Chapter 6 - The Woman in Montreal
Preston watched the airport footage nineteen times.
Each viewing hurt differently.
The first brought shock.
The second disbelief.
By the fifth, anger.
By the tenth, hope became almost unbearable.
Clara stood beside him.
“Could it be manipulated?”
Marcus shook his head.
“Airport feed. Independent server.”
“Someone who looks like her?”
Preston knew better.
The woman’s left shoulder dipped slightly when she walked.
Evelyn had broken her collarbone as a teenager.
The injury left no visible scar but changed her gait.
Nobody imitating a photograph would know that.
“She’s alive,” Preston whispered.
Noah was upstairs with Mrs. Alvarez.
Preston almost ran to tell him.
Then stopped.
If the footage was a trap, he would not destroy his son twice.
“Verify everything,” he ordered.
Marcus contacted Canadian authorities through federal investigators now working the Hale corruption case.
Within two hours they had confirmation.
Vivian had entered Canada using legitimate documents.
The second woman used a passport belonging to Laura Emerson.
The photograph was Evelyn.
Issued eighteen months earlier.
Preston stared at the passport record.
“She’s been alive this whole time.”
Clara touched his arm.
“Maybe she couldn’t come back.”
“For three years?”
He pulled away.
“My son stopped speaking. I buried an empty coffin. I nearly tore the city apart.”
“You don’t know what happened.”
“I know she let us believe she was dead.”
Clara’s expression tightened.
“You loved her.”
“That’s why it hurts.”
By afternoon Preston, Marcus and Clara were flying to Montreal.
Noah remained in Chicago under federal protection.
Preston hated leaving him.
But he could not bring a six-year-old toward Vivian.
On the plane, Clara sat opposite Preston.
He had not slept in nearly two days.
“You should rest.”
“No.”
“You’ll think better.”
“I’m thinking fine.”
“You’re staring at the same photograph like you want it to confess.”
“It owes me an explanation.”
Clara smiled faintly.
“Photographs are notoriously bad at that.”
Preston looked at her.
“You’re not afraid of me anymore.”
“I was never afraid of you.”
“That’s a lie.”
“Fine. I was afraid of you for the first week.”
“And then?”
“I saw you make Noah’s pancakes.”
Preston frowned.
“That changed your opinion?”
“You made them shaped like dinosaurs.”
“He liked dinosaurs.”
“You burned every one.”
“I’m not a chef.”
“You threatened the smoke alarm.”
“It was malfunctioning.”
Clara laughed.
The sound loosened something in his chest.
Then guilt followed.
Evelyn might be alive.
He had no right noticing Clara’s laugh.
Clara seemed to read him.
“Caring about someone after losing your wife doesn’t betray her.”
Preston looked away.
“You don’t know what I’m thinking.”
“Of course not.”
She turned toward the window.
“But you’re not subtle.”
They landed under assumed arrangements.
Canadian police had tracked Vivian to a private house outside the city.
Preston refused to wait for a full tactical team.
Marcus swore at him for six straight minutes.
Then followed anyway.
The house sat behind iron gates.
No guards visible.
Too easy.
They entered through a side door.
Kitchen empty.
Living room empty.
Upstairs, a floorboard creaked.
Preston raised his weapon.
A woman appeared at the top of the stairs.
Dark hair.
Pale face.
Green eyes.
Preston forgot how to breathe.
“Evelyn.”
Her hand covered her mouth.
“Preston.”
The gun lowered.
Three years collapsed.
He crossed the room.
Then stopped halfway.
He wanted to hold her.
He wanted to scream.
Evelyn descended slowly.
She looked thinner.
Older.
A faint scar ran near her temple.
Preston stared at it.
“You’re alive.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You’re alive.”
Tears filled her eyes.
“I wanted to come home.”
“For three years?”
“Preston—”
“No.”
His voice cracked.
“You don’t get to say my name like that.”
Clara and Marcus remained near the door.
Evelyn saw Clara.
Relief crossed her face.
“You found them.”
Clara began crying.
“You knew I would?”
“I hoped.”
Preston stepped between them.
“Explain.”
Evelyn nodded.
“The crash nearly killed me.”
“We buried you.”
“Vivian switched the body.”
“Why?”
“To control Raymond.”
Preston frowned.
Evelyn explained.
After the crash, Vivian discovered Evelyn alive.
Instead of killing her immediately, she realized Evelyn could be useful.
Vivian had already arranged another woman’s death.
Similar build.
Severe facial injuries.
Medical records manipulated by Amelia’s credentials.
The body became Evelyn Hale.
Evelyn herself was transported across the border.
“Why keep you alive?”
“Passwords. Accounts. Information.”
“Why didn’t you escape?”
“I tried.”
She pulled back her sleeve.
Old scars marked her wrist.
Preston’s rage turned cold.
“They held you.”
“Different places. Different people.”
“What about the passport?”
“Vivian made it. She started moving me openly once she believed you had stopped investigating.”
“I never stopped.”
“I know.”
“How?”
Evelyn smiled sadly.
“Vivian complained about you constantly.”
Preston almost laughed.
Almost.
“Why is she here now?”
“She brought me because everything is collapsing.”
“Where is she?”
Evelyn’s expression changed.
“She left twenty minutes ago.”
Marcus swore.
“Destination?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did she say anything?”
“She said she was going home to finish what Raymond failed to do.”
Preston’s blood went cold.
“Noah.”
He called Chicago.
No answer.
Again.
Nothing.
Marcus called the federal protection detail.
One agent answered.
“Mr. Vale—”
Gunfire sounded.
The call disconnected.
Preston ran for the door.
Evelyn grabbed his arm.
“Wait.”
“My son is there.”
“I know.”
“You’ve waited three years. I’m done waiting.”
“I know where Vivian will go.”
Preston stopped.
“Where?”
“Not the mansion.”
“Then where?”
Evelyn looked at Clara.
“The greenhouse.”
Clara frowned.
“Why?”
“The original ledger wasn’t in Box Seventeen.”
Preston stared.
“What?”
“That was a copy.”
“Where’s the original?”
Evelyn’s eyes filled with fear.
“In Noah’s old music box.”
The music box.
A wooden carousel Preston had bought before Noah was born.
After Evelyn died, Preston could not bear the melody.
He had ordered it packed away.
The box now sat inside the greenhouse storage room with other childhood things.
Vivian had returned for the evidence.
And Noah knew where the music box was.
Preston called the house again.
This time Mrs. Alvarez answered, breathless.
“Mr. Hale.”
“Where’s Noah?”
“He ran to the greenhouse.”
“Why?”
“A woman came to the door.”
Preston’s heart stopped.
“What woman?”
Mrs. Alvarez began crying.
“She said she was his grandmother.”
Vivian had entered the property.
Preston looked at Evelyn.
For the first time in three years, husband and wife stood face-to-face.
Alive.
Broken.
And terrified for the same child.
They raced toward the airport.
Halfway there, Preston’s phone received a video.
Noah appeared onscreen inside the greenhouse.
Vivian stood behind him.
The old wooden music box rested on the table.
Vivian leaned toward the camera.
“Bring Evelyn home, Preston.”
She smiled.
May you like
“Or this time your son really does lose his mother.”
The video ended.
