Chapter 7 — The Woman Behind Hartwell
The woman across the parking lot didn't move.
She simply stood beside the dark SUV and watched us.
Rebecca.
The name repeated inside my head.
My wife's possible sister.
A woman whose existence had been buried beneath altered records, sealed files, and thirty years of lies.
Sue was frozen beside me.
“Is that her?” she whispered.
I nodded.
Rebecca raised one hand again.
Then she turned.
She walked toward the SUV.
“She's leaving,” Marcus said.
I grabbed my jacket.
“I'm going after her.”
Angela caught my arm.
“No.”
I looked at her.
“Why?”
“Because if Rebecca is being watched, following her could put her in danger.”
“She just came here.”
“Exactly.”
I stopped.
Angela looked through the window.
“She wanted you to see her.”
“Why?”
“To prove she's real.”
Marcus shook his head.
“Or to lure us somewhere.”
Sue suddenly spoke.
“She wouldn't hurt us.”
We turned toward her.
“How do you know?”
Sue stared at the empty parking lot.
“I don't.”
She swallowed.
“But when she touched that birthmark…”
She placed her fingers behind her own ear.
“I felt like she was saying something.”
“What?”
Sue whispered:
“I'm here.”
The SUV disappeared around the corner.
Angela closed the curtains.
“We need to leave.”
“Where?”
“Somewhere your mother doesn't know.”
Marcus shook his head.
“She knows every place Daniel owns.”
I looked at him.
“What about the old property?”
“My grandfather's?”
“Yes.”
“It hasn't been used in years.”
“That's why.”
We packed quickly.
Before leaving, Angela took photographs of every document.
Marcus encrypted the files.
Sue held our baby against her chest.
She hadn't said much since seeing Rebecca.
I could tell she was thinking about something.
“What is it?” I asked.
She looked at me.
“I remember another sound.”
“What sound?”
“A lullaby.”
“What kind?”
“I don't know.”
She closed her eyes.
“It was being sung to both babies.”
My heart tightened.
“Do you remember the words?”
“Only one line.”
“What line?”
Sue whispered:
“Sleep, little one. Your mother will find you.”
Angela stopped walking.
“What?”
Sue looked at her.
“What?”
“Who taught you that?”
“I don't know.”
Angela's face changed.
“That song was in the Hartwell archives.”
I stared at her.
“What?”
“It was used by one of the women who ran the infant-placement program.”
“Who?”
Angela hesitated.
“Your mother.”
My stomach dropped.
“Martha sang it?”
“Yes.”
Sue stared at the floor.
“I remember her.”
I looked at my wife.
“You remember my mother from before?”
“No.”
She shook her head.
“I remember her voice.”
That was worse.
We drove to my grandfather's old property outside the city.
The house had been empty for almost a decade.
Dust covered the furniture.
The electricity barely worked.
But it was safe.
At least, I thought it was.
Marcus connected his laptop to the old router.
Angela began reviewing Hartwell documents.
Sue put the baby down.
Then she walked toward an old cabinet.
She stopped.
Her face changed.
“Daniel.”
“What?”
“There.”
Inside the cabinet was a wooden box.
She opened it.
A photograph lay on top.
An old photograph of my mother.
She was much younger.
Standing beside two women.
One of them was unfamiliar.
The other was—
Evelyn Morgan.
Sue's biological mother.
I stared at the photograph.
My mother had known her.
Not casually.
They were standing close together.
Almost like friends.
Behind them was a sign:
HARTWELL FAMILY SERVICES — FOUNDERS' DINNER
Marcus took the photograph.
“This changes everything.”
Angela nodded.
“Your mother didn't just work with Hartwell.”
“She helped create it.”
I stared at the picture.
“Why didn't anyone know?”
“Because the company was originally registered under another name.”
Marcus searched the corporate database.
“Here.”
He turned the screen toward me.
Hartwell Family Services LLC.
Then an older company name appeared.
Hart Family Placement Network.
Registered founders:
Martha Hayes.
Elaine Hart.
Thomas Coleman.
I stared at the third name.
“Dr. Coleman's father.”
Angela nodded.
“Exactly.”
Sue looked at the screen.
“Why would my mother work with them?”
Angela opened another file.
“Because she was trying to stop them.”
The room went silent.
“What?”
Angela continued.
“Evelyn discovered that children were being transferred under private agreements.”
“She tried to expose them.”
“She collected evidence.”
“And someone found out.”
I looked at the photograph again.
“Then Martha killed her?”
Angela didn't answer.
Instead, she opened a scanned letter.
The handwriting was shaky.
The letter was addressed to an unknown recipient.
If anything happens to me, the children must be protected. There are records proving what they have done. Martha knows where the originals are.
Sue covered her mouth.
“She knew.”
Angela nodded.
“Evelyn knew Martha had the records.”
“Where?”
“We don't know.”
Marcus pointed at the bottom of the letter.
“There.”
A handwritten symbol.
A small red square.
“What is that?” I asked.
Angela stared at it.
“I've seen it before.”
“Where?”
“In Hartwell's restricted files.”
“What does it mean?”
“Safe storage.”
Marcus frowned.
“Meaning?”
“Physical documents.”
“Where?”
Angela looked at the old photograph.
“Somewhere Martha controlled.”
My phone rang.
I stared at the screen.
Martha.
I answered.
“What do you want?”
Her voice was calm.
“You found the photograph.”
I froze.
“How do you know?”
“Because you're predictable.”
“Where are the original records?”
Silence.
“You shouldn't have brought Sue into this.”
“She has a right to know.”
“She has no idea what you're putting her child through.”
“You threatened my wife.”
“I protected her.”
“You starved her.”
“I kept her alive.”
I clenched my jaw.
“You forged medical records.”
“You don't understand.”
“Then explain.”
Martha's voice became quieter.
“Your wife wasn't the only child I saved.”
I looked at Sue.
“What does that mean?”
“It means your father would have been proud of you.”
I froze.
“My father?”
“Yes.”
“What does he have to do with this?”
She hung up.
I immediately called back.
No answer.
Marcus looked at me.
“Your father?”
I shook my head.
“My father died when I was twelve.”
Angela slowly opened another file.
“Maybe not everything you know about your father is true.”
I stared at her.
“What are you saying?”
She turned the screen around.
A Hartwell payment ledger.
One name appeared repeatedly.
DAVID HAYES.
My father's name.
Dates.
Payments.
Thousands of dollars.
Starting six months before my birth.
Ending three months after my father's death.
I felt the air leave my lungs.
My father had been involved.
And if he had been paying Hartwell—
then my entire childhood had been built on a secret I had never been allowed to see.
Sue came closer.
“Daniel.”
I looked at her.
She pointed at one line.
The final payment.
Its description read:
TRANSFER COMPLETED — CHILD 417.
I stared at the words.
Then Angela whispered:
“Your father wasn't paying to hide Sue.”
May you like
She looked at me.
“He was paying to hide you.”
