CHAPTER 4 — THE MISSING TEN MINUTES
The darkness swallowed the warehouse.
Adrian heard Clara inhale sharply beside him.
Then the emergency lights flickered on.
One.
Two.
Three.
A dim red glow spread across the concrete floor.
There was no one there.
The footsteps had stopped.
Adrian turned slowly.
“Clara?”
“I’m here.”
“Stay close.”
She didn't answer.
She was staring at the paper in his hand.
The hospital record.
The one that claimed Richard Whitmore had been alive eight months after his official death.
Adrian looked down at it again.
The paper was old.
Yellowed at the edges.
But the hospital stamp was unmistakable.
St. Vincent Medical Center.
Patient:
Richard Alexander Whitmore.
Date of admission:
October 17.
Date of discharge:
October 29.
Adrian's father had supposedly died on February 12.
Eight months earlier.
His fingers tightened around the document.
“This is impossible.”
Clara whispered:
“Unless your father wasn't dead.”
Adrian looked at her.
“My mother identified his body.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“Then someone wanted everyone to believe he was dead.”
Adrian stared into the darkness.
“Why?”
A metallic sound echoed above them.
Clara grabbed his arm.
“Adrian.”
Something had moved on the second floor.
He raised his phone flashlight.
Nothing.
Then his phone vibrated.
A message.
LOOK UP.
Adrian slowly raised his head.
A projector came alive on the far wall.
Static.
Then an image.
Richard Whitmore.
Alive.
Older.
Sitting in a hospital bed.
Adrian stopped breathing.
Clara stared at the screen.
The man in the video was unmistakably Adrian's father.
But the date displayed in the corner was eight months after his funeral.
Richard looked directly into the camera.
“If you're watching this, Adrian, then something has gone terribly wrong.”
Adrian stepped forward.
“Dad?”
The recording continued.
“I knew there would come a day when the truth would become dangerous.”
Richard paused.
His face looked tired.
Afraid.
“There are people inside our family who cannot be trusted.”
The image suddenly distorted.
Static.
Then the screen went black.
Adrian stood frozen.
Clara whispered:
“Who recorded that?”
“I don't know.”
The projector shut off.
The warehouse returned to darkness.
Then a single light came on above the balcony.
Vanessa stood there.
But she wasn't alone.
A man stood behind her.
The same man who had chased Clara.
Adrian's expression hardened.
“You.”
The man smiled.
Vanessa looked at Adrian.
“You wanted answers.”
Adrian raised the hospital record.
“You're going to explain this.”
Vanessa shook her head.
“Not here.”
“Then where?”
“Somewhere your father prepared.”
Adrian frowned.
“What are you talking about?”
Vanessa stepped backward.
A door opened behind her.
“Ask yourself why Richard left something for you in the first place.”
Then the lights went out again.
A loud mechanical click followed.
Clara screamed.
The floor beneath them began moving.
Adrian grabbed her waist.
“Hold on!”
A section of the concrete floor dropped several inches before stopping.
A hidden passage had opened beneath them.
Adrian stared down.
A staircase.
Leading underground.
Clara shook her head.
“No.”
Adrian looked at her.
“We're not going down there.”
“Good.”
“We're going to find another way out.”
But before they could move, the warehouse doors slammed open.
Police lights flashed outside.
Detective Reed rushed in.
“Adrian!”
Adrian turned.
“Reed?”
The detective ran toward them.
“Are you both all right?”
“Yes.”
“Where's Vanessa?”
Adrian pointed upward.
“She was here.”
Reed looked toward the balcony.
Empty.
“She disappeared?”
“Yes.”
Reed cursed under his breath.
Then he looked at the underground opening.
“What is that?”
Adrian shook his head.
“We just found it.”
Reed signaled to two officers.
“Secure the area.”
An officer descended three steps.
Then shouted:
“Detective!”
“What?”
“There are rooms down here.”
Reed looked at Adrian.
“How many?”
“I don't know.”
The officer's voice came back.
“At least six.”
Adrian's face tightened.
“Search them.”
Twenty minutes later, the underground rooms had been opened.
They were not storage rooms.
They were surveillance rooms.
Banks of monitors lined the walls.
Photographs covered corkboards.
Adrian's family.
His mother.
His father.
Adrian himself.
Olivia.
Emma.
And Clara.
Clara stared at one photograph.
It showed her entering Adrian's mansion.
The date was six months earlier.
Another showed her leaving the hospital.
Another showed her holding Emma.
Another showed her sleeping in her apartment.
Clara stepped backward.
“They've been watching me.”
Reed nodded grimly.
“For a long time.”
Adrian looked at the screens.
“Who built this?”
Reed didn't answer.
One monitor was still running.
A live camera feed.
Emma's nursery.
Adrian's heart stopped.
“When was this recorded?”
Reed checked.
“Live.”
Adrian's blood turned cold.
“Call the house.”
An officer immediately dialed.
No answer.
Adrian grabbed his phone.
He called the nanny.
Nothing.
Again.
Nothing.
He called Olivia.
She answered.
“Dad?”
“Where are you?”
“At the house.”
“Where's Emma?”
A pause.
“She was upstairs.”
Adrian's stomach dropped.
“Was?”
“I just went to check on her.”
“Olivia, don't go into the nursery.”
“Why?”
“Get out of the house.”
“Dad—”
“NOW!”
The call went silent.
Then they heard a scream.
Not Olivia's.
A baby's cry.
Adrian's blood ran cold.
“Emma!”
He ran.
Olivia stood at the bottom of the staircase.
Her face was white.
The nursery door upstairs was open.
