Chapter 5: The Father Who Was Never Dead
“Emily!””
Rosa's voice followed her down the corridor as Harlan dragged her away from the archive.
Emily twisted her arm.
“Let go of me!””
“You're trespassing on private property,” Harlan snapped.
“James stole a document!””
“Watch your mouth.””
James walked ahead without looking back.
He stopped outside the basement office and opened the door.
“Put her inside.””
Harlan pushed Emily into the room.
She stumbled against a chair.
James entered and closed the door.
For several seconds, neither spoke.
He removed his jacket and draped it over the back of a chair.
“Sit down.””
Emily remained standing.
“Where is Daniel Whitmore?””
James looked at her.
“Who?””
“My father.””
A muscle moved in his jaw.
“Your father was Sarah's husband.””
“Daniel Whitmore.””
“That's a name in a family record.””
“He was holding me in the photograph.””
James walked toward the desk.
“Photographs can be misleading.””
“Was he dead?””
James opened a drawer and removed a file.
“Your mother told you many things, didn't she?””
“She told me my father died before I was born.””
“And you believed her.””
Emily felt anger rising in her chest.
“I was a child.””
“Exactly.””
He opened the file.
Inside were several official documents, a copy of a marriage certificate, and a photograph of a younger man with dark eyes.
The man looked remarkably like James.
But he was older, perhaps in his late forties.
“That's Daniel,” Emily whispered.
James placed the photograph on the desk.
“Your father was a difficult man.””
“Where is he?””
“Gone.””
“Where?””
“That's not important.””
Emily stepped closer.
“You don't get to decide what's important.””
James slammed the file shut.
“I decide what happens in this house.””
“Then tell me why my mother ran away.””
He stared at her.
“You're asking the wrong questions.””
“What are the right ones?””
James leaned against the desk.
“Ask yourself why Sarah changed your name. Why she disappeared without telling Margaret. Why she spent years making certain no one knew where you were.””
Emily shook her head.
“Because someone was threatening her.””
“Perhaps.””
“Was that someone you?””
James gave a humorless laugh.
“You think everything is a simple story of good people and bad people.””
“I think my grandmother is terrified of you.””
His eyes darkened.
“Margaret is ill.””
“She recognizes me.””
“She recognizes a tattoo.””
“She knows my name.””
“She has spent years believing a story that isn't true.””
Emily stared at him.
“What story?””
James opened the file again.
He pulled out a document and turned it toward her.
It was a police statement dated November 2001.
The name at the top was Sarah Carter.
The statement claimed that she had taken a child from the Whitmore estate without permission.
Below it was another document.
A handwritten letter.
Emily recognized the handwriting immediately.
Her mother's.
She leaned forward.
*I have taken Emily because I cannot leave her in this house. James knows what happened to Daniel. He knows what the family intends to do.
Margaret believes the truth will destroy them all. I cannot allow my daughter to become another victim.*
Emily's eyes moved to the final line.
If I am ever forced to return, the falcon will prove who she is.
She looked up.
“What happened to Daniel?””
James closed the file.
“That's enough.””
“Did you kill him?””
Harlan moved toward her.
James raised a hand.
“No.””
He looked at Emily for a long moment.
“Daniel disappeared after a boating accident.””
“Was there a body?””
“No.””
“Then you don't know he's dead.””
James's expression tightened.
“Your mother spent the rest of her life searching for a man who chose to abandon her.””
“That's a lie.””
“Is it?””
“You have no proof.””
James picked up the photograph.
“Your father had a talent for making people believe what they wanted to believe. He was good at convincing Sarah that he could protect her.””
Emily looked at the picture.
There was something familiar about the man's eyes.
Not the color.
The shape.
The slight downward angle at the outer corners.
She'd seen them before.
In the mirror.
James left her in the basement office.
Harlan stood outside the door.
Emily remained still until she heard their footsteps disappear.
Then she noticed the small vent near the floor.
The office had an adjoining records room, separated by a wooden partition.
She pulled a chair toward the wall and examined the vent.
Four screws held it in place.
Using the edge of a broken paper clip, she loosened them one by one.
The vent came free.
Beyond it was a narrow passage.
Emily squeezed through and dropped onto the other side.
She landed in a storage room filled with old furniture.
A telephone sat on a small table.
She grabbed it and dialed Rosa's number.
Rosa answered on the second ring.
“Emily?””
“Where are you?””
“In the staff kitchen.””
“Listen carefully. I need you to check the estate records for Daniel Whitmore. Anything after 2001.””
“Why?””
“Because James says my father died in a boating accident, but there was no body.””
Rosa was silent.
Then she whispered, “Emily, I think I've found something.””
“What?””
“My grandmother kept an old newspaper clipping. She told me never to throw it away.””
“About what?””
