Chapter 7 - THE MOTHER WHO WAS SUPPOSED TO BE DEAD
I couldn't stop staring at the photograph.
My mother.
Alive.
Standing beside Richard Vale.
Standing beside Vincent's father.
Standing beside a newborn Emma.
It made no sense.
“She died,” I whispered.
Vincent didn't touch me.
“Claire.”
“I was sixteen.”
“I know.”
“I watched them lower her coffin.”
Daniel looked at the screen.
“Could the photograph be fake?”
“No,” Vincent said.
He zoomed in.
“The timestamp is real.”
“What timestamp?”
“The night Emma was born.”
My hands began shaking.
“Then she survived.”
Vincent nodded.
“And someone wanted you to believe she didn't.”
I looked at him.
“Why?”
Before he could answer, the archive door slammed shut.
The lights flickered.
Richard's voice came through the speakers.
“Because your mother knew what your father was hiding.”
My heart stopped.
“My father?”
Richard laughed.
“Not your father.”
Vincent looked at me.
“My father.”
Richard continued.
“Your mother was one of the few people who understood the archive.”
“Where is she?” I shouted.
Silence.
Then Richard answered.
“Closer than you think.”
The speakers went dead.
Daniel looked at Vincent.
“We need to move.”
Vincent nodded.
He pulled a small device from his pocket.
“What is that?”
“A tracker.”
“Who are you tracking?”
He looked at me.
“Richard.”
The device began blinking.
A signal appeared.
“North wing.”
We ran.
The estate was enormous.
Hallways twisted through old rooms.
Paintings watched us from dark walls.
We reached the north wing.
A door stood open.
Inside was a bedroom.
My bedroom.
Not from my marriage.
From childhood.
I stopped breathing.
The room looked exactly as I remembered it.
The blue curtains.
The wooden dresser.
The small white lamp.
Even the faded mark on the wall where I had once measured my height.
I stepped inside.
On the bed sat a photograph.
I picked it up.
My mother was holding me.
I was six.
She was smiling.
On the back, one sentence had been written.
I'M SORRY I LEFT YOU.
My eyes filled with tears.
Vincent stood behind me.
“Claire.”
I turned.
“Why would someone keep this?”
“I don't know.”
Then I heard a voice.
“Because she didn't leave.”
I froze.
The voice came from behind the bookshelf.
A hidden door opened.
An elderly woman stepped out.
Gray hair.
Thin face.
Tired eyes.
But unmistakable.
My mother.
My knees nearly gave out.
“Mama?”
She looked at me.
For a second, neither of us moved.
Then she whispered my childhood nickname.
“Little bird.”
I started crying.
I crossed the room.
She opened her arms.
I fell into them.
She smelled like lavender.
The same scent I remembered from childhood.
“How?”
She held my face.
“I couldn't come back.”
“You were alive.”
“Yes.”
“For fifteen years.”
She closed her eyes.
“I know.”
“You let me bury an empty coffin.”
“I had no choice.”
“You always had a choice.”
Her expression broke.
“I was trying to keep you alive.”
“From whom?”
She looked at Vincent.
Then at Emma.
“From his father.”
Vincent went still.
“My father?”
“Yes.”
My mother stepped away.
“Your father was not the man you thought he was.”
I frowned.
“My father?”
“He was involved with the Moretti family.”
“How?”
“Money.”
She looked toward the archive.
“Your father managed some of their financial operations.”
Vincent's expression hardened.
“My father hired him?”
“No.”
She looked at me.
“Your father blackmailed him.”
Silence.
I stared.
“Why?”
“Because your father discovered the archive.”
“And he threatened to expose it?”
“Yes.”
“What happened?”
“He disappeared.”
I felt cold.
“My father?”
She nodded.
“He ran.”
“But I was told he died.”
“He did not.”
I couldn't breathe.
“My father is alive too?”
She didn't answer.
Vincent stepped forward.
“Where is he?”
My mother looked at him.
“I don't know.”
Richard's voice came from the hallway.
“I do.”
We turned.
He stood at the end of the corridor.
No gun.
No guards.
Just Richard.
He looked almost disappointed.
“You found her.”
Vincent moved in front of me.
Richard smiled.
“I wondered how long it would take.”
My mother grabbed my hand.
“Don't let him take Emma.”
Richard's smile disappeared.
“You still think this is about the child.”
“What else is it about?”
He looked at me.
“Your family.”
I felt sick.
“You knew my mother?”
“I knew her better than you did.”
My mother stepped forward.
“You used me.”
“I protected you.”
“You imprisoned me.”
Richard shrugged.
“You were alive.”
“For fifteen years.”
