CHAPTER 6 — TYLER DISCOVERED WHO I REALLY WAS
Tyler had never been curious about my past.
That was one of the reasons I had trusted him.
Or thought I had.
He never asked about my father.
Never asked why my mother kept boxes locked.
Never asked why we moved so often when I was young.
He had only cared about things that could be seen.
My weight.
My clothes.
My salary.
My body.
My usefulness.
Apparently, that had all been an act.
Because three hours after disappearing from the restaurant, Tyler was sitting inside the most exclusive private club in Chicago.
And he was asking questions about me.
Vincent showed me the security footage on his phone.
Tyler walked into a private room.
Vanessa was already waiting.
She looked different.
The playful woman from the restaurant was gone.
No smile.
No diamonds being admired.
No nervous laughter.
She placed a folder on the table.
Tyler opened it.
I watched his face change.
"What's inside?"
Vincent paused the video.
"Records."
"What records?"
"Yours."
I felt sick.
He played the next part.
Tyler asked:
"How much?"
Vanessa answered:
"Enough."
"That's not a number."
"More than you will ever make."
Tyler laughed.
"What exactly are we talking about?"
Vanessa leaned forward.
"Between three hundred and five hundred million."
My mouth went dry.
Vincent stopped the recording.
I stared at him.
"What?"
"That's their estimate."
"Estimate of what?"
"Your inheritance."
I laughed.
It sounded ridiculous.
"I don't have an inheritance."
"Not yet."
"From whom?"
"Your father."
I stood.
"No."
Vincent didn't move.
"My father didn't leave me money."
"He left you something more complicated."
"What?"
"Control."
I stared at him.
He continued.
"Your father discovered that several companies were being used to move stolen money. But he also discovered something else."
"What?"
"One of those companies was legally connected to an old family trust."
"Whose?"
"Yours."
I shook my head.
"I don't understand."
"You weren't meant to."
He walked toward me.
"Your father created a legal structure when you were seven."
"Why?"
"To make sure the money could never be seized by the people trying to kill him."
"And the beneficiary?"
"You."
My heart raced.
"But I never received anything."
"Because the trust remains locked until the person named in it is verified."
"Verified how?"
Vincent's eyes met mine.
"By blood."
I stepped backward.
"So they want me because of money."
"Partly."
"What's the other part?"
Vincent's expression darkened.
"Your father's evidence."
The room went silent.
I thought about Tyler.
Three years.
Three years of dating me.
Three years of pretending I wasn't worth anything.
Three years of watching me struggle.
Then I remembered something.
A question he'd asked me months ago.
Did your mother ever tell you why you moved when you were a kid?
At the time, I thought it was casual.
Now it made my stomach turn.
"He asked me about my childhood."
Vincent's eyes sharpened.
"When?"
"Months ago."
"What exactly?"
I told him.
He went silent.
Then:
"Anything else?"
"Yes."
I swallowed.
"He once asked if my mother had any old documents."
Vincent closed his eyes briefly.
"He's been investigating you for a while."
"But why now?"
"Because he finally learned enough to understand your value."
I sat down.
The word made me feel dirty.
Value.
As if my life were an asset.
A number.
A prize.
I looked at Vincent.
"How did Tyler find out?"
"Vanessa."
"Who is she?"
"We're still investigating."
"Do you know where she came from?"
"Not originally."
"What does that mean?"
Vincent handed me another photograph.
Vanessa at twenty-one.
Different hair.
Different name.
Different city.
My stomach dropped.
"That's impossible."
"It isn't."
"Her name wasn't Vanessa?"
"No."
I stared at the photograph.
"Then who is she?"
"That's what we're trying to find out."
My phone buzzed.
A message from my mother.
Don't come home.
My heart stopped.
I immediately called her.
No answer.
I called again.
Nothing.
Vincent took the phone from my hand.
"Where is she?"
"I don't know."
He made one call.
"Find her."
Within minutes, his team had a location.
An old church on the South Side.
We drove there.
When we arrived, the doors were open.
My mother sat alone in the front pew.
She looked exhausted.
I ran toward her.
"Mom!"
She stood.
"I'm sorry."
"Where were you?"
"I had to think."
"About what?"
She looked at Vincent.
"About whether I had made the right choice all these years."
I knelt beside her.
"What choice?"
She touched my face.
"Keeping you ordinary."
I didn't understand.
She reached into her purse.
Then handed me a folded document.
I opened it.
It was an old legal statement.
At the top was my father's name.
Below it was mine.
But the name wasn't Emily.
It was another name.
A name I had never seen.
I looked at my mother.
"Who is this?"
She whispered:
"You."
My breathing stopped.
"That's my real name?"
She nodded.
"Why did you call me Emily?"
"Because your father believed your real name would get you killed."
I looked at Vincent.
He was staring at the document.
Then I noticed something.
His name was written at the bottom.
Not as a witness.
Not as a lawyer.
As a guardian.
I looked at him.
"You were appointed my guardian."
"Yes."
"When?"
"Seven years ago."
"But you never told me."
"Because your father ordered me not to."
I felt betrayed.
"You had legal control over my life?"
"Only if something happened to your mother."
"Did something happen?"
He didn't answer.
My mother did.
"He thought I would be killed."
The church seemed to spin around me.
I looked at her.
"You thought you were going to die?"
"Every day."
I closed my eyes.
All the anger I'd carried toward her suddenly became something else.
Fear.
She had been afraid.
And she'd made me hate her silence because she believed silence was the only thing keeping me alive.
Then Vincent's phone rang.
He answered.
His expression changed.
"What?"
A pause.
"You're certain?"
He listened.
Then looked at me.
"Tyler has the original trust documents."
My blood ran cold.
"How?"
"He stole them."
"From where?"
Vincent's voice became dangerously quiet.
"Your mother's storage unit."
I turned toward my mother.
She covered her mouth.
"That's impossible."
"No," Vincent said.
"It isn't."
He looked at me.
"Because Tyler didn't work alone."
"Vanessa."
He nodded.
"And there's something else."
"What?"
Vincent showed me a photograph taken outside the club.
Tyler stood beside a black sedan.
The rear door was open.
Inside sat a man.
Older.
Gray hair.
A scar across one hand.
And on his finger—
A black ring.
I couldn't breathe.
Vincent stared at the photograph.
"Elias."
The man my father had spent twenty years running from...
May you like
was alive.
And now he was standing beside my ex-boyfriend.
