CHAPTER 10: THE THIRD DAUGHTER
The vault went completely dark.
I could hear Ava breathing beside me.
My mother was crying quietly.
Then came the sound from outside.
A fist struck the iron door.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
“They know we're here,” Ava whispered.
I held the memory card tightly.
My other hand closed around the tiny key.
Then I remembered the tape.
Never let them find the third daughter.
Three daughters.
Not two.
Not twins.
Three.
I turned toward my mother.
“Who is she?”
My mother didn't answer.
“Mom.”
Nothing.
“Who is the third daughter?”
She covered her face.
“I was trying to protect you.”
“You've been protecting everyone except me.”
“I didn't have a choice.”
“You always had a choice.”
She looked at me.
Her eyes were filled with shame.
“The third girl was born before you.”
My heart stopped.
“What?”
“She was your father's first child.”
I stared at her.
“Who?”
My mother whispered:
“Victoria.”
The name meant nothing.
“Where is she?”
My mother shook her head.
“We don't know.”
“You don't know?”
“She disappeared.”
“When?”
“Before you were born.”
“Who took her?”
My mother looked at the locked door.
“Your father.”
I felt sick.
“Why?”
“Because Victoria wasn't his.”
I stared.
“Then whose daughter was she?”
My mother closed her eyes.
“Michael's.”
The pieces shifted again.
Michael had three daughters.
Victoria.
Me.
Emily.
But why had the world been told there were only two?
Ava suddenly spoke.
“My mother knew about Victoria.”
My mother looked at her.
“How?”
“Emily told me.”
“What did she say?”
“She said Victoria was alive.”
My heart slammed against my ribs.
“Where?”
Ava hesitated.
“She said Victoria was the reason she had to disappear.”
“Why?”
“Because Victoria was the only person who knew the location of the original evidence.”
I looked at the memory card.
“What evidence?”
“The evidence proving Michael was murdered.”
I stared at the card.
“Then why did my mother hide the necklace?”
Ava looked at me.
“Because the necklace wasn't the evidence.”
“What was it?”
“The key to the evidence.”
I remembered the vault.
The videotape.
The photographs.
The documents.
But there was no safe.
No obvious place where the real evidence could be hidden.
I turned toward the walls.
“There's another room.”
My mother shook her head.
“No.”
“You know there is.”
She remained silent.
I walked around the vault.
The stone walls were covered with shelves.
Boxes.
Old files.
I tapped one wall.
Solid.
Another.
Solid.
Then I noticed something.
A small carving.
Three circles.
One large.
Two smaller.
I touched it.
A mechanism clicked.
The wall moved.
A hidden compartment opened.
Inside was a metal box.
My mother gasped.
“No.”
I pulled it out.
“What?”
“That wasn't supposed to be here.”
“What is it?”
“I don't know.”
I opened it.
Inside was a stack of photographs.
One photograph showed Michael standing with three little girls.
Victoria.
Me.
Emily.
I stared.
We were holding hands.
The picture had been taken in a garden.
On the back was a date.
MARCH 18, 1999.
I was barely three.
Emily was two.
Victoria looked about six.
I turned the photograph over.
There was writing.
THE OLDEST KNOWS THE TRUTH.
Ava leaned closer.
“Victoria.”
I nodded.
“Where is she?”
My mother looked away.
Then the iron door shook violently.
Someone shouted:
“OPEN IT!”
My uncle's voice.
“Don't!”
I stared at the door.
“He's alive.”
My mother looked terrified.
“He wasn't alone.”
“What?”
A gunshot struck the iron.
Everyone ducked.
Then another voice came through the door.
A woman's voice.
Calm.
Cold.
“You have ten seconds.”
My mother froze.
I recognized that voice.
The woman from the phone.
The woman who had called me to Blackwood Estate.
The woman who knew about the memory card.
I whispered:
“Who is she?”
My mother looked at me.
“Victoria.”
My blood turned to ice.
My missing sister.
The third daughter.
She was here.
And she was on the other side of the door.
“Victoria!” I shouted.
Silence.
Then:
“Hello, little sister.”
My chest tightened.
“You're alive.”
“Yes.”
“Why did you hide?”
“Because your father wanted me dead.”
“Why are you trying to kill us now?”
A pause.
“I don't want to kill you.”
“Then let us out.”
“I can't.”
“Why?”
“Because the people outside aren't working for me.”
I looked at my mother.
“Who are they?”
Victoria answered:
“The people who killed Michael.”
My mother started crying.
Victoria continued.
