Chapter 3 - The Photograph Her Father Never Explained
Penelope Gallagher stared at the three words written beneath the number seventeen.
Ask your mother.
Her fingers tightened around the photograph.
"No," she whispered. "I'm done asking her anything."
Victor Russo stood beside her, studying the message on his phone. The photograph of the mysterious silver-haired man remained on the screen. Beside him stood Damian, the man who had promised to marry Penelope only hours earlier.
And in the stranger's hand was her father's silver music box.
Penelope felt something colder than heartbreak settle inside her chest.
"That music box was in my apartment this morning."
Victor looked at her.
"Are you certain?"
"My father gave it to me for my tenth birthday. I've kept it beside my bed for twenty years. I know every scratch on it."
She pointed toward the screen.
"See that mark near the lid? I dropped it when I was twelve. The corner never closed properly afterward."
Victor enlarged the photograph.
The scratch was unmistakable.
"Damian took it," Penelope said.
"Possibly."
"Don't do that."
Victor turned.
"Do what?"
"Speak to me like I'm some frightened little girl who can't handle the truth."
His expression softened.
"You're right."
"Then tell me who that man is."
Victor looked at the photograph for several seconds.
"His name is Richard Vale."
Penelope waited.
"He was your father's business partner before Thomas began working with me."
"Then why did you say he was the man who told you my father was dead?"
"Because Richard was supposedly the last person to see Thomas alive."
Penelope felt her heartbeat accelerate.
"Supposedly?"
Victor put his phone away.
"Richard disappeared three weeks after your father's funeral. His financial accounts were emptied. His apartment was abandoned. The authorities believed he'd left the country."
"And you?"
"I believed he knew exactly what happened to Thomas."
"Did you find him?"
"I tried."
"For nineteen years?"
Victor met her eyes.
"Yes."
Penelope looked away.
She didn't know whether to believe him.
Only a few hours ago, she had been preparing to marry his son. Now Victor was telling her that he had spent nearly two decades searching for a man connected to her father's death.
And somehow, that same man had appeared beside Damian and Melanie.
There were too many coincidences.
Penelope had built her career on understanding that coincidences often disappeared when someone followed the money.
She intended to follow every dollar.
"Give me your phone."
Victor raised an eyebrow.
"Excuse me?"
"The photograph. Send it to me."
"Penelope—"
"Please."
He studied her for a moment before forwarding the image.
She immediately opened it on her laptop.
"What are you doing?"
"Something I'm actually good at."
She enlarged the photograph and examined the background.
The private jet stood on a sunlit runway. Damian and Melanie were walking toward a waiting vehicle. Richard Vale stood several feet behind them, holding her music box.
But Penelope wasn't interested in their faces.
She was interested in the building behind them.
A small sign appeared near the airport terminal.
She enlarged it.
Then she smiled.
Victor noticed.
"What?"
"Your people said the plane landed in the Bahamas."
"Correct."
"Then why does that building have the logo of a private aviation company operating out of Grand Cayman?"
Victor leaned closer.
Penelope pointed toward the image.
"The photograph wasn't taken in the Bahamas."
His expression hardened.
"Dominic."
He immediately called his security chief.
Penelope continued examining the photograph.
The shadows were long. The sunlight came from the wrong direction for the time Dominic had reported.
And the photograph's metadata had been deliberately stripped.
Someone wanted Victor to believe his son was somewhere else.
Someone wanted them looking in the wrong country.
Dominic answered.
"Sir?"
"Verify the aircraft's actual landing coordinates. Don't rely on the flight plan."
"There's a problem."
Victor became still.
"What problem?"
"The pilot isn't answering. The aircraft's tracking system stopped transmitting twenty minutes ago."
Penelope looked up.
Victor's voice remained controlled.
"Find another source."
"Already working on it."
Victor ended the call.
For several seconds, neither spoke.
Then Penelope closed her laptop.
"I'm going home."
Victor shook his head.
"That's not advisable."
"My father left me something. Damian stole it. And someone is using it to threaten me."
