Chapter 3 - The Fifth Woman
Adrian opened the door.
No woman stood there.
A young hotel employee stared back at us.
“Mr. Vale?”
Adrian exhaled.
“Yes?”
“This was left at reception for Miss Claire Bennett.”
He held out a white box.
My name was written across it.
No return address.
Vanessa whispered, “Don't take it.”
I took it.
Inside was a key.
And a note.
Your mother kept two rooms.
17 was for the truth she could prove.
21 is for the truth she couldn't.
Vanessa sat down.
“I can't do this.”
I looked at her.
For the first time, anger wasn't enough.
“Then tell me what you know.”
She stared at her wedding dress.
“Mom called me eighteen months ago. She asked me to meet her alone.”
“Where?”
“A café.”
“And?”
“She told me I had been adopted.”
Her voice broke.
“She said my biological mother had connections to the Vale family. She said there was money involved, but she didn't want me chasing it.”
“So you signed the confidentiality agreement.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because she asked me to.”
I laughed.
“You hated Mom by then.”
Vanessa looked up sharply.
“No. I was angry with her.”
“You barely visited.”
“Because every time I looked at her after that meeting, I wondered whether my entire childhood had been a lie.”
That landed harder than I expected.
Adrian crouched beside her.
“Why didn't you tell me?”
She looked at him.
“Because I thought you'd wonder whether I married you because of your family.”
“Did you?”
“No.”
He searched her face.
I could see that he wanted to believe her.
But belief had become expensive tonight.
Thomas examined the key.
“Twenty-one isn't in this wing.”
“Where is it?” I asked.
He hesitated.
“Eleanor's old apartment in the city.”
Adrian looked at him.
“You kept it?”
“I never sold it.”
“Why?”
Thomas looked at the photograph of Mom and Eleanor.
“Because your mother asked me not to.”
The wedding was still happening downstairs.
Or pretending to.
Adrian called his best man and told him to announce a private family emergency.
Vanessa looked horrified.
“You're leaving our reception?”
He looked at her.
“Our reception ended when you called your sister scum in front of everyone.”
The word sister hung between them.
Vanessa looked at me.
I didn't know whether she was my biological sister.
But she had been my sister for twenty-nine years.
That counted for something.
Even tonight.
Especially tonight.
We left through a side entrance.
Vanessa changed nothing.
She climbed into the car wearing forty-eight thousand euros of white silk.
Twenty-five minutes later, we reached an old building overlooking the river.
Thomas led us upstairs.
Apartment 21.
The key worked.
Inside, everything was covered in sheets.
Adrian found the electricity.
Vanessa stood beside me.
“Claire.”
“What?”
“I'm sorry.”
I looked at her.
“For tonight?”
“For a lot more than tonight.”
I wasn't ready.
“Not yet.”
She nodded.
Fair enough.
We searched.
The apartment contained almost nothing.
Then I found a locked cabinet.
The same key opened it.
Inside were dozens of letters.
All addressed to Margaret.
Mom.
I pulled out the oldest.
Dear Margaret,
If anything happens to me, take the baby.
Do not let Rebecca know where she is.
E.
I looked at Thomas.
“Rebecca?”
His face changed.
Vanessa noticed.
“Who is Rebecca?”
Thomas sat heavily.
“Eleanor's sister.”
Adrian frowned.
“I don't have an aunt Rebecca.”
“You did.”
“Did?”
“She disappeared thirty years ago.”
Vanessa took the letter.
“What does she have to do with me?”
Thomas didn't answer.
I opened another.
Margaret,
Rebecca knows the child exists.
She believes the trust belongs to her.
If she finds Vanessa, she will use her.
My heart stopped.
The name was there.
Vanessa.
Written decades ago.
Adrian picked up another envelope.
Inside was a photograph of two young women.
One was Eleanor.
The other looked almost exactly like Vanessa.
Same eyes.
Same mouth.
Same expression.
Vanessa dropped into a chair.
“That's her.”
Thomas nodded.
“Rebecca.”
Vanessa touched the photograph.
“My mother?”
Thomas said nothing.
Then a phone rang.
Not ours.
An old landline sat beneath a sheet.
Adrian uncovered it.
The phone continued ringing.
Thomas whispered, “That line was disconnected twenty years ago.”
I answered.
“Hello?”
A woman spoke.
Older.
Calm.
“Claire.”
My blood turned cold.
“Who is this?”
“You found Room 21.”
Vanessa stood.
I put the call on speaker.
The woman laughed softly.
“Vanessa looks beautiful in white.”
Vanessa stared toward the windows.
Adrian moved immediately to close the curtains.
“Rebecca?” Thomas asked.
Silence.
Then:
“Hello, Thomas.”
His face drained.
Vanessa stepped toward the phone.
“Are you my mother?”
The woman paused.
“No, sweetheart.”
Vanessa's eyes closed.
“Then who are you?”
“I'm the woman your mother spent thirty years hiding you from.”
The line went dead.
Adrian checked the windows.
I looked down at the photograph.
Something was wrong.
I turned it over.
A date.
Then three words in Mom's handwriting:
May you like
Rebecca died tonight.
The date was twenty-nine years ago.
