Chapter 5: My Father Met the Daughter He Had Buried
When we arrived at the mansion, my father was standing in the driveway.
He wasn't wearing his suit jacket anymore. His tie hung loosely around his neck, and his eyes were swollen.
The moment he saw me, he hurried toward the SUV.
“Where is she?””
I stepped out.
“She's nearby.””
“Is she coming?””
“I told her you wanted to see her.””
My father looked toward the road.
For the first time in my life, I saw Arthur Carter look completely helpless.
“Does she hate me?””
I didn't know what to say.
“Dad, she doesn't know you.””
He lowered his head.
“That's worse.””
Thomas opened the rear door.
Olivia stepped out.
She wore a dark green coat and carried a small brown handbag. Her dark hair fell just below her shoulders.
I looked at her carefully.
There was something familiar about her face.
Not because I had seen her before.
Because I had seen those eyes in old photographs of my mother.
My father took one step forward.
Then another.
Olivia didn't move.
“Olivia?”” he whispered.
She nodded.
“Hello, Arthur.””
He flinched at the formality.
“Please. Call me Dad.””
Her eyes filled with tears, but she didn't smile.
“I don't know if I can do that yet.””
My father nodded.
“That's fair.””
He looked at her face, then her hands.
“I was told you died.””
“I know.””
“Your mother told me she lost you.””
Olivia's jaw tightened.
“She didn't lose me. Someone took me.””
My father closed his eyes.
“I know.””
Olivia looked startled.
“You know?””
“Not everything. But enough to understand that I failed you.””
He reached into his pocket and removed a small photograph.
It showed my mother holding a newborn baby.
Her face was exhausted, but she was smiling.
On the back, in my father's handwriting, were the words:
Our little Livvy. The beginning of forever.
Olivia stared at it.
“Where did you get that?””
“Your mother gave it to me.””
“Why didn't you look for me?””
My father struggled to answer.
“Because I believed the hospital records. I believed the death certificate. And when your mother started asking questions, I thought grief was making her suspicious.””
Olivia's eyes filled.
“So you stopped looking?””
“I didn't know what else to do.””
“You could have kept looking.””
The words struck him harder than any accusation could have.
He lowered the photograph.
“You're right.””
Olivia wiped her cheek.
“I grew up in three different foster homes before a couple named Michael and Susan adopted me. They loved me. They gave me a good life. But every birthday, I wondered why my birth parents had abandoned me.””
My father looked devastated.
“You were never abandoned.””
“That's not what I was told.””
“I know.””
“Do you know how many times I imagined my mother coming back?””
My father couldn't speak.
Olivia looked toward the mansion.
“Is this where she lived?””
“Yes,” he whispered.
“Did she like it?””
“She loved it.””
“Then why does it feel like a stranger's house?””
My father looked down.
Because he knew exactly what she meant.
I gently touched Olivia's arm.
“Come inside. I'll show you her room.””
She hesitated.
Then she nodded.
We entered through the front door.
The foyer looked different now.
The broken wineglass had been cleaned up, but the atmosphere remained heavy.
My father's footsteps slowed near the staircase.
“Your mother used to sit here every evening,” he told Olivia.
“She would wait for me to come home from work.””
Olivia ran her fingers over the wooden banister.
“Did she talk about me?””
“Every day.””
My father stopped.
“She kept your baby blanket in her bedroom. She refused to throw it away.””
Olivia pressed her lips together.
I led her upstairs.
My mother's bedroom had been left almost untouched, although Vanessa had removed most of the photographs.
The curtains were still pale blue.
The dresser still held my mother's perfume bottles.
Olivia walked slowly toward the bedside table.
There was a small wooden music box.
She opened it.
A gentle melody began playing.
Her face crumpled.
“I know this song.””
I looked at her.
“What?””
“My adoptive mother used to hum it when I couldn't sleep.””
My father came to stand behind us.
“Your mother used to sing it to you when you were a baby.””
Olivia picked up the music box.
“Why would my adoptive mother know it?””