"Which is exactly why you shouldn't go home alone."
She stood.
"Then come with me."
Victor looked surprised.
Penelope folded her arms.
"You said you wanted to protect me. Fine. But I'm not spending the rest of my life hiding behind your security team."
He studied her.
Then something unexpected happened.
He smiled.
It was brief, almost invisible.
But it transformed his face.
"You're very much your father's daughter."
Penelope swallowed.
"Then help me find out what happened to him."
Forty minutes later, Penelope entered her Manhattan apartment wearing an oversized cream sweater and black trousers.
Her wedding gown remained at the hotel.
She had removed her engagement ring and placed it inside an evidence envelope Victor's attorney had provided.
The diamond had felt strangely heavy when she took it off.
Now her finger felt free.
Victor entered behind her.
Dominic and two security personnel remained outside.
Penelope looked around the apartment.
Everything appeared normal.
The white sofa.
The framed photographs.
The expensive dining table Damian had insisted they purchase.
The enormous engagement portrait hanging above the fireplace.
She stared at the photograph.
Damian stood behind her, his arms wrapped around her waist. She remembered how uncomfortable she'd felt during the photo session.
The photographer had repeatedly suggested angles that would make her appear smaller.
Damian had agreed.
Penelope had laughed along because she hadn't wanted to ruin the afternoon.
Now she walked directly toward the fireplace.
She removed the photograph.
Victor watched silently as she carried it into the kitchen and placed it facedown.
"Are you all right?"
"No."
She turned toward him.
"But I will be."
Victor nodded.
He didn't offer an empty promise.
She appreciated that.
Penelope entered the bedroom.
The silver music box was gone.
Its familiar square outline remained in the dust on her dresser.
She touched the empty space.
Her father had given her the box during one of the happiest days she could remember.
She had been wearing a yellow dress.
There had been a birthday cake decorated with tiny silver stars.
Her father had knelt beside her and placed the box in her hands.
"Whenever you feel alone, Penny, remember that some things are worth more than money."
She had opened it immediately.
A delicate melody had filled the room.
She remembered asking him why he had chosen that particular song.
He had kissed her forehead.
"Because your grandmother used to sing it to me."
Penelope closed her eyes.
The memory was suddenly painfully clear.
But there was something else.
Something she hadn't thought about in years.
Her father had told her never to lose the little brass key.
She opened her eyes.
"Victor!"
He appeared in the doorway.
"What happened?"
"The key."
She hurried toward her jewelry cabinet.
Victor followed.
Penelope opened the bottom drawer and removed a small wooden box containing childhood keepsakes.
Inside were old birthday cards, faded ribbons, a broken bracelet, and several photographs.
She searched through them.
Nothing.
Her stomach tightened.
"Where is it?"
Victor approached.
"What are you looking for?"
"The key to my music box. Dad told me to keep it safe."
Victor removed the brass key he'd shown her earlier.
"Was it like this?"
Penelope examined it.
"No. Mine was smaller."
She continued searching.
Then she stopped.
Her childhood diary.
A purple notebook decorated with faded silver butterflies.
She hadn't opened it in years.
Penelope flipped through the pages.
Her handwriting changed from large, uneven letters to the smaller, neater script of her teenage years.
She found an entry dated three weeks before her father's death.
Daddy gave me another secret today. He said if I ever forget where I put it, I should remember our favorite song.
Penelope's heart pounded.
She turned the page.
A childish drawing showed a music box.
Beside it was a crooked number.
Seventeen.
Victor leaned over her shoulder.
"Penelope."
She pointed toward the drawing.
"Look."
Below the music box, her younger self had written another sentence.
Daddy said the stars will show me.
Penelope stared at the words.
"The stars?"
Victor frowned.
"Did your father have a telescope?"
"No."
"Did he take you somewhere to watch the stars?"
She shook her head.
Then she remembered.
The ceiling.
Her childhood bedroom had been decorated with glow-in-the-dark stars.
Her father had arranged them himself.