“And they know you have the memory card.”
I looked at the card.
“How do you know?”
“Because I put it in the necklace.”
I froze.
“What?”
“The necklace your daughter was accused of stealing.”
I stared at the memory card.
“You planted all of this?”
“No.”
“Then who did?”
“Margaret.”
I felt my stomach drop.
“Margaret?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because she discovered the truth.”
I shook my head.
“She lied to me.”
“She lied because she was afraid.”
“Afraid of whom?”
Victoria's voice became quiet.
“Her husband.”
I looked at the photograph.
“Ethan?”
“Yes.”
I felt the room spin.
“No.”
“Ethan isn't who you think he is.”
Ava looked at my mother.
“What does that mean?”
Victoria answered:
“Ethan is David's son.”
I remembered the name.
David.
The man who had supposedly stolen Michael's identity.
The man who had supposedly fathered me.
My mother suddenly grabbed my arm.
“Don't listen to her.”
I stared.
“Why?”
“Because Victoria is dangerous.”
The voice behind the door laughed.
“Still protecting your secrets, Elena?”
My mother stepped backward.
Victoria continued:
“You told her David was her father.”
My mother closed her eyes.
“He wasn't.”
I stared.
“Then who was?”
Victoria's voice softened.
“Michael.”
I already knew.
But hearing it again didn't make it easier.
Then Victoria said:
“There's something else.”
“What?”
“You're not the only one who has Michael's blood.”
I looked at Ava.
Then at my mother.
“What do you mean?”
“Your daughter.”
My heart stopped.
“Sophie?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because Michael's inheritance doesn't end with his daughters.”
I felt sick.
“It passes to their children.”
“That's impossible.”
“That's why they want Sophie.”
The truth slammed into me.
The men outside.
The attack at the wedding.
The necklace.
The cameras.
They weren't trying to destroy me.
They were trying to get to Sophie.
Ava suddenly grabbed my arm.
“We have to get out.”
“How?”
Victoria answered from outside.
“There's another exit.”
“Where?”
“Behind the wall.”
I looked at the hidden compartment.
“Which wall?”
“The one with three circles.”
I touched it.
A mechanism clicked again.
A narrow passage opened behind the stone.
Cold air rushed into the vault.
My mother stared at the opening.
“No.”
“What?”
“I've seen this passage before.”
“Where does it lead?”
She looked at me.
“To the chapel.”
I took a breath.
“Then we're going.”
We entered the passage.
Ava followed.
My mother came last.
Behind us, the iron door began to buckle.
Someone was breaking through.
We ran.
The tunnel twisted beneath the estate.
Then I saw light.
We emerged beneath an old chapel.
Rain poured outside.
The forest was dark.
I turned toward the estate.
A figure stood in the upper window.
Victoria.
She was watching us.
I couldn't see her face clearly.
Then she raised her hand.
She wasn't waving.
She was pointing.
Behind us.
I turned.
A man stood in the trees.
Holding a gun.
He fired.
The bullet struck the chapel wall.
Ava screamed.
We ran.
Then another shot.
My mother fell.
“Mom!”
I rushed toward her.
Blood spread across her coat.
She looked at me.
“Don't stop.”
“Mom, you're hurt.”
“Take Sophie.”
“What?”
She grabbed my hand.
“Go back.”
“Why?”
“Because the wedding wasn't the beginning.”
She coughed.
“It was the trap.”
I froze.
“What trap?”
She whispered:
“They never wanted the necklace.”
“They wanted you.”
“Why?”
My mother looked at me with tears in her eyes.
“Because you're the only person who can identify the man who killed Michael.”
I stared.
“I was three.”
“No.”
She shook her head.
“You were eight.”
My blood froze.
“What?”
“You weren't three in that photograph.”
I looked at the date again.
March 18, 1999.
My mother whispered:
“The photograph was altered.”
I stared at her.
“The real photograph was taken after Michael died.”
I couldn't breathe.
Then she said:
“And the man who killed him was standing behind you.”
A gunshot rang through the forest.
My mother pointed toward the darkness.
“Look.”
I turned.
The shooter stepped out from behind a tree.
The rain washed across his face.
I recognized him instantly.
The man from the old photograph.
The man who had called me.
The man my uncle said killed Michael.
But he wasn't an old man anymore.
Because the photograph had been altered.
He was much younger.
And he was the person I had spent the entire evening trusting.
Ethan.
My sister's husband.
Margaret's groom.
He lowered the gun.
May you like
Then smiled.
“Now you finally know.”
