Chapter 7: The Man in the Photograph
Patricia Lewis sat down so abruptly that her chair scraped against the marble floor.
For several seconds, she simply stared at the photograph.
Then she reached for it with trembling fingers.
"Where did you get this?""
Nia held Grace closer.
"It was inside a box in the hotel nursery. There was an envelope underneath it, but I didn't have time to open it.""
Patricia turned the photograph over.
The date was clearly visible.
Five years after the date printed on my father's death certificate.
She closed her eyes.
"That can't be right.""
I pulled the photograph from her hand.
"You're the woman standing beside him. You told me you buried him.""
"I did.""
"Then explain this.""
Patricia looked at me.
"I attended his funeral. I identified his body. I signed the final estate documents.""
"You're avoiding my question.""
She swallowed.
"Marcus, I need you to understand something. Your father was extremely ill. During his final weeks, he became suspicious of everyone around him. He believed someone was watching him.""
"Was he?""
Patricia looked at Nia.
Then back at me.
"I don't know.""
I slammed the photograph onto the table.
"You've been handling my family's legal affairs for years. You knew about the trust. You knew about the missing money. And now you're telling me you might have seen my father alive after his supposed death?""
"Lower your voice.""
"Why? Are you afraid somebody will hear?""
Patricia stood.
"Because I believe someone has been monitoring this entire situation.""
Thomas, the hotel manager, appeared at the entrance.
"Mr. Carter, security has just informed me that a woman entered through the service entrance approximately twenty minutes ago.""
"Who?""
He hesitated.
"Vanessa Carter.""
My mother had left.
Her hidden daughter had arrived.
And someone had apparently been waiting for us to discover the photograph.
"Where is she now?""
"She requested access to the penthouse.""
I looked at Patricia.
"Did you invite her?""
"No.""
Nia stepped closer.
"Marcus, maybe we should leave.""
Before I could answer, a woman's voice came from the corridor.
"There's no need to leave. I'm already here.""
A woman entered the penthouse.
She wore a charcoal coat, carried a black handbag, and had dark hair pulled into a neat bun.
She looked directly at me.
Then she smiled.
"Hello, Marcus.""
I stared at her.
Vanessa.
My mother's secret daughter.
My sister.
She glanced at Nia.
"And this must be the famous wife.""
Nia didn't answer.
Vanessa placed her handbag on the table.
"I imagine you have questions.""
I pointed at the photograph.
"Did you send this?""
She examined it.
"Interesting.""
"Answer me.""
Vanessa looked at Patricia.
"You shouldn't have brought him into this.""
Patricia stepped forward.
"Vanessa, where did you get that photograph?""
"From someone who knows more about your little investigation than you do.""
"Who?""
Vanessa smiled.
"Wouldn't you like to know?""
I moved closer.
"Did you know my father was alive after his supposed death?""
Her expression changed.
Only for a second.
But I noticed.
"You should be careful with your assumptions.""
"Then explain the date.""
She picked up the photograph.
"Your father had a complicated medical situation. There were arrangements made that you weren't informed about.""
"What arrangements?""
"Ask Patricia.""
I turned.
Patricia looked furious.
"Your father never authorized you to discuss his medical history.""
Vanessa laughed.
"That's funny coming from you.""
Nia shifted Grace against her shoulder.
"Why was there a box with our daughter's name in the nursery?""
Vanessa looked at her.
"Because Grace is the reason we're all here.""
I felt my stomach tighten.
"Leave my daughter out of this.""
"She's already in it, Marcus. Your father made certain of that.""
Vanessa opened her handbag and removed a small envelope.
She slid it across the table.
Inside was a photograph of a hospital room.
A man lay in the bed.
His face was partly turned toward the window.
But I recognized him.
My father.
I looked at the date.
Five years ago.
Six days after the funeral.
My hands began shaking.
"Where was this taken?""
"An independent medical facility in Vermont.""
"Why was he there?""
Vanessa leaned back.
"Because he wasn't dead.""
Patricia covered her mouth.
I looked at her.
"Did you know?""
"No," she whispered.
Vanessa gave a short laugh.
"She knew enough.""
I grabbed the edge of the table.
"Why would everyone lie to me?""
Vanessa's expression hardened.
"Because your father wanted you protected.""
"From what?""
She looked at Nia.
"From the woman holding your daughter.""
Nia stiffened.
I immediately stepped between them.
"Don't.""
Vanessa sighed.
"Your father believed Nia would eventually become a problem.""
Nia's face went pale.
"Your father never met me.""
"Not officially.""
The room fell silent.
I turned toward Patricia.
She looked down.
Then Vanessa said the words that shattered what little certainty I had left.
"Your father met Nia before she married you.""
I stared at my wife.
Nia shook her head.
"Marcus, I don't know what she's talking about.""
Vanessa smiled.
"Then perhaps she should explain the envelope she received five years ago.""
Nia's eyes widened.
I turned toward her.
"What envelope?""
She looked at me.
"Marcus, please.""
Vanessa picked up her handbag.
"Ask her about the blue hospital.""
Then she walked toward the door.
I followed her.
"You're not leaving until you tell me what you know.""
She stopped.
Without turning around, she said:
"Check the nursery camera footage. You'll find out who put that box there.""
Then she walked away.
Thomas hurried after her.
I turned toward Nia.
She was crying silently.
"Baby, what is it?""
She shook her head.
"I never met your father before our wedding.""
"Then why did she say that?""
"I don't know.""
Patricia approached us.
"I think we need to examine the nursery footage immediately.""
Thomas returned with a tablet.
He opened the security system.
The footage showed the nursery corridor.
At 9:42 that morning, a woman entered carrying a white box.
She wore a hotel employee uniform.
She placed the box inside the nursery.
Then she turned toward the camera.
I recognized her.
Denise Miller.
But the next frame showed something else.
Denise wasn't alone.
A man stood at the end of the corridor, watching her.
He looked directly into the camera.
And when I saw his face, the tablet nearly slipped from my hands.
May you like
It was my father.
Alive.
