The Key Behind Father’s Picture

I didn't get into Daniel's car immediately.

My phone was still pressed against my ear, and Officer Cole was shouting my name through the speaker.

“Clara, do not get into that vehicle. Tell me its registration number.””

Daniel looked at the phone.

“Cole?””

“You know him?”” I asked.

Daniel nodded.

“He was the officer assigned to the original case.””

I froze.

“What original case?””

Daniel looked at the hospital entrance.

“The investigation into my disappearance.””

Before I could respond, Cole's voice sharpened.

“Clara, listen to me. Daniel Hale was declared missing three years ago. We have no verified proof that he's alive.””

Daniel gave a humorless laugh.

“That's because someone paid to make sure there wasn't any.””

“Put him on the phone,” Cole ordered.

Daniel leaned toward the window.

“Hello, Officer.””

Silence.

Then Cole said, “Daniel, if this is really you, I need you to stay exactly where you are.””

“I did that once. It nearly got me killed.””

“I'm trying to protect you.””

“No,” Daniel replied.

“You're trying to control what I tell her.””

My stomach tightened.

“Daniel, what are you talking about?””

He looked directly at me.

“Ask him who signed the report declaring me dead.””

I repeated the question.

Cole didn't answer.

Daniel shook his head.

“Get in the car, Clara. I'll show you the evidence.””

I hesitated.

Then a figure appeared at the far end of the loading area.

Graham Whitmore.

He was walking toward us with his cane in one hand and a pistol in the other.

“Daniel!”” he shouted.

Daniel's expression changed.

“Get down!””

He grabbed my arm and pulled me into the car. A sharp crack split the air, and the rear window shattered.

I screamed.

Daniel slammed the accelerator.

The car lurched forward as another shot struck the metal behind us.

We sped out of the loading area and onto the empty road.

I ducked beneath the dashboard, clutching the folder against my chest.

“Are you insane?”” I shouted.

“Probably,” Daniel replied.

“But I'm alive.””

He took a sharp turn, then another, checking the rearview mirror.

“Are you hurt?””

“No.””

“Good. Keep your head down until we're away from the hospital.””

I looked at him.

He was close enough that I could see the resemblance clearly now. The same eyes. The same shape of the mouth. The same slight crease between the brows that Ethan developed whenever he was concentrating.

He was Ethan's twin.

And my father had known him.

“Why did you disappear three years ago?”” I asked.

Daniel's hands tightened around the steering wheel.

“Because Richard Hale called me.””

I stared at him.

“You just told me Richard was dead.””

“He was. But the person who called used his voice, his private number, and a phrase only Richard would have known.””

“What phrase?””

Daniel swallowed.

“'The lighthouse is still burning.''”

I felt a chill.

Richard had used that phrase with Ethan whenever he left on business trips. It was their private way of saying that home would always be waiting.

“Who else knew it?””

“Victoria. Me. And one other person.””

“Who?””

“My father.””

I stared at him.

“Daniel, Richard was your biological father.””

“I know.””

He glanced at me.

“But I grew up believing a different man was my father. A couple in Ohio adopted me when I was two. They called me David Mercer. They gave me a good life, and I loved them.””

“What happened when you discovered the truth?””

“Three years ago, my adoptive mother received a package. Inside was a photograph of Richard and a letter explaining that I had been adopted under false records.””

“Who sent it?””

“My biological father.””

“Richard?””

Daniel shook his head.

“Someone using his name.””

He drove into an underground parking garage beneath an old office building.

“Stay here.””

He got out, checked the surrounding area, and returned to open my door.

“We're safe for now.””

“Where are we?””

“A property Richard owned before his company went public. Nobody uses it anymore.””

We climbed a narrow staircase to a small office above the garage. Daniel unlocked three separate doors before allowing me inside.

The room was bare except for a desk, two chairs, and a wall covered with photographs.

I stopped when I saw the largest one.

It showed my father standing beside a young Daniel outside a diner.

On the back, someone had written:

*Boston, three years ago. The last time we were all together.*

I approached the photograph.

“My father looks older.””

“He was tired,” Daniel said.

“He had been searching for me for years.””

“Did he tell you who I was?””

Daniel nodded.

“He told me I had a sister. He said you worked for Richard and that you were the one person in the Hale mansion he trusted.””

Tears blurred my vision.

“Then why didn't he contact me?””

“He was going to.””

Daniel walked to the desk and opened a drawer.

He removed a small digital recorder.

“Three years ago, he told me he had found the original register. He said he was going to meet Richard's business partner and exchange the documents for proof of what had happened at St. Agnes.””

“Graham Whitmore.””

“Yes.””

“What happened at the meeting?””

Daniel pressed a button.

A man's voice filled the room.

My father's voice.

“Graham, I brought the register. Now tell me where my daughter is.””

I covered my mouth.

The recording continued.

Graham answered, “She's safe. You have my word.””

My father said, “I don't believe you.””

A chair scraped across the floor.

Then another voice spoke.

A voice I recognized from the old recordings of Richard's speeches played at the mansion's memorial service.

“Daniel, you've made this unnecessarily difficult.””

I stared at Daniel.

“That's Richard.””

He nodded grimly.

The recording continued.

My father said, “You're dead.””

The voice answered, “That's what they believe.””

A heavy thud followed.

Then my father shouted, “You said the boys would be safe!””

The recording ended.

I stood motionless.

Richard had been dead for three years.

But the recording suggested that someone had used his identity to lure my father into a trap.

“Where did you get this?”” I whispered.

“My father gave it to me before he disappeared. He told me to keep it hidden and never trust anyone who claimed Richard was still alive.””

I looked at the recorder.

“Then why did you say you think someone is pretending to be him?””

Daniel opened a second drawer.

Inside lay a stack of letters, a passport, and a photograph of a man leaving a hotel.

The man wore a baseball cap, but his profile was unmistakable.

Richard Hale.

The date printed beneath the photograph was six months after his supposed death.

“I took that picture myself,” Daniel said.

“I followed him for three days. Then he vanished.””

“Did you tell the police?””

“I tried. My report was closed before anyone interviewed me. The officer assigned to the case said the photograph was a fake.””

“Who was the officer?””

Daniel looked away.

“Cole.””

The room went silent.

My phone vibrated.

A message from Cole appeared.

*I know where you are. Stay inside. I need to speak to you before Graham reaches you.*

I showed Daniel.

He went pale.

“How could he know?””

I thought about the anonymous messages, the speed with which Cole had arrived at the hospital, and his refusal to answer when I asked who signed Daniel's death report.

Then I remembered something else.

At the mansion, Cole had examined the hidden documents before allowing anyone else to touch them. He had known exactly which questions to ask.

Perhaps he was simply competent.

Or perhaps he had been waiting for us to uncover something.

A knock sounded at the office door.

Three slow knocks.

Daniel reached beneath the desk and pulled out a small handgun.

I stared at him.

“Where did you get that?””

“Clara, stand behind me.””

The knock came again.

Then a familiar voice spoke from the hallway.