Chapter 6 - The Daughter Nobody Knew About
The paper was only one page.
One page that changed everything.
Jenna Brooks stared at the sentence written near the top.
JENNA BROOKS WAS NEVER SUPPOSED TO FIND OUT SHE HAD A SISTER.
For several seconds, she forgot how to breathe.
A sister.
The word did not belong in her life.
Not because she hated the idea.
Because it was impossible.
Her parents had never mentioned one.
Not once.
Her mother had died when Jenna was nineteen.
Her father had passed away six years later.
Every family story she knew had been told.
Every photograph.
Every memory.
Every argument.
Every holiday.
There had never been another child.
There had never been another daughter.
"That's not real," Jenna whispered.
Todd Mercer didn't respond.
That was what scared her.
Because Todd always had something to say.
Always.
A defense.
An excuse.
A reason.
But now he was silent.
Margaret carefully picked up the document.
She read it slowly.
Her eyes moved across every line.
Then she looked at Jenna.
"Did your father ever talk about someone named Emily?"
Jenna froze.
The name meant nothing.
"No."
Margaret looked back at the paper.
"Are you sure?"
Jenna almost laughed.
"Yes."
Her voice cracked.
"I spent my entire childhood asking my father about our family."
She looked at the document again.
"He never said anything."
Todd leaned against the desk.
"I thought the same thing."
Jenna turned toward him.
"You thought?"
Todd nodded.
"When I found this office file, I thought it was some kind of mistake."
"Then why keep it?"
Todd looked down.
"Because I found more."
The room became silent.
Jenna felt her stomach tighten.
"What more?"
Todd opened the old folder.
Inside were more documents.
Not many.
But enough.
A hospital record.
A photograph.
A handwritten letter.
Jenna looked at the photograph first.
It showed a woman.
A young woman.
Standing outside a hospital.
Holding a baby.
Jenna didn't recognize the woman.
But the baby...
She did.
Not because she knew the baby.
Because she knew the bracelet.
A small silver bracelet around the infant's wrist.
Her mother had kept one identical to it.
Jenna touched the photograph.
"Where did you get this?"
Todd answered quietly.
"It was inside the office wall."
Jenna looked up.
"The wall?"
Todd nodded.
"When I became manager, I renovated this room. There was a loose panel behind the old cabinet."
Margaret looked toward the office wall.
"And inside was this?"
Todd nodded.
"Everything."
Jenna stared.
Someone had hidden this.
Not lost it.
Not forgotten it.
Hidden it.
For years.
"Why would anyone hide this here?"
Nobody answered.
Then Margaret noticed the letter.
"Open that."
Jenna hesitated.
Her hands were shaking.
She picked it up.
The envelope had no name.
No address.
Only one word written on the front.
JENNA.
Her heart stopped.
Slowly, she opened it.
Inside was a handwritten letter.
The handwriting was unfamiliar.
But the first sentence made her knees weak.
Jenna,
If you are reading this, then they failed to keep you away from the truth.
She stopped.
The diner disappeared.
The voices.
The lights.
The people.
Everything.
They.
Who were they?
She continued reading.
I don't know when you will find this. I don't know if I will still be alive when you do. But you deserve to know that you were never the only child your parents had.
Jenna covered her mouth.
Margaret placed a hand on her shoulder.
The letter continued.
Your sister was taken from us when she was three years old. Your father spent years searching. Your mother spent years blaming herself.
Jenna looked up.
"No."
The word came out automatically.
"My mother would have told me."
Todd looked at her.
"Maybe she wanted to."
Jenna stared at him.
"Then why didn't she?"
Nobody answered.
Because sometimes the hardest questions were the ones where every answer hurt.
Jenna kept reading.
Your father discovered who was responsible. He collected proof. He hid copies because he knew someone was watching him.
Someone was watching him.
The same phrase.
The same fear.
The same pattern.
Jenna lowered the letter.
"My father was investigating this."
Todd nodded.
"I think so."
"And you knew?"
"I knew pieces."
"Ten months."
Todd looked ashamed.
"I didn't know if you were connected."
The anger returned.
"Connected?"
Jenna stepped closer.
"You thought I was part of this?"
"No."
"Then what?"
Todd looked at the floor.
"I thought someone brought you to Maple Street on purpose."
That sentence changed the air.
Jenna stopped.
"What?"
Todd continued.
"When I found the files, I started looking into the names connected to them."
He pointed at the documents.
"Your father. Your mother. The hospital. The missing child."
He paused.
"Then I found your employment application."
Jenna felt cold.
"At the diner?"
Todd nodded.
"The timing bothered me."
"What timing?"
Todd looked directly at her.
"The day you started working here was the same week someone accessed the old records."
Margaret's expression became serious.
"Someone knew she was here."
Todd nodded.
"Yes."
Jenna looked around the diner.
The ordinary place suddenly felt unfamiliar.
The tables.
The counter.
The office.
The security cameras.
Everything.
She thought about all the nights she had worked here.
All the times Todd watched.
All the times he kept notes.
She thought he was controlling her.
Maybe he was.
But maybe he was also afraid.
A vibration interrupted the silence.
Everyone looked toward Jenna's phone.
Unknown number.
Again.
This time there was a picture.
Jenna opened it.
And immediately felt sick.
It was a photograph of the Maple Street Diner.
Taken from outside.
Tonight.
Through the front window.
The image showed them standing inside.
Jenna.
Margaret.
Todd.
The message underneath said:
YOU SHOULD HAVE LEFT THE PAST BURIED.
Margaret took the phone.
Her expression hardened.
"They're watching us."
Todd immediately walked toward the entrance.
"No."
Jenna grabbed his arm.
"Where are you going?"
"To see who sent it."
"Are you insane?"
Todd looked at her.
"Someone needs to know how close they are."
Before anyone could respond, the lights in the diner flickered.
Once.
Twice.
Then went out.
The entire restaurant fell into darkness.
Someone screamed.
A glass broke.
The emergency lights turned on seconds later.
Dim red light filled the room.
Margaret looked toward the security cameras.
"They're trying to erase something."
Todd ran toward the office.
Jenna followed.
The computer screen on his desk was still glowing.
A file transfer window was open.
Progress bar moving.
87%.
88%.
89%.
Someone was copying files remotely.
Todd rushed to the keyboard.
"No."
"What?"
He stared at the screen.
"They found the backup."
Jenna stepped closer.
"What backup?"
Todd looked at her.
"The one your father made."
The progress bar continued.
94%.
95%.
Then the screen changed.
A new message appeared.
Not from the computer.
From the system.
FROM: UNKNOWN USER.
One sentence appeared.
WE HAVE YOUR SISTER.
Jenna froze.
May you like
And beneath that message was a second line.
A location.
