Chapter 4 - The Woman Who Was Supposed to Be Dead
The woman stepped through the hospital door and whispered, "Don't call my name."
I couldn't breathe.
She closed the door behind her.
Seventeen years disappeared in one second.
The face was older.
There were silver strands in her blonde hair.
Fine lines surrounded her eyes.
A pale scar ran from her right temple toward her ear.
But those eyes—
Green.
Exactly like mine.
I remembered them above my bed when I was sick.
I remembered them watching me blow out birthday candles.
I remembered them crying the last morning I saw her.
"Mom?"
Her face broke.
"Emily."
Nobody had called me that way since I was sixteen.
Not Emily.
Em-i-ly.
Three careful syllables.
My mother's voice.
My hand flew to my mouth.
"No."
She took one step toward me.
I recoiled.
She stopped immediately.
"I understand."
"No, you don't."
My voice cracked.
"You died."
"I know what they told you."
"I went to your funeral."
"I know."
"I stood beside your coffin."
"I know."
I stared at her.
"Stop saying that."
She lowered her eyes.
For seventeen years, I'd carried the memory of that funeral.
Closed coffin.
My father's arm around my shoulders.
Katrina arriving months later with sympathy casseroles and gentle smiles.
Joyce slowly becoming part of our lives.
And now my mother was standing six feet from my hospital bed.
Alive.
Maria moved closer to me.
Gabriel stood near his backpack, watching the hallway.
My mother noticed him.
"Who has the footage?"
Gabriel stiffened.
"What footage?"
"The storage camera."
My blood ran cold.
"How do you know about that?"
She looked at me.
"Because I arranged for Marcus to recover it."
Everything shifted again.
"Marcus knows you?"
"Yes."
"How?"
"He's been helping me."
"For how long?"
"Six months."
I stared at her.
"You've been watching me?"
"Protecting you."
"Don't call it that."
Her face tightened.
"Emily—"
"You disappeared for seventeen years."
"I had no choice."
"Everyone has a choice."
"I had yours."
That stopped me.
She approached slowly.
This time I didn't move away.
"When you were sixteen," she said, "I discovered your father had been moving money from accounts belonging to my family."
"The inheritance?"
She nodded.
"My parents left most of their estate to me. Your father believed marriage gave him a right to control it."
"Thirty-eight million dollars?"
"It wasn't thirty-eight million then."
"How much?"
"Twenty-four."
Gabriel gave a quiet whistle.
My mother continued.
"When I confronted your father, he told me something I didn't understand at first."
"What?"
"He said if I wouldn't sign the money over, eventually you would."
My stomach tightened.
"I was sixteen."
"Exactly."
She sat in the chair beside my bed.
"I changed my estate documents the next morning."
"The marriage condition."
She nodded.
"I needed to make sure your father couldn't access anything while you were a child."
"Why marriage?"
"Because I believed that by the time you chose someone to marry, you'd have built a life independent of him."
A bitter laugh escaped me.
"That worked beautifully."
Pain crossed her face.
"I didn't know about Alexander until later."
"How much later?"
"Three years after you met him."
My throat tightened.
"You knew he was being paid?"
"Eventually."
"Then why didn't you tell me?"
"I tried."
"No, you didn't."
"I sent letters."
"I never got them."
"I know."
"How?"
"Because your father intercepted them."
I shook my head.
"You could have called."
"He monitored you."
"You could have come to me."
"And risked leading him directly to the people helping me stay alive?"
I stared at her.
"Stay alive?"
She looked toward Gabriel.
"Close the blinds."
He did.
My mother lowered her voice.
"The night I supposedly died, your father tried to kill me."
The room went silent.
"What?"
"He tampered with my car."
I remembered.
The accident.
A mountain road outside Milwaukee.
Police said the car went through a barrier and burned.
My father told me identification had been made through dental records.
Closed coffin.
No body.
"I wasn't driving."
My mother swallowed.
"My friend Laura borrowed the car."
My stomach turned.
"She died?"
"Yes."
"Then whose dental records—"
"Were falsified."
"By Dad?"
"I couldn't prove it."
"Why didn't you go to police?"
"I did."