Nobody answered.
Then Olivia turned the box over.
There was a small inscription underneath.
For Olivia, from Catherine. Always your mother.
She began crying.
My father put a hand over his mouth.
I stepped closer and wrapped my arms around her.
For the first time, she didn't pull away.
Then her handbag vibrated.
She took out her phone.
A message appeared.
Her face changed.
“What is it?”” I asked.
She handed me the screen.
It was from an unknown number.
Your visit is over. Leave before you lose everything.
A second message followed.
Ask Arthur what happened to Catherine's first lawyer.
My father stared at the screen.
“Who sent that?””
Olivia shook her head.
“I don't know.””
But my father did.
I could see it in his expression.
“Robert,” he said quietly.
He pulled out his phone and called his attorney.
“Robert, I need you here immediately.””
He listened for a few seconds.
Then his face tightened.
“What do you mean you've found another file?””
A pause.
“Where?””
He looked at me.
“Don't open anything until I arrive.””
He ended the call.
“What's happening?”” I asked.
My father took a slow breath.
“Robert found a payment made from the company to a law firm six years ago. The payment was authorized by Daniel.””
“Which law firm?””
He looked toward Olivia.
“Your mother's original solicitor.””
Olivia sat on the edge of the bed.
“Why would Daniel pay my mother's solicitor?””
My father didn't answer.
Instead, he walked to the window and stared at the driveway.
“Because your mother was trying to find you.””
He turned around.
“And somebody wanted to make sure she never succeeded.””
Robert arrived twenty minutes later carrying a thick black folder.
He placed it on the bed.
“I've reviewed the old correspondence,” he said.
“There are some troubling inconsistencies.””
My father stood beside him.
“Tell us.””
Robert opened the folder.
“Six years ago, Catherine contacted a solicitor named Peter Walsh. She believed the documents relating to Olivia's death were fraudulent.””
Olivia leaned forward.
“What happened to him?””
“He resigned from the case.””
“Why?””
Robert looked uncomfortable.
“His firm received a substantial payment shortly afterward.””
My father clenched his fists.
“From Daniel?””
Robert nodded.
“Through a company account.””
I stared at the documents.
“Can we prove it?””
“Not yet. But there is more.””
He removed a photocopy of a letter.
It was dated four months before my mother died.
The handwriting was hers.
Peter, I know Olivia is alive. I have seen the records. I need you to help me bring her home before someone discovers what I have found.
At the bottom was another sentence.
The person responsible is closer to my family than I ever imagined.
Olivia looked at the paper.
“Did she know it was Vanessa?””
Robert shook his head.
“We don't know.””
My father sat down.
“Why didn't she tell me?””
Robert looked at him carefully.
“Perhaps she tried.””
He placed another document on the bed.
It was a copy of an email sent from Daniel's account.
The subject line read:
*Catherine Carter — Medical Records.*
I read the first paragraph.
Then my blood ran cold.
The email discussed a series of payments to a private clinic.
Payments made under my mother's name.
Payments continuing after her death.
Olivia looked up.
“Why would someone keep paying a clinic in my mother's name?””
Robert turned to the final page.
“Because according to these records, the clinic has been receiving payments for a patient registered as Catherine Carter.””
My father stared at him.
“That makes no sense. Catherine died seven years ago.””
Robert removed his glasses.
“Arthur, the clinic confirmed that the patient registration is still active.””
Olivia slowly stood.
“Then who's receiving treatment?””
Robert looked directly at my father.
“That's what we're trying to find out.””
Before anyone could speak, my father's phone rang.
The caller ID displayed a private number.
He answered.
“Arthur Carter.””
A woman's voice came through.
Weak.
Breathless.
But unmistakably familiar.
“Arthur?””
My father went completely still.
The phone slipped slightly in his hand.
“Who is this?””
The woman began to cry.
“It's Catherine.””
My father's face drained of color.
“That's impossible.””
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Then the voice whispered:
“Arthur, please. Don't let Vanessa find out I'm alive.””
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