Chapter 5 - THE PHOTOGRAPH
I stared at the photograph until the edges began to blur.
Lily was sleeping peacefully in the picture.
Her pink pajamas.
Her stuffed rabbit tucked beneath one arm.
Her small hand resting beside her cheek.
Nothing about the image looked threatening.
That was what made it terrifying.
Someone had been inside my house.
Someone had stood close enough to photograph my daughter while she slept.
My mother covered her mouth.
“Oh, God.”
I turned toward her.
“Who has access to this house?”
She shook her head.
“I don't know.”
“Security?”
“They're outside.”
“Then someone bypassed them.”
My father’s study suddenly felt smaller.
The old clock on the wall ticked loudly.
I looked at the photograph again.
There was a reflection in the window behind Lily.
A dark shape.
A person standing near the bedroom door.
I grabbed a magnifying glass from my father's desk.
The reflection was faint.
But I could see a silhouette.
Tall.
Broad shoulders.
Dark jacket.
And something in his hand.
A phone.
My stomach tightened.
The person hadn't merely taken one picture.
They had been recording.
I immediately called the security supervisor.
“Lock down the entire house.”
“Sir?”
“Every door. Every window. Nobody leaves.”
“Yes, sir.”
I hung up.
My mother looked at me.
“What are you going to do?”
“Find whoever took this.”
Before I could move, Lily appeared in the doorway.
Her hair was messy.
She rubbed her eyes.
“Daddy?”
I turned immediately.
“Sweetheart, go back to Grandma.”
She looked at the photograph.
“That's me.”
“Yes.”
“Who took it?”
“I don't know.”
She stared at the picture.
Then she frowned.
“I know that room.”
“What?”
She pointed.
“That isn't my bedroom.”
I looked closer.
She was right.
The wallpaper was different.
The bed was different.
The photograph had been taken somewhere else.
I turned to my mother.
“Where is this?”
She didn't answer.
“Mom.”
Her face changed.
“I know that room.”
“Where?”
“The old guesthouse.”
I felt cold.
“The one near the lake?”
She nodded.
“It's been locked for years.”
“Why?”
My mother lowered her eyes.
“Your father used it when he needed privacy.”
I stared at the photograph.
Someone had taken Lily's picture inside the old guesthouse.
But Lily had never been there.
At least, I thought she hadn't.
I looked at my daughter.
“Have you ever been to the lake house?”
She shook her head.
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
Then she suddenly remembered something.
“Daddy…”
“What?”
“Mommy took me there once.”
My heart stopped.
“When?”
“Last summer.”
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“Mommy said it was a secret.”
My hands clenched.
“What did she show you?”
“A room.”
“What room?”
She pointed toward the lake.
“The room with Grandpa's pictures.”
My mother whispered:
“No.”
I looked at her.
“What?”
“Your father never let Vanessa into that house.”
I felt sick.
“Then how did she get Lily inside?”
My daughter looked frightened.
“She said Grandpa had left something for me.”
“What?”
“I don't remember.”
“Try.”
She closed her eyes.
Then whispered:
“A box.”
“What kind?”
“Black.”
My mother looked at me.
“The trust box.”
I felt the blood drain from my face.
“What's inside?”
My mother shook her head.
“Only your father knew.”
My phone rang.
Security.
“Sir, we found something.”
“Where?”
“The lake house.”
My stomach tightened.
“What?”
“There are fresh footprints.”
“Anyone inside?”
“No.”
“What else?”
A pause.
“We found a hidden camera.”
I looked at Lily.
“Where?”
“In the guest bedroom.”
The same room from the photograph.
I grabbed my coat.
My mother stepped forward.
“Don't go alone.”
“I won't.”
The detective arrived ten minutes later.
We drove to the lake house.
The place was surrounded by police.
Inside, the hidden camera had been removed from the wall.
But the wiring remained.
The detective pointed toward it.
“Whoever installed this knew what they were doing.”
I walked toward the bedroom.
The bed had been stripped.
The drawers were open.
The closet empty.
Someone had searched the room recently.
Then I saw something on the floor.
A child's hair clip.
Pink.
Lily's.
I picked it up.
My daughter had definitely been there.
I called her.
She answered from my mother's house.
“Daddy?”
“Do you remember this?”
I showed her the hair clip through video.
She nodded.
“Yes.”
“When did you lose it?”
“When Mommy took me here.”
“What did she do?”
“She told me to wait in the room.”
“For how long?”
“Long.”
“What happened?”
Lily hesitated.
“Someone came.”
“Who?”
“I don't know.”
“Man or woman?”
“A man.”
My heart raced.
“What did he say?”
“He called me by another name.”
“What name?”
She whispered:
“Emily.”
I froze.
Emily.
My late mother's name.
I looked at my mother.
She had heard it too.
“Why would he call Lily Emily?”
My mother sat down.
“Because…”
She couldn't finish.
The detective looked at her.
“Mrs. Carter?”
My mother whispered:
“Emily was the name your father originally wanted to give you.”
I frowned.
“What does that have to do with Lily?”
My mother stared at the floor.
“Everything.”
Before she could explain, the detective's phone rang.
He listened.
Then he looked at me.
“We found the person who rented the vehicle used near the lake house.”
“Who?”
“Charles Bennett.”
My financial adviser.
I felt my jaw tighten.
He had lied about the trust.
He had helped Vanessa.
Now he had been at the lake house.
I called him.
He didn't answer.
Then his voicemail activated.
I left one sentence.
“Charles, I know.”
He called back thirty seconds later.
His voice was shaking.
“Mr. Carter…”
“Where are you?”
“I can't tell you.”
“Who are you working for?”
Silence.
“Charles.”
“I never wanted anyone hurt.”
“Who?”
He whispered:
“Margaret.”
I felt cold.
“She's alive?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“She's coming for Lily.”
The call ended.
I looked toward the lake.
A black SUV was parked across the road.
Someone was sitting inside.
I ran outside.
The SUV started moving.
“Stop!”
It sped away.
The detective jumped into his vehicle.
But before he followed, my phone vibrated.
A message.
One sentence.
You should have left the trust alone.
Then another photograph appeared.
This time, it wasn't Lily sleeping.
It was my mother.
Taken that morning.
Inside our house.
May you like
My blood froze.
Someone was still inside.