"What happened?"
"The detective assigned to the case told your father within four hours."
I felt cold.
"Who?"
"Detective Raymond Cole."
The name meant nothing to me.
My mother continued.
"That night someone entered the safe house where they had placed me."
Maria whispered, "Jesus."
"I escaped through a bathroom window."
My mother looked at me.
"That's when I understood your father wasn't working alone."
I thought about Katrina.
Joyce.
Alexander.
"How many?"
"I still don't know."
"Is Katrina involved?"
"Yes."
"Joyce?"
My mother hesitated.
"Joyce knows more than she pretends."
"And Alexander?"
Another hesitation.
That one hurt.
"Tell me."
"Your father recruited him."
The words landed harder than I expected.
I already knew.
I'd seen the payments.
Still, hearing my mother say it made the betrayal real.
"Why?"
"At first? To watch you."
"For ten years?"
"No."
"What changed?"
She looked at me carefully.
"I think Alexander fell in love with you."
I laughed.
It hurt so badly I grabbed my ribs.
"Don't."
"I'm not defending him."
"He left me in a fire."
"I know."
"He helped them forge documents."
"Yes."
"He took money from my father."
"Yes."
"Then don't tell me he loved me."
My mother nodded.
"You're right."
Silence filled the room.
Then I remembered the footage.
"The man with Joyce."
"What man?"
"Storage camera. Before the fire."
My mother's face changed.
"What did you see?"
"Joyce poured accelerant along the wall. A man helped her."
"Could you identify him?"
"Not his face."
"But?"
"Alexander's watch. His cufflink."
My mother looked genuinely confused.
"Alexander wasn't supposed to be there."
I stared at her.
"What does that mean?"
"I had someone watching him."
"Who?"
"Marcus."
My heart accelerated.
"Marcus saw Alexander somewhere else?"
"At 5:40, Alexander was in the groom's suite."
"Could Marcus be wrong?"
"He photographed him."
Gabriel reopened his laptop.
"The video showed the man's wrist and shoulder, but not his face."
My mother moved beside him.
"Show me."
Gabriel played the recovered fragment.
Joyce.
The bottle.
The man.
The watch.
The cufflink.
My mother leaned closer.
"Pause."
Gabriel stopped the video.
She pointed toward the man's hand.
"That's not Alexander."
I stared.
"How can you know?"
"His finger."
"What about it?"
"Alexander broke his left ring finger playing basketball in college. It doesn't straighten completely."
I knew that.
I'd forgotten.
The man's fingers were straight.
"Then why the watch?"
"To make you think it was him."
"And the cufflink?"
"Same reason."
Someone had dressed enough like Alexander to implicate him.
That didn't make Alexander innocent.
But it meant the fire had another player.
"Who?"
My mother shook her head.
"I don't know."
Gabriel advanced frame by frame.
The man turned.
A tiny part of his neck appeared.
There was a dark mark behind his ear.
A tattoo?
No.
A birthmark.
My mother suddenly stepped backward.
"No."
"What?"
She stared at the screen.
"Mom."
"No."
"You recognize it."
She didn't answer.
"Who is he?"
Before she could respond, her phone vibrated.
She checked it.
Her face drained.
"We have to move."
"Why?"
"Your father just came back into the building."
"He was already here."
"He left."
"How do you know?"
"I have someone downstairs."
Gabriel began packing.
Maria shook her head.
"She can't leave. She's in no condition—"
"Then they'll come here."
"Who?"
My mother looked at her.
"The people who burned the warehouse."
My pulse jumped.
Maria moved toward the phone.
"I'll call security."
"No."
"Why?"
"Because someone used a hospital master key five minutes ago."
We all looked at the door.
The key.
My mother had entered with it.
"How did you get yours?" I asked.
She didn't answer quickly enough.
"Mom."
"It was waiting for me downstairs."
"From who?"
"Marcus."
My stomach tightened.
"Where is he?"
"He was supposed to meet me here."
"But he didn't."
"No."
Gabriel stopped packing.
"Maybe we should call him."
My mother did.
Straight to voicemail.
Again.
Nothing.
Then my hospital tablet chimed.
Another anonymous email.
