Chapter 3: The Photograph in My Father's Safe
My father didn't realize I had heard him.
He ended the call and slipped his phone into his pocket.
"Lena, come with me.""
I stepped backward.
"Why?""
"We need to get you home.""
"I'm not going anywhere with you.""
His expression hardened.
"Don't make this difficult.""
The sentence sounded so ordinary that it frightened me.
For six years, I had heard him say things like that whenever I questioned something. Whenever I wanted to visit the hospital where Mom supposedly died. Whenever I asked why there were no photographs of her funeral.
Don't make this difficult.
I had mistaken control for protection.
Now I wondered how many other things I had misunderstood.
"I'm staying with Mom," I said.
He stared at me.
"That woman is not your mother.""
The words hit harder than I expected.
I turned toward the conference room.
My mother was standing in the doorway, one hand gripping the frame.
"Say that again, Marco.""
My father looked at her.
For a moment, neither moved.
Then he lowered his voice.
"You should have stayed away.""
My mother stepped forward.
"I would have, if I believed you were keeping our daughter safe.""
"I raised her.""
"You stole six years from her.""
"I gave her a home.""
"You gave her a lie.""
The security officer stepped between them.
"Sir, I need you to lower your voice.""
My father straightened his jacket.
He looked at me one last time.
"You're making a mistake, sweetheart.""
Then he walked away.
I watched him disappear around the corner.
My mother touched my shoulder.
"Come with me.""
"Where?""
"Somewhere we can talk without your father listening.""
An hour later, we were sitting in a small diner three blocks from the university. The place smelled of burnt coffee and fried onions. A television above the counter played a daytime news broadcast, but the volume was too low to hear.
My mother had ordered tea.
I hadn't touched my food.
She was looking at the entrance every few minutes.
"Are you afraid someone is following us?"" I asked.
"I'm careful.""
"Because of Daniel?""
"Because of everyone.""
I leaned forward.
"Mom, I need to know what happened to you. All of it.""
She nodded.
Then she told me about the accident again, this time with details she had remembered over the previous year.
She remembered driving through heavy rain.
She remembered the brake pedal sinking toward the floor.
She remembered grabbing the steering wheel as the vehicle began to spin.
And she remembered seeing another car behind her.
A black sedan.
"It followed me for nearly ten miles," she said.
"Did you recognize it?""
"No. But I recognized the headlights. One was slightly dimmer than the other.""
I thought about my father's old black sedan.
He had owned one when I was younger.
"Was it Dad's car?""
My mother shook her head.
"I don't know.""
She reached into her bag and took out a small notebook.
Several names and dates were written inside.
"After I regained enough of my memory, I started investigating the people who had access to our finances.""
She pointed to one name.
Daniel Brooks.
Another name appeared below it.
Marco Alvarez.
And a third.
Vivian Brooks.
"Who's Vivian?""
"Daniel's wife.""
I frowned.
"Your sister-in-law?""
"Yes.""
I remembered Vivian as a woman who always smelled of expensive perfume and wore enormous diamond earrings. She had visited our house regularly after Mom disappeared.
She was the one who brought me birthday cakes.
The one who helped me choose a dress for my sixteenth birthday memorial dinner.
The one who hugged me and whispered, "Your mother would be so proud.""
I felt sick.
"Was she involved?""
My mother looked down.
"I don't know.""
A waitress approached with a fresh pot of coffee.
"Everything okay here?""
My mother smiled politely.
"Yes, thank you.""
The waitress left.
I lowered my voice.
"Why would my uncle and aunt want to hurt you?""
"Because of the trust.""
"What trust?""
My mother opened the notebook to a page with several figures.
"Your grandfather left a substantial estate when he died. Your father managed the business, but the controlling shares were supposed to pass to you when you turned twenty-five.""
"That's three years from now.""
"Exactly.""
I stared at her.
"How much money are we talking about?""
"Enough to make certain people very uncomfortable.""
She explained that my grandfather had owned several commercial properties and a logistics company. When he died, his will established a trust protecting my inheritance until I reached twenty-five.
My father had been appointed temporary administrator.
But there was a condition.
If I married before twenty-five, the trust could be modified under a separate agreement my grandfather had signed.
I shook my head.
"Why would marriage matter?""
"Because your grandfather didn't trust the people around your father. He wanted your inheritance protected from anyone who might marry you for financial reasons.""
I sat back.
"So why would anyone want to kill you?""
