Chapter 6 - THE MAN IN THE PHOTOGRAPHFor several seconds, nobody spoke.
I stared at my mother.
Then at Investigator Mercer.
Then back at my mother.
"My father?" I whispered.
She nodded.
"William."
"But he's dead."
Mom covered her mouth.
"I thought so too."
I sank into the chair beside her.
My mind refused to accept another impossible revelation.
My mother, whom I'd buried, was alive.
My husband, whom I'd trusted, was a stranger.
My inheritance, which I'd never known existed, had apparently been stolen.
And now the father I'd mourned for fifteen years might have been involved in the very conspiracy that had destroyed our family.
"Mom," I said carefully, "are you sure?"
Her eyes filled.
"I remember his face."
"After fifteen years?"
"He was standing in the kitchen."
"Did he speak to you?"
She nodded.
"He told Daniel that things had gone too far."
My heart pounded.
"What things?"
"I don't know."
She pressed her fingertips against her temples.
"I was so angry. I remember throwing a glass."
Rachel pulled a chair closer.
"Margaret, take your time."
Mom closed her eyes.
"He kept saying he was trying to protect Emily."
I felt a terrible sense of recognition.
The same words Nathan had used.
Protect Emily.
Protect the family.
Always protection.
Always an excuse for lying.
"What happened next?" I asked.
Mom opened her eyes.
"Daniel told him he didn't have a choice anymore."
"And Dad?"
"He said he would find another way."
Mom looked at me.
"Then Daniel smiled."
Something about her expression frightened me.
"What did he say?"
She swallowed.
"He said, 'Your daughter already belongs to us.'"
My stomach twisted.
I thought of Nathan.
Of the way he'd appeared in my life.
Of how quickly he'd made himself indispensable.
The soup.
The flowers.
The proposal.
The wedding.
The child.
My life.
All of it possibly arranged by men who saw me as nothing more than a name on financial paperwork.
Mercer spoke gently.
"Margaret, we don't need to continue if you're exhausted."
Mom shook her head.
"I want to remember."
But her hands were trembling badly.
A nurse entered and quietly suggested a break.
I didn't want to leave.
Not after waiting eleven years to hold my mother.
But I could see how much the conversation was costing her.
I kissed her forehead.
"I'll be right outside."
She grabbed my hand.
"Promise me something."
"Anything."
"If you find William, don't go to him alone."
I stared at her.
"Why?"
She looked toward the window.
"Because I still don't know whether he came to save me or silence me."
I carried those words into the hallway.
There, Mercer showed Rachel and me a photograph taken from an old security archive.
Three men stood outside a corporate building.
Charles Price.
Daniel Price.
And a third man.
Silver-haired.
Broad-shouldered.
Wearing a dark suit.
I stared at him.
"That's my father."
Mercer nodded.
"The photograph is dated two months before your mother's accident."
I looked again.
Dad looked older than I remembered.
But it was unmistakably him.
The crooked smile.
The broad forehead.
The small scar near his left eyebrow from a childhood baseball injury.
"He was alive," I whispered.
"At least at the time this photograph was taken," Mercer said.
I touched the image.
"Where was it taken?"
"Indianapolis."
"Do you know where he is now?"
"Not yet."
I looked at Rachel.
"Fifteen years."
She squeezed my shoulder.
"I know."
I turned back to Mercer.
"Why would my father let me believe he was dead?"
"We don't know."
"He had a daughter. A wife."
"I understand."
"No, you don't."
My voice broke.
"He missed my wedding. He missed Oliver being born. He missed everything."
Mercer didn't argue.
He simply waited.
Finally I asked, "What happened to the company?"
He opened another document.
"After your father's reported death, Charles Price gained operational control over several corporate assets. Your mother retained certain ownership rights through the family trust."
"And Daniel?"
"He eventually took over his father's interests."
"Where does Nathan fit in?"
"We believe he managed certain transactions through Briarstone Capital."
I laughed without humor.
"My husband the businessman."
"Emily," Rachel said quietly, "there's something else we should talk about."
I looked at her.
"What?"
"The life insurance policy."
My stomach tightened.
"I haven't forgotten."
"An attorney will need to review it. Meanwhile, I don't want you returning home or meeting Nathan alone."
"I wasn't planning to."
Rachel exchanged a glance with Mercer.
"What?" I demanded.
She hesitated.
"We learned that Nathan recently purchased a one-way airline ticket."
"To where?"
"Zurich."
"When?"
"Tomorrow evening."
My pulse quickened.
"He's leaving?"
"Possibly."
"And the transfer happens tomorrow morning?"
Mercer nodded.
"That's why we're working quickly with the appropriate authorities."
I stared at the photograph of my father.
Suddenly a thought occurred to me.
"What about the lake cabin?"
Rachel frowned.
"What lake cabin?"
I almost smiled.
"The third anniversary present."
I told her about the tiny silver key.
About the cabin I'd secretly purchased seven months earlier.
A modest place on Lake Geneva with a wooden dock and a fireplace large enough to sit beside during winter.
I'd wanted somewhere our family could escape.
Somewhere Oliver could learn to fish.
Somewhere Nathan might finally stop working long enough to remember us.
"Was it purchased in your name?" Rachel asked.
"Yes."
"With your money?"
"Yes. Savings from my accounting work and a small inheritance from my grandmother."
"Does Nathan know about it?"
"No."
She considered that.
"Good."
I looked at her.
"Why?"
"Because you need somewhere safe that he doesn't control. We should still assess whether the property has been discovered before you use it."
Then Mercer received a phone call.
He stepped away.
I sat in silence, staring at my father's photograph.
I remembered being six years old.
Dad teaching me to ride a bicycle.
"Keep your eyes on the road, Emmy."
"I can't!"
"Yes, you can."
"What if I fall?"
"Then I'll help you up."
I'd believed him.
I'd believed everything my parents told me.
Now I wondered whether love was simply another story people told until the truth became inconvenient.
Mercer returned.
His expression had changed.
"Emily, we've received information from the forensic accounting team."
I stood.
"What information?"
"They identified a small pattern of unusual payments from an account connected to your mother."
"To whom?"
"A woman named Helen Parker."
I frowned.
"I don't know her."
"She worked as a records specialist for an Indianapolis hospital."
"Why would Mom pay her?"
"We're not sure. The payments occurred before your mother's accident."
He handed me a photograph.
A woman with short brown hair stood beside a hospital reception desk.
There was something familiar about her.
Then I realized why.
She'd been at my mother's funeral.
I remembered her standing near the back of the church.
I'd thought she was an old coworker.
"She was there," I whispered.
"Where?"
"At the funeral."
Mercer studied me.
"Are you certain?"
"Yes."
He immediately made a note.
"According to our preliminary information, Helen Parker left Indiana in 2016. She's currently living in northern Michigan."
"Can we speak with her?"
"We're arranging an interview."
I looked at the photograph.
A woman who'd received money from my mother.
A woman who'd attended her fake funeral.
A woman who might know why my father was still alive after his supposed death.
Then my phone vibrated.
Another unknown number.
A photograph appeared.
The image showed a small wooden cabin.
My cabin.
The one Nathan didn't know existed.
Beneath it was a message.
YOU THOUGHT HE WAS THE ONLY ONE WATCHING YOU?
I froze.
Rachel looked over my shoulder.
"What is it?"
I showed her.
She immediately called Mercer back.
I could barely speak.
"Someone knows about the cabin."
Then a second message arrived.
YOUR FATHER WANTS TO MEET YOU. COME ALONE.
And attached below was something even more disturbing.
May you like
A recent photograph of William Whitmore.
Standing outside my son's school.
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