“You could have been dead.”
I stared at him.
“You destroyed my life.”
Richard's expression hardened.
“No, Claire.”
He looked at Vincent.
“Your husband did.”
Vincent's jaw tightened.
Richard continued.
“He knew your mother was alive.”
I turned toward Vincent.
He looked at me.
“I didn't.”
“Richard is lying.”
“Is he?”
Vincent didn't answer.
My chest hurt.
“Vincent.”
He swallowed.
“I suspected.”
“When?”
“Three months ago.”
I stared at him.
“You knew there was a possibility.”
“Yes.”
“And you didn't tell me.”
“I couldn't.”
“You never trusted me enough to tell me.”
“That isn't true.”
“Then what is it?”
Vincent stepped closer.
“I was trying to find her.”
“Without me?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I thought Richard would use you.”
I laughed bitterly.
“He already did.”
Richard watched us.
Then he lifted a phone.
A video appeared.
Emma.
Sitting in a dark room.
She was holding her rabbit.
My heart stopped.
“Where is she?”
Richard smiled.
“Safe.”
“Bring her back.”
“Come with me.”
“No.”
“Then you will never see her again.”
My mother stepped forward.
“Richard, stop.”
He looked at her.
“You've already lost.”
“No.”
She shook her head.
“You haven't found the final file.”
Richard's face changed.
“What file?”
My mother smiled.
“The one your father hid from you.”
Richard stared.
“You're lying.”
“He never trusted you.”
Vincent looked at my mother.
“What file?”
She turned to him.
“The inheritance file.”
“What does it contain?”
“Everything.”
“Everything?”
“The original agreements. The account numbers. The names of every person involved.”
Daniel asked, “Where is it?”
My mother looked at me.
“Your daughter has the key.”
I felt confused.
“She has the bracelet.”
“No.”
My mother shook her head.
“The bracelet isn't the key.”
She touched Emma's drawing in my hand.
“This is.”
I looked down.
The drawing from earlier.
The house.
The woman.
The little girl.
The faceless man.
My mother pointed to the corner.
“Your daughter drew that from memory.”
“Memory of what?”
“Her grandfather's study.”
I stared.
Emma had been there once.
Years ago.
Before my mother vanished.
My mother whispered,
“She saw where he hid the file.”
Richard suddenly raised his weapon.
Vincent pushed me down.
A shot cracked through the hallway.
Glass exploded.
Daniel returned fire.
Richard disappeared around the corner.
Vincent grabbed my arm.
“We need Emma.”
My mother looked at me.
“Go.”
“You're coming.”
She shook her head.
“I have one more thing to do.”
“What?”
“Finish what I started fifteen years ago.”
She turned toward the archive.
Then she locked the door behind her.
I heard the old security system activate.
Vincent stared.
“What did she do?”
I looked at the locked door.
“I don't know.”
Then every screen in the hallway turned on.
My mother's face appeared.
A recording.
She looked directly into the camera.
“If you are watching this, Claire, then I failed to protect you the first time.”
My breath caught.
“But I won't fail you again.”
The screen changed.
A map appeared.
One location was highlighted.
An address in downtown Chicago.
Then a final message appeared.
YOUR FATHER IS THERE.
I stared at Vincent.
He looked stunned.
Richard had taken Emma.
My mother was trapped inside the archive.
And somewhere in Chicago, the father I had mourned for fifteen years was waiting.
Vincent grabbed his phone.
“Daniel, get the car.”
Daniel ran.
I stared at the screen.
“Why would my father be in Chicago?”
Vincent looked at me.
“Because Richard needed someone who could explain the archive.”
“You think he's working with him?”
“I don't know.”
“Then what do you know?”
Vincent took a breath.
“I know Richard didn't build this alone.”
The words chilled me.
“How many people?”
“Enough to keep your mother hidden for fifteen years.”
“And my father?”
“Maybe he was hidden too.”
I looked toward the locked archive.
“What did my mother mean when she said she started something?”
Vincent shook his head.
“Whatever it was, Richard was afraid of it.”
We reached the car.
Before getting in, my phone rang.
Unknown number.
I answered.
A man's voice spoke.
“Claire.”
I knew that voice.
I had heard it in old recordings.
I had dreamed about it.
My father's voice.
“Daddy?”
A pause.
Then he said,
“You need to stop trusting Vincent.”
The call ended.
I stared at the phone.
Vincent looked at me.
“What did he say?”
I couldn't answer.
Because for the first time, I wasn't sure which man I was more afraid of.
May you like
My husband.
Or my father. And both of them wanted something from me. Whatever happened next, I would face it with Emma beside me.