Emma was crying.
But Olivia couldn't see anyone.
“Emma?”
She slowly climbed the stairs.
The hallway was empty.
She stepped into the nursery.
The crib was empty.
The blanket was on the floor.
Olivia froze.
“Emma?”
A soft sound came from the closet.
She turned.
The closet door was slightly open.
Olivia approached.
Then a hand grabbed her wrist.
She screamed.
“It's me!”
The nanny pulled her inside.
“Shh!”
Olivia stared at her.
“What are you doing?”
“Someone was in here.”
“Where's Emma?”
The nanny pointed upward.
Olivia looked.
There was a small hidden compartment above the closet.
Emma was inside.
Safe.
Wrapped in a blanket.
Olivia immediately grabbed her.
“Oh my God.”
The nanny began crying.
“I heard someone downstairs.”
“Who?”
“I don't know.”
“Where did they go?”
The nanny pointed toward the window.
“Outside.”
Olivia looked down.
A rope hung from the balcony.
Someone had escaped.
Then Olivia noticed something on the nursery floor.
A silver key.
She picked it up.
It was identical to the one in the photograph from earlier.
She turned it over.
There was a number engraved on it.
17.
Adrian arrived at the mansion minutes later.
He rushed inside.
“Where's Emma?”
Olivia came running down the stairs with the baby.
Adrian took Emma into his arms.
He kissed her forehead.
“Are you okay?”
Emma cried against his chest.
Olivia looked at him.
“Someone was in her room.”
“I know.”
“How?”
“We found a surveillance room.”
Olivia's eyes widened.
“What?”
“Under the warehouse.”
She looked at Clara.
“Are you serious?”
Clara nodded.
Olivia held up the key.
“We found this.”
Adrian stared at it.
“Where?”
“In Emma's nursery.”
Reed took the key.
He examined it.
Then his expression changed.
“What?”
Reed looked at Adrian.
“This isn't a house key.”
“What is it?”
“A locker key.”
Adrian frowned.
“Locker?”
Reed turned it over.
“Number seventeen.”
Adrian looked at Clara.
She suddenly remembered something.
“The hospital.”
“What?”
“St. Vincent.”
Adrian stared at her.
“The record.”
“Yes.”
“The hospital has old patient lockers.”
Reed immediately called the hospital.
“Tell them we're coming.”
St. Vincent Medical Center was nearly empty when they arrived.
A hospital administrator met them in the basement archive.
“Locker seventeen hasn't been opened in years.”
“Who was assigned to it?” Reed asked.
The administrator checked the records.
“Richard Whitmore.”
Adrian's heart stopped.
“Open it.”
The administrator hesitated.
“Mr. Whitmore, this locker was sealed under a court order.”
“I'm his son.”
“I understand, but—”
Reed showed his badge.
“Open it.”
The administrator unlocked the door.
Inside was a single box.
No dust.
No mold.
It had been placed there recently.
Adrian stared at it.
Clara whispered:
“Someone wanted us to find this.”
Adrian opened the box.
Inside were documents.
Photographs.
A flash drive.
And a handwritten letter.
Adrian picked up the letter.
The handwriting was his father's.
He unfolded it.
Only one sentence was written:
ADRIAN — TRUST CLARA. NOT VANESSA.
Adrian's breath caught.
Clara stared at him.
Neither spoke.
Then Adrian noticed the date.
The letter had been written:
Two years ago.
After Richard's supposed death.
Before Clara had ever met Adrian.
Adrian looked at Clara.
“Why would my father know you?”
Clara's eyes filled with tears.
“I don't know.”
Then the administrator spoke.
“There's something else.”
Adrian turned.
“What?”
“The locker was accessed once before tonight.”
“When?”
The administrator checked the system.
“Exactly ten minutes were missing from the access record.”
Reed frowned.
“What do you mean?”
“The system shows the locker was opened.”
“When?”
“Three months ago.”
Adrian's eyes narrowed.
“By whom?”
The administrator shook his head.
“That's the problem.”
“Why?”
“Because the security camera footage for those ten minutes is missing.”
Silence.
Reed immediately understood.
“Someone deleted it.”
The administrator nodded.
Adrian looked at the flash drive.
“Then whatever is on this may tell us why.”
He handed it to Reed.
Before the detective could open it, the hospital lights went out.
Complete darkness.
Then a voice came through the basement intercom.
A woman's voice.
Vanessa.
“You should have left the past buried.”
Adrian looked toward the ceiling.
“Vanessa!”
Her voice returned.
“You think Clara is innocent?”
Clara froze.
Vanessa laughed softly.
“She hasn't told you everything.”
Adrian's jaw tightened.
“What hasn't she told me?”
A pause.
Then Vanessa said:
“Ask Clara who Emma's real mother is.”
The intercom went silent.
Adrian slowly turned toward Clara.
Clara's face had gone completely white.
“Clara?”
She couldn't speak.
“Who is Emma's real mother?”
Clara closed her eyes.
Tears began falling.
“I was going to tell you.”
Adrian's voice became barely audible.
“Tell me what?”
Clara opened her eyes.
And before she could answer, the flash drive in Reed's hand suddenly began playing a recording by itself.
Richard Whitmore appeared on the hospital monitor.
His face was older.
More frightened than before.
He looked directly at the camera.
“Adrian, if Clara is standing beside you when you see this…”
He paused.
“…then she has finally come home.”
Adrian stared at the screen.
Clara covered her mouth.
Richard continued:
“Your daughter Emma is not the child you think she is.”
The screen went black.
May you like
No one moved.
And then, somewhere behind them, a metal door slowly opened.
