Chapter 6 - The Truth About Sophie
Daniel rushed toward the door.
Locked.
Aaron pulled out his phone.
“No signal.”
I stared at the black screen.
“She can never find out Sophie isn’t…”
The sentence repeated in my head.
Sophie isn’t what?
His?
Mine?
Safe?
I couldn’t breathe.
Daniel pounded on the door.
“Hey!”
No response.
Aaron inspected the lock.
“Electronic latch.”
“Can you open it?”
“Not from inside.”
My phone showed one bar.
Then none.
I called 911 anyway.
Nothing.
Daniel pointed toward a vent.
“Maybe we can force it.”
Aaron searched the boxes.
I barely noticed.
My entire world had narrowed to Ryan’s unfinished sentence.
Sophie had Ryan’s brown eyes.
My chin.
His dimples.
I remembered the hospital.
Ryan holding her.
Crying.
Calling her perfect.
Whatever he meant, I refused to let panic write the ending.
“Play the video again,” Aaron said.
I did.
Ryan:
“She can never find out Sophie isn’t—”
Pause.
George interrupted.
“Then make sure she doesn’t.”
Aaron frowned.
“Listen to the background.”
I raised the volume.
A television.
Then another voice.
Linda.
Faint.
“She’s asleep upstairs.”
The recording was definitely from our home.
Last night.
Daniel said, “This doesn’t necessarily mean paternity.”
“I know.”
But my voice sounded distant.
A metallic sound came from outside.
The door lifted.
We stepped back.
A security guard stood there.
“What are you doing?”
Daniel almost laughed from relief.
“Being locked in.”
The guard frowned.
“No one should be here. This unit’s delinquent.”
“Whose name?”
He checked a clipboard.
“Westfield Consulting.”
Vanessa.
I called my assistant immediately.
“Sophie?”
“Right here.”
I heard my daughter laughing.
My knees weakened.
“Do not let anyone take her.”
“Of course.”
“Not Ryan. Not Linda. Nobody.”
Daniel looked at me.
“We go to police now.”
I nodded.
The police took the drive.
They took Vanessa’s phone.
They opened an investigation.
But there was no immediate evidence Vanessa had been kidnapped.
Security cameras had conveniently stopped working twenty minutes before we arrived.
Her car remained.
No Vanessa.
By evening, I was in Daniel’s guest apartment with Sophie.
Ryan had called seventeen times.
I finally answered.
“Where is Vanessa?”
Silence.
“Emma.”
“Where is she?”
“I don’t know.”
“You were looking for her.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“She stole something.”
“The drive.”
Pause.
“So you have it.”
“The police do.”
He swore.
I heard movement.
“Emma, listen to me.”
“No.”
“This is bigger than our marriage.”
“You made that clear when you moved your mistress into my robe.”
“I never planned for today to happen like that.”
I laughed.
“You had divorce papers.”
“My mother pushed things.”
“You told me I was useless.”
“I was angry.”
“You were triumphant.”
Silence.
Then I asked.
“What were you saying about Sophie last night?”
Nothing.
“Ryan.”
His breathing changed.
“How did you hear that?”
“Answer me.”
“It’s not what you think.”
“What do I think?”
He didn’t respond.
“Is Sophie your daughter?”
“What?”
“Answer.”
“Yes.”
Immediately.
Too quickly.
“Then what isn’t she?”
Silence.
“Ryan.”
“You need to talk to my father.”
“No.”
“Emma.”
“What?”
“Sophie isn’t supposed to be involved.”
“In what?”
“The trust.”
I froze.
“What trust?”
Ryan whispered something under his breath.
Then said, “Your grandfather’s trust.”
I stood.
“What do you know about that?”
More silence.
My grandfather had left me investments.
But most of his estate remained in a family trust.
I had been told the trust would transfer certain assets when I turned thirty-five.
I was thirty-four.
“How do you know about my grandfather’s trust?”
Ryan answered quietly.
“My father handled some of his business years ago.”
I felt the room tilt.
“What?”
“Before we met.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“My grandfather hated financial advisers.”
“George wasn’t his adviser.”
“What was he?”
“Contractor. Partner. Something.”
“Something?”
Ryan sighed.
“This is why I wanted you out.”
The sentence came so casually that I almost missed its meaning.
“You wanted me out because of my grandfather?”
“No.”
“You just said—”
“I meant out of the company situation.”
“You told me to leave my house.”
He stopped.
Then I understood.
“You were never after $150,000.”
“Emma.”
“You were after the trust.”
“No.”
“Did you marry me because of it?”
His voice broke.
“No.”
For the first time, I believed him.
At least partially.
Maybe Ryan had once loved me.
Maybe later money had become more important.
Sometimes betrayal was uglier when love had existed first.
“Then why Sophie?”
Ryan whispered, “Because your grandfather changed the trust before he died.”
“How?”
“He added a condition.”
“What condition?”
“You don’t receive control at thirty-five.”
“When do I?”
“You don’t.”
Cold spread through me.
“Who does?”
He hesitated.
Then said, “Sophie.”
I closed my eyes.
“The assets transfer to her?”
“When she turns twenty-five.”
“Then what happens to them until then?”
“A guardian-controlled structure.”
I already knew the answer.
“If I die?”
“Emma—”
“If I die, who controls it?”
Silence.
Then Ryan whispered:
“Her father.”
My hand tightened around the phone.
Ryan.
If I died before Sophie reached adulthood, Ryan could potentially control a fortune through her.
“How much?”
“I don’t know.”
“You’re lying.”
“Maybe twelve million.”
I sat down.
My grandfather never told me.
Maybe he wanted to protect me.
Maybe he had created something much more dangerous.
“And George knows.”
“Yes.”
“Marcus?”
“Yes.”
“Vanessa?”
“No.”
“Did your father plan our marriage?”
“No.”
“You hesitated.”
“Emma, I met you on my own.”
“But George knew who I was.”
“Yes.”
Before I could respond, someone knocked.
Daniel opened the apartment door.
A detective stood there.
“Mrs. Morgan?”
“Yes.”
“We found Vanessa.”
My heart jumped.
“Is she alive?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“County hospital.”
“What happened?”
“She was found near the river.”
I grabbed my coat.
The detective raised a hand.
“There’s something else.”
“What?”
“She was carrying a document.”
He handed me a photocopy.
It was a page from my grandfather’s trust.
At the bottom was an amendment.
GUARDIAN SUCCESSION.
My name.
Ryan’s.
Then a third name.
I stared.
“That can’t be right.”
Daniel leaned closer.
The third name was neither Ryan nor George.
It was Marcus Hale.
And beneath Marcus’s signature was a handwritten note from my grandfather:
IF ANYTHING HAPPENS TO EMMA, DO NOT LET THE MORGANS CONTROL SOPHIE.
Before I could speak, my phone buzzed.
A text from Linda.
May you like
Emma, George took Sophie’s original birth certificate.
And he just asked me where you’re staying.