“A man found unconscious near the river. The story says he was identified as Daniel Whitmore.””
Emily pressed the phone harder against her ear.
“When?””
“December 2001.””
“Was he alive?””
“The article says he was transferred to a private medical facility.””
“Which one?””
Rosa read something.
“St. Catherine's Recovery Hospital.””
Emily closed her eyes.
“Can you send me the address?””
“Yes.””
A message arrived.
Emily opened it.
The hospital was forty minutes from the mansion.
Before she could say anything else, the storage-room door opened.
Harlan stood in the doorway.
His eyes went straight to the telephone.
“You're making this very difficult.””
Emily dropped the receiver.
Harlan approached her.
“Mr. Whitmore wants your belongings searched.””
“Why?””
“He believes you stole something from the archive.””
“I didn't.””
“Then you won't mind handing over your apron.””
Emily stepped back.
A folded photograph slipped from her pocket.
It hit the floor.
Harlan picked it up.
His expression changed when he saw the picture of Sarah with the baby.
“Where did you get this?””
“It was in the nursery.””
He turned it over.
His thumb brushed across the handwriting.
Then he quickly placed it in his pocket.
“Give it back.””
“Mr. Whitmore needs to see this.””
“That's my mother's photograph.””
Harlan stared at her.
For a second, his expression seemed almost sympathetic.
Then he closed his fist around the photograph.
“You need to leave this house.””
“I need answers.””
“You won't get them here.””
He opened the door.
Emily hesitated.
“Did you know my mother?””
Harlan didn't answer.
“Did you know Daniel?””
The guard looked toward the corridor.
Finally, he spoke.
“I knew your father.””
Emily's breath caught.
“What happened to him?””
Harlan's eyes moved back to hers.
“He didn't die in that accident.””
Emily felt her heart hammering.
“Then where is he?””
Harlan opened his mouth.
Before he could answer, James's voice came from the hallway.
“Harlan!””
The guard flinched.
“Get her out of there.””
Harlan stepped aside.
Emily tried to move past him, but he caught her elbow.
As he escorted her toward the service entrance, he whispered so quietly that she almost missed it.
“St. Catherine's isn't the hospital you need.””
Emily turned.
“Then where?””
Harlan slipped a small piece of paper into her palm.
“Ask for room seventeen at the old Whitmore clinic. And don't tell James I helped you.””
At dawn, Emily stood outside a small medical building on the edge of town.
The old Whitmore clinic had been abandoned for years. Ivy climbed the brick walls, and several windows were boarded up.
A metal sign hung crookedly above the entrance.
She checked the paper in her hand.
*ROOM 17.*
The front door was locked.
But a side entrance stood slightly open.
Inside, the hallway smelled of damp plaster and disinfectant.
A faded reception desk sat beneath a wall clock that had stopped at 4:12.
Emily walked past the empty rooms.
At the end of the corridor, she found a metal door marked 17.
The lock was missing.
She pushed it open.
Inside stood a narrow hospital bed, a cabinet, and an old wheelchair.
On the bedside table was a framed photograph.
Daniel Whitmore.
Emily approached slowly.
The picture was newer than the one she'd found in the archive.
The man looked older.
Thinner.
But unmistakably alive.
A handwritten note lay beneath the frame.
For the daughter who may come looking.
Emily picked it up.
The handwriting was shaky.
Emily,
If you are reading this, then Sarah kept her promise. I don't know whether I will ever see you again, but I need you to understand that the falcon was never intended to identify an heir.
Emily stopped breathing.
She read the sentence again.
The falcon wasn't about inheritance?
Then what was it about?
A sound came from behind her.
A wheelchair creaked.
Emily turned.
An elderly man sat in the doorway.
His hair was white, his hands thin and trembling.
But his eyes were the same as hers.
“Emily,” he whispered.
She stared at him.
“Daniel?””
The man nodded.
Tears gathered in his eyes.
“You have your mother's face.””
Emily took a shaky step forward.
“Why did you leave us?””
Daniel shook his head.
“I didn't leave you.””
“Then why did Mom tell me you were dead?””
“Because she thought I was.””
Emily swallowed.
“What happened to you?””
Daniel reached toward her.
But before his fingers could touch her hand, he stopped.
His expression filled with fear.
“Did James send you?””
“No.””
“Does he know you're here?””
“I don't think so.””
Daniel looked toward the corridor.
Then he grabbed her wrist and stared at the falcon.
His entire body began to shake.
“Oh, God,” he whispered.
“What?””
Daniel clutched her hand.
“Emily, there's something your grandmother doesn't know.””
“What?””
He looked directly into her eyes.
“James isn't the person who ordered your disappearance.””
Emily's blood ran cold.
“Then who was?””
Daniel leaned closer.
May you like
And whispered a name.
“Margaret.””