NO SUBJECT.
I opened it.
One photograph.
Marcus.
He was sitting in a chair.
His hands were tied behind him.
Blood ran from his forehead.
Behind him was a concrete wall.
A handwritten sign rested against his chest.
STOP WATCHING THE WRONG FAMILY.
Maria covered her mouth.
A second photograph arrived.
This one showed the hospital entrance.
Taken minutes ago.
My father entering.
Beside him—
Alexander.
And Katrina.
"They're all here," I whispered.
My mother looked toward the door.
"We leave now."
"I can't walk."
"We'll get a wheelchair."
Maria hesitated.
Then nodded.
"I can take you through the service elevator."
Gabriel packed the camera.
My mother helped Maria disconnect everything that could safely be disconnected.
Every movement hurt.
My ribs screamed when they transferred me into the wheelchair.
We left through the rear staff corridor.
No one spoke.
Maria pushed.
Gabriel walked ahead.
My mother stayed beside me.
At the service elevator, Gabriel pressed the button.
Nothing.
Again.
Nothing.
"Stairs?" my mother asked.
"Not with her injuries."
Maria pointed down the hall.
"There's another elevator near radiology."
We turned.
Voices echoed behind us.
My father's voice.
"Emily!"
I froze.
He knew.
He knew my mother was here.
"Go," she said.
Maria pushed faster.
Pain shook through my body.
We reached the radiology elevator.
Gabriel hit the button.
The doors opened.
Empty.
We entered.
My mother pressed B1.
"Parking garage?"
"There's a car waiting."
The doors closed.
For the first time, I exhaled.
Then the elevator stopped.
Third floor.
Nobody had pressed it.
The doors opened.
Alexander stood there.
Alone.
His eyes went straight to my mother.
Shock transformed his face.
"Claire?"
My mother's name.
He knew her.
Not from photographs.
Not as "your mother."
Claire.
He stepped into the elevator.
My mother moved between us.
"Stay away from her."
Alexander raised both hands.
"I'm not here to hurt Emily."
"You've done enough."
"I didn't start that fire."
"Move."
"Someone copied my clothes."
"We know."
Alexander stared at me.
"You saw the footage?"
I said nothing.
His face collapsed.
"Emily, Joyce set me up."
"You carried her out."
"I know."
"You left me."
"I know."
"Then there's nothing else to say."
"There is."
The elevator doors tried to close.
My mother blocked them.
Alexander reached into his jacket.
Gabriel stepped forward.
"Don't."
Alexander slowly removed an envelope.
"I found this in our apartment."
He held it toward me.
My name was written across the front.
My handwriting.
Except I hadn't written it.
"What is that?"
"I don't know."
"Open it."
"I already did."
Of course he had.
Inside was a photograph.
Alexander handed it to me.
My father.
Katrina.
Joyce.
And the unidentified man from the storage room.
His face was visible.
I didn't recognize him.
My mother did.
She went completely still.
"Who is he?" I asked.
She whispered a name.
"Daniel Mercer."
Alexander looked confused.
"Who's Daniel Mercer?"
My mother stared at the photograph.
"My brother."
I turned toward her.
"You told me Uncle Daniel died before I was born."
"He was supposed to."
Those words chilled me.
The elevator alarm suddenly beeped.
Someone had overridden it.
The doors began closing.
Alexander stepped inside.
My mother hit B1 again.
The elevator descended.
"Why would your brother want me dead?"
My mother didn't answer.
"Mom."
She looked at me.
"Because the inheritance was never mine."
The elevator reached the basement.
Ding.
The doors opened.
A dark parking garage waited beyond.
One black SUV stood twenty feet away.
Its headlights came on.
My mother's face changed.
"That's not my car."
The rear passenger door opened.
Someone stepped out.
My father.
He wasn't alone.
A man emerged from the other side.
Same height as the man in the photograph.
Same dark mark behind his ear.
My mother grabbed the wheelchair.
"Back up."
Too late.
The man looked directly at me.
Then he smiled.
"Hello, Emily."
My mother whispered, "Daniel."
May you like
He reached inside his coat.
And pulled out the original trust document with my name already signed at the bottom.