Seventeen silver stars.
She looked at Victor.
"My old bedroom."
Eleanor Gallagher still lived in the same Upper East Side townhouse where Penelope had grown up.
It was an imposing five-story property with polished limestone walls and enormous windows.
Penelope hadn't visited in almost six months.
She had spent most of her adult life avoiding the house.
Too many memories.
Too many criticisms.
Too many dinners during which Melanie received compliments while Penelope was asked whether she really needed dessert.
But today, she wasn't interested in her mother's approval.
She wanted answers.
Victor's vehicle stopped across the street.
Dominic looked toward the entrance.
"Mrs. Gallagher is home."
Penelope checked her phone.
She had received three messages from Eleanor.
The first demanded an apology.
The second accused Victor of manipulating her.
The third simply read:
Come home immediately. We need to discuss your future.
Penelope deleted all three.
Victor noticed.
"You don't have to confront her today."
"I'm not here for a confrontation."
"Then what are you here for?"
She looked at the townhouse.
"My childhood."
They entered through the front door.
The housekeeper, Mrs. Bennett, opened it.
She was an elderly woman with kind eyes who had worked for the Gallagher family since Penelope was seven.
The moment she saw Penelope, her expression softened.
"Oh, Miss Penny."
Penelope hugged her.
For the first time that day, the embrace felt completely genuine.
Mrs. Bennett stepped back.
"I heard about the wedding. I'm so sorry."
"Thank you."
Then the housekeeper noticed Victor.
Her face changed.
"Mr. Russo."
"Margaret."
Penelope looked between them.
"You know each other?"
Mrs. Bennett lowered her eyes.
"Your father introduced us many years ago."
Penelope felt another piece of her childhood shifting.
"Margaret, is my mother here?"
"She's upstairs."
"Good. I need to see my old bedroom."
The housekeeper hesitated.
Then she said, "Your mother had it renovated last month."
Penelope froze.
"Renovated?"
"Yes, miss."
"What happened to my things?"
Mrs. Bennett looked toward the staircase.
"Most of them were removed."
Penelope's stomach dropped.
"Where?"
"I believe your mother had them sent to storage."
Victor stepped forward.
"Which storage facility?"
Mrs. Bennett looked frightened.
"I don't know."
Penelope took her hand.
"Margaret, please. This is important."
The older woman's eyes filled with tears.
Then she whispered something that made Penelope's heart stop.
"Your father told me this day might come."
Victor became completely still.
"What did you say?"
Mrs. Bennett looked at him.
"Mr. Gallagher gave me instructions before he died."
Penelope gripped her hand.
"What instructions?"
Mrs. Bennett glanced toward the staircase.
"Not here."
She led them into the kitchen.
Then she closed the door.
For several seconds, she stood beside the refrigerator, struggling to compose herself.
Finally, she reached into her apron pocket.
She removed a small envelope.
Its paper had yellowed with age.
On the front, in Thomas Gallagher's handwriting, was a single name.
Penelope.
Penelope felt tears gathering again.
Mrs. Bennett placed the envelope in her hands.
"He told me to give you this if anyone ever came asking about the music box."
Victor's expression sharpened.
"Has someone been here?"
Mrs. Bennett nodded.
"Yesterday."
Penelope's blood turned cold.
"Who?"
"Mr. Damian."
She closed her eyes.
Of course.
Damian had visited her mother's house yesterday while Penelope was busy preparing for the wedding.
He had told her he was meeting a business associate.
Another lie.
"What did he want?"
Mrs. Bennett swallowed.
"He asked whether your father had left anything in the house. Your mother took him upstairs."
Victor exchanged a glance with Penelope.
"Did they find anything?"
"I don't know. But they argued."
"About what?"
Mrs. Bennett lowered her voice.
"Money."
Penelope looked at the envelope.
Her hands were trembling.
She carefully opened it.
Inside was a folded letter.
The first line nearly broke her heart.
My beautiful Penny,
If you're reading this, something has happened that I prayed would never happen.
