Chapter 4 - THE WOMAN IN THE OLD PHOTOGRAPHDominic had been sixteen when his mother died.
He remembered rain against the windows that night.
His father entering the dining room without taking off his coat.
Julian asking why everyone was crying.
Then the words Dominic never forgot.
“Your mother isn’t coming home.”
The official story was simple.
Isabella Vale’s car had left a mountain road during a storm.
The vehicle burned.
Identification was made through jewelry and dental records.
Closed casket.
Quick funeral.
Dominic had never questioned it.
Until now.
“Get the death certificate.”
Marcus placed it on the library table thirty minutes later.
Dominic read every line.
Cause of death.
Burn trauma.
Identification confirmed by Dr. Harold Weiss.
Dominic looked up.
“Find Weiss.”
Marcus searched.
Then frowned.
“He died in 2018.”
“Who claimed the body?”
Marcus scanned the record.
“Richard Sloan.”
Of course.
Evelyn sat opposite Dominic.
“Everything leads to Richard.”
“Yes.”
“You don’t believe it.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because if Richard built this deception for twenty years, he wouldn’t leave his name on every document.”
Evelyn considered that.
“So someone is using him.”
“Or framing him.”
Just as Julian had been framed.
They found another clue in Isabella’s personal accounts.
Three months after her supposed death, money had been withdrawn from a private trust.
Not much.
Eight thousand dollars.
Then again six months later.
And annually for seventeen years.
Always cash.
Always through the same bank in Vermont.
Dominic stared at the transactions.
“My mother had access to this account.”
“No one else?” Evelyn asked.
“My father.”
“Could he have been withdrawing the money?”
“He died seven years ago.”
The withdrawals continued for four years afterward.
Evelyn’s skin prickled.
“What if she didn’t die?”
Dominic did not answer.
Hope could be more dangerous than grief.
Grief was final.
Hope reopened graves.
Marcus traced the latest withdrawal.
Two years ago.
St. Agnes Community Bank.
A small town called Bellweather, Vermont.
Dominic decided immediately.
“I’m going.”
Marcus shook his head.
“We don’t know who shot Graham.”
“That’s why I’m not announcing it.”
“I’m coming.”
Evelyn stood.
“So am I.”
“No.”
“The note was hidden with my tape.”
“No.”
“Whoever locked me downstairs thinks I know something.”
“Exactly.”
“And that means I might recognize something you don’t.”
Dominic hated that she was right.
Harper remained at the estate with six trusted guards and Graham, who was still recovering.
By noon, Dominic, Evelyn, and Marcus were heading north.
They reached Bellweather after dark.
It was the kind of town Dominic rarely visited.
One diner.
One pharmacy.
A white church.
Snow beginning to collect along sidewalks.
The bank manager could not legally provide private records.
Dominic did not threaten him.
Evelyn noticed.
Instead, Dominic showed the old photograph of Isabella.
“Have you seen this woman?”
The manager looked.
“No.”
A teller behind him did.
Her coffee cup stopped halfway to her mouth.
Dominic saw it.
“You know her.”
The woman hesitated.
“I’ve seen someone similar.”
“When?”
“She used to come in once a year.”
Dominic’s chest tightened.
“Used to?”
“She stopped two years ago.”
“Did you know her name?”
“Anna.”
“Anna what?”
“Bell.”
Dominic showed a second photograph.
Isabella holding six-year-old Dominic.
The teller covered her mouth.
“That’s her.”
Dominic gripped the counter.
“Where did she live?”
The teller gave them an address.
An old farmhouse nine miles outside town.
It looked abandoned.
Dominic knocked.
No answer.
Marcus checked the rear.
Evelyn noticed smoke from the chimney.
“Someone’s inside.”
Dominic knocked again.
“Anna?”
Silence.
Then movement.
The door cracked open.
An elderly man with a shotgun appeared.
“Leave.”
Dominic showed the photograph.
“I’m looking for this woman.”
The man’s expression changed.
“She’s gone.”
“Dead?”
“No.”
“Where?”
“I don’t know.”
“Who are you?”
“Thomas Bell.”
“Her husband?”
The man laughed sadly.
“Not like that.”
He lowered the shotgun.
“She was hiding.”
Dominic felt dizzy.
“From whom?”
Thomas looked at the photograph.
“From your family.”
Evelyn watched Dominic absorb the words.
Thomas invited them inside.
The farmhouse smelled of wood smoke and coffee.
Photographs lined a shelf.
Dominic saw her immediately.
Older.
Gray in her hair.
But unmistakable.
His mother.
Alive.
Standing beside Thomas in a garden.
Dominic picked up the photograph with trembling fingers.
“When was this?”
“Three years ago.”
“Why did she leave us?”
Thomas sighed.
“She didn’t.”
Dominic turned.
“She was told you were dead.”
Silence.
“What?”
“After the crash, the people who helped her escape told her the estate had been attacked. That both boys died.”
Dominic’s face emptied.
“No.”
“She believed it for years.”
“Who told her?”
“She never gave names.”
“When did she learn the truth?”
“Seven years ago.”
The year Julian died.
Thomas nodded.
“She saw a newspaper article about your brother.”
Dominic closed his eyes.
“She tried to contact us?”
“Yes.”
“What happened?”
Thomas’s voice softened.
“She reached someone.”
“Who?”
“She wouldn’t tell me. But after that call, she became terrified again.”
“Why?”
“They told her Julian had been killed because she made contact.”
Dominic stood perfectly still.
Someone had used Julian’s death to silence Isabella.
“Where did she go two years ago?”
Thomas walked to a drawer.
“She left this.”
A sealed envelope.
On the front:
FOR DOMINIC, IF HE EVER FINDS ME.
Dominic opened it.
Inside was one page.
His mother’s handwriting.
My son,
If you are reading this, someone finally failed to keep us apart.
Your father discovered that a person close to him had been stealing from the family long before my accident.
I learned the truth and tried to expose it.
That is why my car was forced off the road.
I survived.
But the man who arranged it had help from someone I trusted more than anyone.
Your father believed I died.
Years later, when I learned you and Julian were alive, I tried to return.
Then Julian was murdered.
The same people were still watching.
Dominic, the enemy is not outside the family.
The enemy became the family.
At the bottom was one final sentence.
Dominic read it twice.
Then handed it to Evelyn.
Her eyes widened.
The sentence said:
Do not trust Uncle Vincent.
At that exact moment, Marcus’s phone rang.
He answered.
His face changed.
“What happened?”
The voice on the other end was frantic.
Marcus looked at Dominic.
“It’s Vale Manor.”
Dominic stood.
“What?”
May you like
“Harper is missing.”
Evelyn dropped the letter.
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