Chapter 3
My mother was alive.
I stared at the photograph until the screen blurred.
Catherine Whitmore looked older.
Her dark hair had turned silver.
But I knew her face.
I knew the slight curve of her mouth.
I knew the small scar above her eyebrow from a childhood accident.
“That’s Mom.”
My father took the phone.
His hands began shaking.
“Where was this taken?”
“I don’t know.”
He enlarged the background.
Behind my mother and Madeline was a concrete wall.
A yellow sign carried the edge of a company logo.
Marcus recognized it.
“That looks like a Northern Freight warehouse.”
My father called one of his investigators.
There were four Northern Freight properties near Chicago.
Police units were sent to all of them.
Officer Ruiz asked me to accompany her to the hospital.
I refused until my father promised to take Lily somewhere secure.
“No,” Lily said. “I’m staying with Mommy.”
“You need to be safe,” I told her.
“I’m not leaving you.”
Her voice broke on the final word.
Ryan had taught our daughter that separation meant danger.
I could not force her into another frightening car.
We went to the hospital together.
A doctor examined the swelling on my arm and the pain in my ribs.
Nothing was broken.
Lily sat beside me the entire time, gripping my coat.
My father stood near the door making calls.
At two in the morning, Marcus entered.
“Three warehouses were empty. The fourth contains active shipments. No sign of Catherine or Madeline.”
“What about the photograph?” I asked.
“It may have been taken somewhere else.”
“Ryan wants us chasing empty buildings.”
My father nodded.
“He’s buying time.”
“For what?”
“To move them.”
I looked at him.
“You knew Mom was alive.”
“I believed she might be.”
“That is not an answer.”
Lily watched us.
I asked a nurse to sit with her, then took my father into the hallway.
“You told me she left us.”
“That was what Catherine wanted you to believe.”
“Why?”
“She was trying to protect you.”
“People always say that when they lie.”
My father closed his eyes.
“You’re right.”
“Tell me everything.”
He leaned against the wall.
“Your mother worked as an accountant for the Whitmore Foundation. Twenty-one years ago, she found missing money.”
“Whose money?”
“Funds meant for shelters and children’s hospitals.”
“Who stole it?”
“My brother, Richard.”
Uncle Richard died when I was sixteen.
I barely remembered him.
“He used foundation accounts to pay people connected to organized crime,” my father continued. “When Catherine discovered it, he threatened you.”
“So she disappeared?”
“She entered a federal witness program.”
I stared at him.
“You let me think she abandoned me.”
“I was told it was the only way to keep you alive.”
“For twenty years?”
“The case collapsed. Richard died before trial, but two of his partners remained free. Catherine wanted to return. Then someone found her new identity.”
“Ryan?”
“We believe so.”
“How?”
“Madeline Cross.”
My father explained that Madeline’s mother had once worked with Catherine.
Before she died, she gave Madeline a locked box containing financial records and Catherine’s location.
Ryan learned about it after becoming engaged to Madeline.
He planned to sell the information to the same criminal network that Catherine had escaped.
Madeline discovered what he was doing.
Then she vanished.
“Why didn’t you tell the police?”
“I did. They found no evidence linking Ryan to her disappearance.”
“You still let me marry him.”
“I begged you to wait.”
“You told me he was using me for money. You never told me he might be dangerous.”
“I had no proof.”
“You had enough proof to investigate him for three years.”
My father’s face filled with regret.
“I was afraid that if I accused him directly, he would hurt you.”
“He hurt me anyway.”
“I know.”
“No, you don’t. You do not know what it was like to spend years wondering why my mother did not love me.”
“She loved you every day.”
“Then why didn’t she call?”
“Because the first time she tried, someone followed the signal.”
I thought about the two birthday cards.
“Were those really from her?”
“Yes.”
“What happened after the second?”
“The man delivering it was attacked.”
The anger inside me became tangled with grief.
My parents had lied.
