CHAPTER 5 The Man I Thought Was Dead
Dallas was only three hours away.
It felt like three years.
I sat in the back of Daniel's SUV, watching Houston disappear behind us.
Nathan sat beside me, reviewing the documents we had collected.
Daniel drove.
Nobody spoke for the first forty minutes.
Finally, Nathan broke the silence.
“You need to understand something before we find your father.”
I looked at him.
“What?”
“We don't know whether he's the victim.”
I stared out the window.
“My mother said he ran.”
“She also lied about almost everything else.”
“I know.”
“But that doesn't mean every lie was about the same thing.”
I turned toward him.
“What are you saying?”
Nathan closed the folder.
“Your father's disappearance may have had nothing to do with your mother.”
“Then what?”
“We don't know.”
That answer frustrated me more than anything.
For nineteen years, I had lived with a simple story.
My father died unexpectedly.
My mother raised me alone.
I eventually built Sterling Crest.
Then I married Ethan.
That was it.
Simple.
Clean.
Complete.
Except it wasn't.
Not even close.
My father was alive.
My mother had known.
Ethan had apparently possessed my father's will.
Chloe had been investigating me.
Marcus Vane was trying to acquire my company.
And someone had spent years manipulating the people closest to me.
I looked at Nathan.
“How did my father know Ethan?”
Nathan hesitated.
“That is the question I want answered first.”
At 2:18 p.m., we arrived in Dallas.
Daniel drove directly to the private airport.
The security team had already been waiting.
Our source had tracked Chloe's vehicle.
It was parked near Hangar 14.
I stepped out.
The wind was sharp and cold.
A private jet sat on the runway.
Its engines were off.
The stairs were down.
But nobody was outside.
Daniel checked his phone.
“She landed forty minutes ago.”
“Where did she go?”
“Inside.”
We entered the hangar.
Empty.
A black SUV sat abandoned near the rear entrance.
Daniel opened the driver's door.
Nothing.
Nathan searched the passenger seat.
Then stopped.
“What?”
He pointed.
A small envelope lay beneath the seat.
My name was written across it.
CLAIRE.
My pulse accelerated.
I opened it.
Inside was one photograph.
My father.
Standing outside a small farmhouse.
On the back:
You have been looking for the wrong man.
I stared at the photograph.
Nathan took it.
“Look at the date.”
December 2014.
The exact week my father supposedly died.
I felt cold.
“He was alive.”
“Yes.”
“And someone photographed him.”
Nathan nodded.
“Which means whoever took this knew where he was.”
Daniel looked toward the hangar entrance.
“We aren't alone.”
We turned.
A man stood in the doorway.
Black suit.
Gray hair.
Calm expression.
Marcus Vane.
He smiled.
“Claire Bennett.”
I stepped forward.
“You know me.”
“I've known about you for years.”
“Where is Chloe?”
“Safe.”
“Where is my father?”
His smile disappeared.
“You should ask why he disappeared.”
“I am.”
“Then ask yourself another question.”
“What?”
“Why did he leave you?”
My hands tightened.
“He didn't leave.”
Marcus stared at me.
“You're certain?”
“Yes.”
“That's unfortunate.”
He turned.
Daniel moved quickly.
“Stop!”
Marcus ran.
Daniel chased him through the hangar.
A vehicle suddenly roared outside.
By the time we reached the doors, Marcus was gone.
But he had left something behind.
A phone.
Daniel picked it up.
The screen was unlocked.
One message was open.
CLAIRE IS COMING.
Another message appeared.
MAKE SURE SHE FINDS HIM BEFORE HER MOTHER DOES.
I stared at the screen.
“Who sent that?”
Daniel looked at the number.
“Unknown.”
Then another message arrived.
THE FARMHOUSE. 7:00 PM. COME ALONE.
Nathan immediately shook his head.
“No.”
“I have to go.”
“You don't know who sent it.”
“It could be my father.”
“It could be a trap.”
I looked at the photograph.
The farmhouse.
The date.
My father.
“Then I'll make sure I'm not alone.”
At 6:47 p.m., we reached the farmhouse.
It sat beyond a long gravel road surrounded by empty fields.
No neighbors.
No traffic.
No lights.
Exactly the kind of place where someone could disappear without witnesses.
Daniel stopped the SUV a quarter mile away.
“I'll stay here.”
Nathan looked at me.
“You don't go inside without me.”
I nodded.
We approached on foot.
The front door was unlocked.
Inside, the house was warm.
A fire burned in the fireplace.
There were books on the shelves.
A coffee cup sat on the table.
Someone had been here recently.
Nathan raised his hand.
We stopped.
A floorboard creaked upstairs.
I looked up.
Then a man's voice said:
“Claire.”
I froze.
I knew that voice.
Even after nineteen years.
Even through old memories.
Even through the photographs.
I knew it.
“Dad?”
Footsteps came down the stairs.
An older man appeared.
Gray hair.
Thin face.
Deep lines around his eyes.
But the eyes were unmistakable.
My father's eyes.
John Bennett.
Alive.
I couldn't move.
He stopped halfway down the staircase.
His face broke.
“Claire.”
My knees nearly gave out.
I whispered,
“You're alive.”
His eyes filled with tears.
“Yes.”
I walked toward him.
Then stopped.
Anger replaced shock.
“Why?”
He looked at me.
“Because I had no choice.”
“You let me believe you were dead.”
“I know.”
“You watched me grow up.”
“I watched from a distance.”
“You watched me marry Ethan.”
“Yes.”
“You knew what he was doing?”
His silence answered me.
My voice broke.
“You knew?”
John came down the last steps.
“I knew enough.”
“Then why didn't you stop me?”
“Because if I came back, they would have killed you.”
“Who?”
He looked toward the window.
“Your mother.”
My heart tightened.
“Mom?”
John nodded.
“She wasn't alone.”
I stared.
“Who was with her?”
John whispered,
“Marcus Vane.”
I felt the room shift.
“And Ethan?”
John looked at me.
“That is the part I was most afraid to tell you.”
“What?”
John reached into his coat.
He removed an old photograph.
He placed it on the table.
It showed Ethan.
Much younger.
Standing beside Marcus Vane.
The date was fourteen years ago.
Before Ethan and I met.
I stared.
“No.”
John's voice was quiet.
“Ethan didn't meet your mother by accident.”
I looked at him.
May you like
“What are you saying?”
“He was sent to you.”
