Chapter 9: The Woman Who Died Twenty Years Ago
I couldn't move.
My mother's face stared back at me from the boat.
Older.
Thinner.
But unmistakable.
The same eyes.
The same mouth.
The same small scar above her eyebrow.
The scar I had kissed as a child when she told me I'd been too rough while playing.
“Mom?””
The word escaped before I could stop it.
Dad grabbed my shoulder.
“Claire.””
“No.””
I stepped toward the window.
“That's her.””
Mara shook her head.
“It can't be.””
“But you said—”
“I saw her body.””
Dad's voice was barely audible.
“I identified her.””
I turned.
“You identified her?””
“Yes.””
“Then that's not Mom.””
Mara stared at the approaching boat.
“Then who is she?””
The boat reached the shore.
Graham jumped onto the sand.
He looked exhausted.
Burned.
Blood covered his left sleeve.
But he was alive.
He walked toward the house.
The woman remained behind him.
She didn't move.
She simply watched me.
Graham stopped at the bottom of the hill.
“Claire.””
I stepped onto the porch.
“You're alive.””
He smiled.
“Disappointed?””
My father raised his weapon.
“Stay where you are.””
Graham ignored him.
His eyes stayed on me.
“I told you this wasn't about money.””
“You lied about everything.””
“Yes.””
“You drugged me.””
“Yes.””
“You planned my murder.””
“Yes.””
“You knew Emily.””
His face changed.
“Yes.””
“And my mother?””
He looked toward the boat.
“Yes.””
My heart slammed against my ribs.
“You knew she was alive?””
“No.””
“Then who is that?””
Graham looked at the woman.
“She knows.””
The woman finally stepped off the boat.
She walked toward us slowly.
Every step looked painful.
When she reached the porch, she stopped.
Her eyes met mine.
She whispered:
“Birdie.””
My knees gave out.
Dad caught me.
Nobody had called me that since my mother disappeared.
Not even Mara.
Not even Graham.
Only Mom.
I stared at the woman.
“How?””
She began crying.
“Because I am your mother.””
Dad stepped backward.
“No.””
She looked at him.
“Robert.””
His weapon lowered.
His face collapsed.
“Evelyn?””
She nodded.
Dad crossed the porch.
He stopped inches from her.
He didn't touch her.
“That's impossible.””
“I know.””
“I saw you.””
“You saw someone else.””
“What?””
Evelyn looked at Mara.
“Mara, show him.””
Mara disappeared into the house.
She returned with a photograph.
It showed my mother's body.
Or someone who looked exactly like her.
Same face.
Same hair.
Same clothes.
But there was a difference.
The woman in the photograph had a small scar on her right wrist.
My mother had always had a scar on her left.
Dad stared at it.
His knees nearly buckled.
“I didn't notice.””
Evelyn whispered:
“They wanted you to believe I was dead.””
“Who?””
“Victor.””
Victor.
Again.
Always Victor.
I looked at Graham.
“You knew.””
“I discovered the truth two years ago.””
“Then why didn't you tell me?””
His face hardened.
“Because I needed the ledger.””
“You used me.””
“Yes.””
“You tried to kill me.””
His eyes dropped.
“I changed my mind.””
I laughed.
“You changed your mind?””
“After I found your mother's letter.””
“What letter?””
He looked at Evelyn.
“She told me everything.””
Evelyn nodded.
“I asked him to bring you here.””
I stared at her.
“You asked him to?””
“I needed to know if I could trust you.””
“You let him marry me.””
“I didn't know he would fall in love with you.””
Graham looked away.
I felt something crack inside me.
“Did you?””
He looked at me.
“Yes.””
The word was quiet.
“I loved you.””
“Then why?””
“Because I thought killing you was the only way to get justice.””
“Justice?””
“My father destroyed your family.””
“My father didn't destroy yours.””
“I know that now.””
I stared at him.
“Too late.””
He nodded.
“I know.””
Dad stepped between us.
“Where is Victor?””
Graham looked toward the sea.
“He survived.””
“Where?””
“On the other side of the island.””
Mara's face changed.
“He has the ledger.””
“No,” Graham said.
“He has the key.””
Evelyn looked frightened.
“The birth certificate.””
Graham nodded.
“Victor found it before I did.””
I looked at my mother.
“Why is it so important?””
She took my hand.
Her fingers were cold.
“Because the ledger doesn't just contain financial records.””
“What else?””
“Names.””
“Children?””
“Yes.””
“How many?””
She looked at Dad.
“Thirty-two.””
I felt sick.
“Thirty-two children?””
Victor had been trafficking identities.
Moving children.
Changing names.
Selling them to wealthy families.
And Emily had been one of them.
“Where are they now?””
“Scattered.””
“Can we find them?””
“With the ledger.””
I looked at Graham.
“And Victor has it.””
“Yes.””
Dad asked:
“Why hasn't he exposed it?””
“Because it would expose him.””
“So he wants the key.””
“Yes.””
“And what does the key do?””
Evelyn answered:
“It identifies every child.””
I stared at her.
“Emily too?””
“Yes.””
“Then where is Emily now?””
Silence.
Graham looked at me.
“I thought she was dead.””
My heart dropped.
“What?””
“I found the records.””
“Where?””
“In Victor's private archive.””
“And?””
“Emily was transferred seventeen years ago.””
“To whom?””
Graham swallowed.
“A family in Boston.””
I stared.
“Do they know who she is?””
“No.””
“Then she's alive?””
“I don't know.””
My mother squeezed my hand.
“She is.””
“How do you know?””
“Because I have been receiving letters.””
My breath stopped.
“From Emily?””
Evelyn nodded.
“She thinks her name is different.””
“What name?””
My mother looked toward the horizon.
“Emma.””
A siren sounded in the distance.
Dad turned.
Police boats.
Multiple.
Graham looked surprised.
“You called them?””
Dad shook his head.
“No.””
Mara looked at me.
“You did.””
I realized the emergency beacon was still transmitting.
Rescue.
Authorities.
Everyone was coming.
Graham suddenly stepped toward me.
“I need the birth certificate.””
“No.””
“Claire.””
“You've lied enough.””
“If Victor gets it, people die.””
“You're asking me to trust you?””
“I don't deserve your trust.””
He reached into his jacket.
He pulled out a small envelope.
“My last piece of evidence.””
He handed it to me.
Inside was a photocopy.
A birth certificate.
*EMILY WHITMORE.*
Mother: Evelyn Whitmore.
Father: Robert Whitmore.
But beneath their names was something handwritten.
A second name.
*ADOPTIVE MOTHER: MARA VOSS.*
I looked at Mara.
She started crying.
“I didn't adopt her.””
I stared at the paper.
Then I noticed the date.
The adoption had been finalized two years after Emily disappeared.
That meant someone had forged it.
I looked at my mother.
“Who?””
She whispered:
“Your father.””
I turned toward Dad.
He looked at me.
And for the first time, I saw fear in his eyes.
Not fear of Victor.
Not fear of Graham.
Fear of what I was about to discover.
Because he said:
“Claire…”
Then Victor's voice came from behind the house.
“You finally found out.””
Everyone turned.
Victor stood at the edge of the trees.
He was holding a gun.
And in his other hand was a battered black ledger.
May you like
He smiled at me.
“Now let's talk about what your father did to Emily.””