She covered her mouth.
Victor moved closer but didn't interrupt.
Penelope continued reading.
There are people who will tell you that your father made terrible mistakes. Some will say I stole money. Others may tell you I abandoned my responsibilities.
None of those things are true.
I discovered something that powerful people wanted hidden. I trusted the wrong person, and now I fear that the people closest to me may suffer because of it.
Penelope stopped.
Her vision blurred.
She wiped her eyes and continued.
Victor Russo knows part of the truth. He has made mistakes, but I believe he will protect you if I cannot.
There is something I need you to remember.
The music box was never just a birthday present.
Penelope's breath caught.
She read the next paragraph.
Your grandmother's song contains the answer. Remember the seventeen stars. Remember the little key. And whatever happens, never let anyone convince you that you are less deserving of love because you are different from your sister.
A sob escaped her.
Her father had known.
Even then.
He had known how differently Eleanor treated his daughters.
Penelope pressed the letter against her chest.
Victor looked away, giving her a moment.
But she wasn't finished.
There was one final paragraph.
One day, someone may come looking for what I left behind. If that happens, remember that the most dangerous betrayal does not always come from an enemy.
Sometimes it comes from someone who kisses you goodnight.
Penelope slowly lowered the letter.
Her mother.
The sleeping medication.
Damian.
Everything seemed connected.
"Victor," she whispered.
He looked at her.
"Did my mother help someone frame my father?"
Before he could answer, the kitchen door opened.
Eleanor stood in the doorway.
She looked at the letter.
Her face went white.
"Where did you get that?"
Penelope stood.
"Dad left it for me."
Eleanor stared at Mrs. Bennett.
"You kept it?"
The housekeeper straightened.
"I made a promise."
Eleanor's expression twisted.
"You had no right!"
Penelope stepped between them.
"Don't you dare speak to her that way."
Her mother turned toward her.
"Give me the letter."
"No."
"Penelope, you don't understand what you're holding."
"Then explain it."
Eleanor looked toward Victor.
He remained silent.
For several seconds, the room felt unbearably small.
Then Eleanor laughed.
"You think he's protecting you?"
Penelope didn't move.
"He's the reason your father died."
Victor's expression hardened.
"That's enough."
Eleanor ignored him.
"Ask him about the night Thomas disappeared. Ask him why he waited six hours before calling the police."
Penelope turned.
Victor didn't deny it.
Her heart sank.
"Six hours?"
He looked at her.
"There's an explanation."
"Then tell me."
Eleanor smiled.
It was a small, terrible smile.
"He won't."
Penelope stared at Victor.
"Why?"
Before he could answer, Mrs. Bennett suddenly spoke.
"Because your father wasn't dead when Mr. Russo found him."
The kitchen fell silent.
Victor slowly turned toward the housekeeper.
Eleanor grabbed the edge of the counter.
Penelope felt her entire body go numb.
"What?"
Mrs. Bennett's eyes filled with tears.
"Your father was still alive."
Eleanor shouted, "Margaret, stop!"
But the housekeeper shook her head.
"I've kept quiet for nineteen years. I won't do it anymore."
Penelope stepped closer.
"Where was he?"
Mrs. Bennett looked directly at Victor.
"In the basement."
Victor closed his eyes.
Penelope remembered the anonymous message.
Ask Victor what happened in the basement.
Her heart began pounding.
She turned toward the kitchen door.
"Show me."
Eleanor moved to block her path.
"Penelope, you are not going down there."
Penelope looked at her mother.
Then she looked at Victor.
"Move."
Neither moved.
So Penelope walked past them.
She crossed the hallway.
She reached the narrow staircase leading to the basement.
Behind her, Victor called her name.
But she was already descending.
At the bottom stood an old wooden door.
She remembered that door.
Her mother had always kept it locked.
Penelope reached for the handle.
It turned.
The door was already unlocked.
May you like
And from the darkness inside, a man's familiar voice whispered:
"Hello, Penny. I've been waiting nineteen years for you to find me."
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