Ryan had lied.
Every part of my life had been shaped by secrets I had never agreed to carry.
“Why did Ryan marry me?” I asked.
My father looked toward Lily’s room.
“To reach Catherine.”
“How would marrying me help?”
“He believed I knew where she was.”
“Did you?”
“No. We communicated through federal contacts.”
“Then why stay married to me for nine years?”
My father did not answer.
The truth came to me.
“Lily.”
He looked down.
“Ryan knew you would never risk your granddaughter.”
My knees weakened.
My daughter had not only been someone Ryan could control.
She was leverage against my father.
Marcus approached quickly.
“We found the white van.”
“Where?” my father asked.
“Abandoned near an industrial canal.”
“Any sign of Ryan?”
“No. But there was blood in the rear compartment.”
My phone rang.
This time the call came from Ryan’s mother.
Margaret Carter had never liked me.
She criticized my clothes, my parenting, and my relationship with my father.
But she worshiped Ryan.
I answered.
“Where is he?”
Margaret sounded offended.
“You had my son arrested.”
“He attacked me.”
“You provoked him.”
“He did it in front of Lily.”
“Then you should have kept the child upstairs.”
My father heard her.
His face hardened.
“Did you help Ryan escape?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“The white van belongs to your brother’s company.”
Silence.
Margaret had not known we found it.
“Where is Ryan?” I repeated.
“You need to stop this before people get hurt.”
“People are already hurt.”
“You have no idea what your father has done.”
“Then tell me.”
“Come to my house alone.”
“No.”
“If you want to know why Ryan chose you, you will come.”
The call ended.
My father immediately said, “You’re not going.”
“I am.”
“It’s a trap.”
“Of course it is.”
“That does not make it safe.”
“I spent years waiting for everyone else to decide what I was allowed to know.”
“Emily—”
“I’m done waiting.”
We arranged for police to watch Margaret’s house from nearby.
Lily was taken to a secure suite on another hospital floor with James and two female officers.
She made me promise to return.
I promised.
At four in the morning, my father drove me to Margaret’s neighborhood.
He stopped one block away.
“You keep your phone connected.”
“I will.”
“If anything feels wrong, leave.”
“I know.”
He caught my hand.
“I failed you.”
I looked at him.
“I need the truth more than I need another apology.”
Margaret opened her door before I knocked.
She wore a silk robe and looked perfectly calm.
“You brought your father.”
“He stayed outside.”
“I told you to come alone.”
“I did.”
She let me enter.
The living room smelled like coffee.
A suitcase stood near the stairs.
“You’re leaving,” I said.
“I am protecting myself from your family.”
“Where is Ryan?”
“Safe.”
“Where are Madeline and my mother?”
Margaret’s eyes changed at the mention of Catherine.
“So Charles finally admitted she is alive.”
“You knew.”
“Ryan told me.”
“Why did your son marry me?”
Margaret walked to a desk and removed an old photograph.
It showed Ryan as a teenager standing beside Richard Whitmore.
My uncle.
“Richard was Ryan’s father,” she said.
I stopped breathing.
“That’s impossible.”
“Your uncle and I were together for seven years.”
“Ryan’s last name is Carter.”
“My husband gave him that name.”
The room seemed to close around me.
Ryan was my cousin.
Margaret watched the horror spread across my face.
“He didn’t know when he met you.”
“When did he find out?”
“Before your wedding.”
I covered my mouth.
“He married me anyway.”
“He believed marrying Charles Whitmore’s daughter would give him the place Richard’s family denied him.”
“This was revenge.”
“It was justice.”
“You let us have a child.”
“Lily is healthy.”
The coldness of her answer made me sick.
“You knew everything.”
“I knew my son deserved his inheritance.”
“Where is he?”
Margaret looked toward the hallway.
A floorboard creaked behind me.
I turned.
May you like
Ryan stood there holding a gun.
“I’m right here,” he said.
