Chapter 5 - The Father I Buried
I couldn't breathe.
Nineteen years.
Nineteen birthdays.
Nineteen Christmases.
My wedding.
My graduation.
Every ordinary Tuesday when I'd wished I could call him.
And there he stood.
Alive.
Older.
Thinner.
But unmistakably Charles Hartwell.
Mom dropped into a chair.
"No."
Her voice broke.
I looked at her.
"You didn't know?"
She shook her head.
Tears appeared instantly.
"I swear to you."
On Grant's phone, Dad turned from the camera.
Then the feed ended.
I grabbed my coat.
Grant blocked the door.
"Absolutely not."
"My father is there."
"Which is exactly why you're not walking into that building."
"Move."
"Amelia—"
Mom stood.
"We go together."
Grant looked at both of us.
"This family is going to kill me."
"Probably," Mom said. "After we find my husband."
Thirty minutes later we approached the warehouse with police tactical support.
Vance came too.
I hadn't invited him.
He arrived in another car.
"Why are you here?"
"Because my father may be involved."
"That's not your father in there."
"No. But yours may know where mine is."
I didn't have energy to fight.
The warehouse doors were unlocked.
Inside, dust covered old industrial equipment.
A single light burned in an office overlooking the floor.
"Dad?"
My voice echoed.
No answer.
We climbed metal stairs.
The office door stood open.
Charles Hartwell sat behind a desk.
My knees almost gave out.
He stood.
"Millie."
Nobody had called me that since I was seventeen.
I crossed the room.
Then stopped three feet away.
Anger hit before love.
"You were alive."
His face folded.
"Yes."
"You were alive."
"I'm sorry."
"You don't get to say that."
"I know."
"Do you?"
My voice rose.
"You let me bury you!"
"I know."
"You missed my entire life."
"I know."
"You watched me."
His expression changed.
I threw the photographs onto the desk.
"You watched me!"
"I had to know you were safe."
"Safe?"
I laughed.
"You think stalking your daughter from shadows for nineteen years counts as parenting?"
Mom entered.
Charles looked at her.
The color left his face.
"Margaret."
Mom didn't speak.
Then she slapped him.
Hard.
I almost laughed at the absurd symmetry of my life.
Two slaps in less than twelve hours.
Only this one felt earned.
"That," Mom whispered, "was for making me mourn you."
Charles nodded.
She slapped him again.
"And that was for our daughter."
He accepted that too.
Then Mom wrapped her arms around him and began sobbing.
I turned away.
Not because I was moved.
Because I wasn't ready.
Vance stood near the door.
He gave me space.
Eventually, Dad explained.
Nineteen years ago, he'd discovered Thomas Grayson and three Hartwell executives manipulating acquisition targets using confidential data.
Millions had been stolen.
When Dad threatened to expose them, Thomas arranged the plane sabotage.
Dad learned about it hours before departure.
He escaped.
But the man who replaced him on the flight died.
Dad went underground to gather evidence.
"Why not police?"
"One of the men involved was federal."
"Who?"
"He died six years ago."
"Why not come home after that?"
"Because Thomas was still alive."
Vance stepped forward.
"My father."
Charles looked at him.
"You look like him."
"Apparently he's alive too."
Charles's eyes narrowed.
"So you've learned."
"Where is he?"
"I don't know."
Vance laughed bitterly.
"Everyone keeps saying that."
Dad opened a drawer.
"Thomas contacted me eighteen months ago."
He placed letters on the desk.
"He wanted a truce."
"Why?"
"He was dying."
Vance froze.
"Actually dying?"
"Pancreatic cancer."
Evelyn hadn't known.
Dad continued.
"Thomas wanted to repair what he'd done."
"By stealing Hartwell?"
"No."
That surprised everyone.
"The forged contract wasn't Thomas's plan."
"Then whose?"
Dad hesitated.
"The person who took over his network."
"Who?"
Before he could answer, gunfire cracked downstairs.
Grant shouted.
"DOWN!"
Windows shattered.
Police returned fire.
Dad pulled me behind the desk.
Mom crouched beside us.
Vance dropped behind a metal cabinet.
"Who knows you're here?" Grant shouted.
Dad answered.
"Only one person."
"WHO?"
Dad looked toward the door.
"Evelyn."
Vance froze.
"My mother?"
Dad nodded.
"She isn't who you think she is."
Gunfire stopped.
Smoke drifted through the broken window.
Grant's team secured the stairs.
Dad reached into his coat and removed a flash drive.
"This is everything."
I stared at it.
"Everything what?"
"Accounts. Transfers. Names. Evidence."
"About Thomas?"
"About the organization."
He handed it to me.
"And about your marriage."
I didn't take it.
"What about my marriage?"
Dad looked at Vance.
Vance stepped forward.
"What did you do?"
Dad shook his head.
"Not him."
"Then what?"
"You think Evelyn introduced Cleo because she wanted Vance to have an affair."
"Didn't she?"
"No."
He looked at me.
"She needed Cleo close enough to access your home."
My blood chilled.
"For what?"
"Your biometric data."
"What?"
"Fingerprints. Voice recordings. Signature samples."
I remembered Cleo once attending a charity dinner at our house.
Vance had said she was connected to a sponsor.
That had been before I'd known about their affair.
"Why?"
"Because the altered Hartwell agreement required verification."
Julian had said my signature was forged.
Apparently that wasn't all.
Dad continued.
"They planned to impersonate your authorization."
Vance looked sick.
"Who planned it?"
Dad's eyes shifted to him.
"Your mother helped."
"Who led it?"
Dad opened his mouth.
Then his phone vibrated.
He looked at the screen.
His face changed.
"What?"
I asked.
He handed me the phone.
A live video.
Our townhouse.
Mom's study.
Someone was inside.
A figure stood before the open safe.
Then turned toward the camera.
Cleo.
Vance whispered:
"No."
Cleo looked directly into the lens.
She lifted one of Dad's old files.
Then another person stepped into frame behind her.
Evelyn.
Vance stared.
His mother smiled at the camera.
Then she raised a document.
My original birth certificate.
Across the bottom was a name I'd never seen.
Father: Charles Hartwell.
Mother: Margaret Hartwell.
And beneath it, in another section:
SECOND CHILD: ELIZABETH HARTWELL.
I looked at Mom.
"What second child?"
Her face collapsed.
Dad whispered:
"Amelia..."
Mom couldn't look at me.
I took one step toward her.
"Who is Elizabeth?"
No one answered.
Then the video from our townhouse changed.
A third woman entered the frame.
May you like
She looked straight at the camera.
And she had my mother's eyes.
