CHAPTER 6 — THE VIDEO
I didn't play the file immediately.
I locked every door.
Checked every window.
Closed the curtains.
Then I carried Emma into the guest room.
She was exhausted.
She had cried herself to sleep.
I watched her breathe.
For four years, I'd believed my daughter was safe.
I had believed I knew where she came from.
I had believed Sarah had given birth to her.
I had believed my father died in an accident.
I had believed Rachel was helping me raise her.
Now every one of those beliefs was cracking.
I returned downstairs.
Rachel sat at the kitchen table.
She looked older than she had that morning.
“Play it,” she whispered.
I connected the flash drive to my laptop.
There was one file.
12_41_AM.mp4
The video loaded.
Security footage.
St. Mary's Hospital.
The timestamp read:
12:41:03 A.M.
A nurse entered the nursery.
Margaret Hale.
She approached two bassinets.
Baby A.
Baby B.
She looked over her shoulder.
Then another person entered.
A man.
His face was hidden.
But I recognized the suit.
My father's suit.
Rachel gasped.
“That can't be him.”
The video continued.
The man spoke to Margaret.
There was no audio.
Margaret shook her head.
The man pointed toward one of the babies.
Margaret refused.
Then the man pulled something from his pocket.
A photograph.
Margaret stared at it.
She began crying.
Then she picked up Baby A.
The screen went black for three seconds.
When the picture returned, the babies were in different bassinets.
I stared.
The switch.
It had happened.
But then something unexpected occurred.
The man took Baby B.
He walked toward the exit.
Margaret stayed with Baby A.
The man disappeared.
I paused the video.
Rachel was crying.
“Your father took one of the babies.”
I shook my head.
“No.”
“That's him.”
“Maybe.”
“What do you mean maybe?”
“The man is wearing my father's suit.”
Rachel stared at me.
I zoomed in.
His shoes.
Black leather.
My father's shoes had a distinctive silver buckle.
The man in the video didn't.
I froze.
“He wasn't my father.”
Rachel leaned closer.
“Then who was he?”
I rewound.
At the edge of the frame, another figure appeared.
A woman.
She watched the man leave.
Then she turned toward the camera.
I paused.
Her face was partially visible.
Rachel whispered,
“No.”
“Who?”
She covered her mouth.
“Sarah.”
I stared at the screen.
Sarah was alive in this footage.
Standing in the nursery.
Watching someone take one of the babies.
But according to her medical records, Sarah was still recovering in her room.
I looked at Rachel.
“This video has been edited.”
She shook her head.
“No.”
I zoomed in on the timestamp.
12:41.
Exactly the time the records had been altered.
Sarah hadn't been asleep.
She had been there.
And she had allowed someone to take a baby.
I opened the other files on the flash drive.
There were dozens of videos.
One showed Sarah meeting a man in a parking garage.
Another showed Evelyn arguing with my father.
Another showed Rachel herself.
Four years earlier.
Holding newborn Emma.
My stomach tightened.
Rachel looked away.
“You filmed this?”
“No.”
“Then who did?”
“I don't know.”
The video showed Rachel walking through the hospital.
She was carrying Emma.
She entered a room.
Then a woman approached her.
The camera zoomed.
It was Evelyn.
Alive.
Four years ago.
Rachel whispered,
“I thought she was dead.”
On the video, Evelyn touched Emma's cheek.
Then she handed Rachel an envelope.
Rachel opened it.
Her face changed.
She looked terrified.
I stopped the video.
“What was in the envelope?”
Rachel didn't answer.
“Rachel.”
She closed her eyes.
“A photograph.”
“Of what?”
“Emma.”
“That's it?”
“No.”
She reached into her purse.
For several seconds she hesitated.
Then she pulled out an old photograph.
I took it.
It showed Emma sleeping in a hospital crib.
But beneath the photograph was a handwritten message.
THIS CHILD MUST NEVER BE RETURNED TO HER BIOLOGICAL FAMILY.
I looked at Rachel.
“Who is her biological family?”
She whispered,
“The Cross family.”
I stared.
“Evelyn?”
“No.”
“Then who?”
Rachel looked at the door.
“Her real father.”
I waited.
Rachel finally said the name.
“Daniel Cross.”
The name hit me.
Daniel Cross.
The same man from the photograph.
The same man standing beside Evelyn.
The same man connected to the trust.
My father's greatest enemy.
And the man who had supposedly died twenty years ago.
“Daniel Cross is dead.”
Rachel shook her head.
“No.”
“He died in a plane crash.”
“He survived.”
I felt cold.
“Where is he?”
Rachel pointed toward the laptop.
The final video began playing automatically.
A man walked into a room.
Older.
Gray hair.
A scar across his cheek.
He looked directly into the camera.
Then he smiled.
I knew that face.
I'd seen it in my father's photographs.
Daniel Cross.
He leaned toward the camera.
“Michael.”
I stopped breathing.
He knew my name.
“I know you've found the ledger.”
I stared at the screen.
“I know you've found the attic.”
His expression remained calm.
“And I know you've discovered the truth about Emma.”
Rachel covered her mouth.
Daniel continued.
“But you're asking the wrong question.”
He leaned closer.
“The question isn't whether Emma is your biological daughter.”
A pause.
“The question is…”
His eyes hardened.
“Why did Sarah choose you to raise her?”
The video ended.
The screen went black.
I sat frozen.
Then another message appeared on the laptop.
YOU HAVE 72 HOURS.
Underneath it:
BRING EMMA TO THE OLD BENNETT ESTATE.
May you like
And one final sentence:
OR THE NEXT PERSON WHO DISAPPEARS WILL BE RACHEL.
