued.
“Her mother went into hiding because I couldn't protect either of them.”
The tape ended.
I stared at Evelyn.
“Why?”
“Your father discovered financial crimes inside the company.”
“Richard?”
“No.”
My blood chilled.
“Then who?”
Evelyn whispered a name.
“Daniel Cross.”
Michael's face changed.
“That's impossible.”
I looked at him.
“You know him?”
“He was on the board of your father's company.”
“Why is that impossible?”
“Because Daniel Cross died fifteen years ago.”
Evelyn shook her head.
“No.”
She pointed toward a photograph.
“He didn't.”
I looked.
A man stood behind my father.
Older.
Well dressed.
Smiling.
Daniel Cross.
Alive.
Or at least alive fifteen years later.
Then Evelyn said something that changed everything.
“Richard didn't kill your father.”
I swallowed.
“Who did?”
She looked directly into my eyes.
“Your father killed himself to protect you.”
I stared at her.
“That doesn't make sense.”
“He believed they would force him to reveal where your mother was.”
“And?”
“He knew they would use you to find her.”
My phone rang.
Unknown number.
I answered.
A man's voice whispered:
“Your mother is alive.”
I held my breath.
“Who are you?”
A pause.
Then:
“Someone who has been protecting you since the night you were born.”
The line went dead.
Michael immediately checked the call.
“It's untraceable.”
I looked at Evelyn.
She was crying.
“What aren't you telling me?”
She whispered:
“Your mother isn't the only person who survived.”
I stared at her.
“Who else?”
Evelyn looked toward Grace's carrier.
“The child.”
My heart stopped.
“What child?”
May you like
Evelyn's face went white.
“Your father had another daughter.”
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