"Because I was the only person who knew where the original trust documents were kept.""
"Where?""
She looked directly at me.
"Your father's house.""
I stared at her.
"That doesn't make sense.""
"Your grandfather gave me a second copy before he died. I hid it somewhere your father would never think to look.""
"Where?""
My mother took a breath.
"In the piano.""
I almost laughed.
"The old piano?""
"Yes.""
It was still in our living room, a dark wooden upright piano my mother had played every Sunday. After her disappearance, Dad refused to let anyone touch it.
He claimed it reminded him too much of her.
Now I wondered whether he had known exactly what was inside it.
My phone buzzed.
A message from Vivian.
*Sweetheart, I heard about what happened today. Your father is devastated. Please come home. We need to talk as a family.*
I showed my mother.
She read it and frowned.
"Don't answer.""
"Why?""
"Because I want to know how much she already knows.""
Before I could respond, another message appeared.
This one was from Daniel.
*Lena, I know you're confused. Your mother has a history of making accusations. Ask her what happened to the little girl she left behind.*
I stared at the screen.
"What little girl?""
My mother went completely still.
I looked up.
"Mom?""
She didn't answer.
"What's he talking about?""
Her fingers tightened around the teacup.
"Daniel has no right to bring that up.""
"Bring what up?""
She looked toward the window.
Then she whispered, "I was pregnant when the accident happened.""
My heart seemed to stop.
"What?""
"I was twelve weeks pregnant.""
I couldn't speak.
She placed the teacup down carefully.
"I lost the baby in the hospital.""
I covered my mouth.
"Did Dad know?""
She nodded.
"He knew.""
"Then why did Daniel say—"
"Because he wants you to believe I abandoned another child.""
She reached across the table.
"Lena, listen to me. You were my daughter. You were the only child I ever raised. Nothing that happened changed that.""
I wanted to believe her.
But there was something in her expression that told me the story wasn't finished.
"Why didn't you tell me before?""
"Because I didn't want your first day with me to be about the child I lost.""
She squeezed my hand.
"I wanted to have one normal moment with you.""
For several seconds, neither of us spoke.
Then my phone rang.
The caller ID showed our home security system.
I answered.
A recorded voice announced that the front door had been opened.
I frowned.
"That's strange.""
My mother leaned closer.
"What's wrong?""
"Someone just entered Dad's house.""
I opened the security app.
The front camera showed our driveway.
A familiar black sedan was parked beside the garage.
Daniel's car.
I switched to the interior camera overlooking the living room.
The picture appeared.
Daniel was standing beside the old piano.
He looked toward the camera.
Then he opened the lid.
I watched him remove a small wooden panel beneath the keyboard.
His hand disappeared inside.
When he pulled it out, he was holding a thick envelope.
My mother grabbed my arm.
"That's it.""
"That's what?""
"The original trust.""
On the screen, Daniel opened the envelope.
He removed a document.
Then he took out his phone and made a call.
Even without sound, I could read his lips.
He said a name.
Marco.
My father answered almost immediately.
Then Daniel held up the document to the camera.
A signature was visible at the bottom.
My mother's signature.
But she shook her head violently.
"That's not mine.""
I zoomed in.
The signature looked convincing.
Almost perfect.
Then I noticed the date.
It was six months after the accident.
Six months after everyone had been told she was dead.
My mother whispered, "Lena, that's a forged document.""
"What does it say?""
She leaned closer to the screen.
Her face drained of color.
"Your father is trying to transfer your entire inheritance.""
"To whom?""
She didn't answer.
Instead, she stared at the name printed beneath the signature.
I enlarged the image until the letters became clear.
*BENEFICIARY: DANIEL BROOKS.*
My phone rang again.
This time, it was my father.
I answered.
His voice was unusually calm.
"Lena, sweetheart, where are you?""
I said nothing.
He continued.
"Come home. There's something I need to show you.""
"What?""
A pause.
Then he said:
"The truth about your mother.""
Behind me, my mother stood so abruptly that her chair fell backward.
"Don't go," she whispered.
My father spoke again.
"And Lena?""
"Yes?""
"Bring your mother with you.""
His voice dropped.
"There's someone else here who has been waiting six years to see her.""
I looked at my mother.
She was trembling.
Then she whispered a name I had never expected to hear.
"Vivian.""
And suddenly, I understood.
My mother hadn't been the only woman who disappeared from our family that night.
May you like
There had been another secret.
And my father was finally ready to show me what he had buried.
