Chapter 8: The Woman in the Old Photograph
The gunshot had come from upstairs.
I knew it before I reached the staircase.
“Lily!”
Her scream answered me.
I ran.
Sarah was already ahead of me, weapon drawn.
Robert followed, shouting for everyone to get down.
Another sound cracked through the darkness.
Not a gunshot.
A window breaking.
Glass exploded across the hallway.
I reached Lily's bedroom and found the door open.
Her bed was empty.
My heart stopped.
“Lily!”
I tore through the room.
The curtains were moving.
Cold ocean air rushed through the broken window.
For one terrible second, I couldn't breathe.
Then I heard her.
“Daddy!”
I turned.
She was beneath the bed.
Crouched against the wall.
Bunny clutched against her chest.
I dropped to my knees.
“Come here.”
She crawled into my arms.
I held her so tightly she gasped.
“Are you hurt?”
She shook her head.
“No.”
“Did you see anyone?”
She nodded.
“Who?”
“The man.”
“What man?”
“The one from Mommy Victoria's room.”
My blood ran cold.
“Thomas?”
She nodded.
“He came through the window.”
Sarah rushed over.
“Did he touch you?”
Lily shook her head.
“He looked at me.”
“What did he say?”
She buried her face against my chest.
“He said, ‘Your mother wants you.’”
My entire body went rigid.
“Which mother?”
Lily whispered:
“Mommy Emma.”
We secured the house.
Police arrived within minutes.
The broken window was sealed.
Every hallway was searched.
No Thomas.
No intruder.
No Victoria.
She was gone.
So was the file I had been holding.
The one containing the information about the embryonic transfer.
Someone had taken it.
I stood in Lily's room while Sarah examined the window.
“He didn't enter through here,” she said.
I looked at her.
“What?”
“He entered from the roof.”
“How?”
“Rope marks.”
She pointed upward.
“He came down from the roof, broke the window, entered, and left through the hallway.”
I looked toward the stairs.
“Why?”
“To get Lily.”
“But he didn't.”
Sarah looked at me.
“Maybe he wanted you to think he did.”
My stomach tightened.
“Why?”
“Because while everyone was running upstairs…”
She stopped.
“What?”
“Someone else could have been downstairs.”
I immediately thought of Victoria.
We ran back to the hidden room.
The door was open.
The lights were still off.
Victoria was gone.
So was the photograph.
The old photograph of her with Emma.
The one dated three months after Emma's supposed death.
I looked around.
Something was different.
A drawer had been left open.
Inside was a small envelope.
My name was written across it.
DANIEL.
I opened it.
One sentence.
If you're reading this, she has already found you.
No signature.
Sarah took the envelope.
“Fingerprints?”
“Maybe.”
I looked at the handwriting.
I knew it.
I had seen it before.
On birthday cards.
On Christmas gifts.
On letters Victoria had written to me when I traveled.
But this wasn't Victoria's handwriting.
It was Emma's.
My dead wife's handwriting.
Except she wasn't dead.
Not anymore.
At dawn, we moved Lily to a safe house.
She slept beside me on a couch while Sarah and two officers guarded the doors.
Robert sat across from us with a stack of documents.
“We need to talk about your father.”
I looked at him.
“I've had enough secrets.”
“I agree.”
“Then tell me everything.”
Robert sighed.
“Your father wasn't killed in an accident.”
“I know.”
“He disappeared.”
“Why?”
“Because someone tried to kill him.”
“Who?”
“We don't know.”
“Who was driving the car?”
“Your father.”
“Then how did he survive?”
Robert looked down.
“He wasn't supposed to.”
I stared at him.
“What does that mean?”
“Daniel, the crash was real. The car went over the cliff.”
“But?”
“But the body recovered wasn't your father's.”
My blood went cold.
“Whose body was it?”
“We don't know.”
“Robert.”
“We don't.”
“Then how did everyone accept it?”
“Your father had people who wanted the story closed.”
“Who?”
Robert didn't answer.
I already knew.
“Victoria?”
“Not alone.”
I looked at him.
“Who else?”
“Your grandfather's old legal network.”
“My grandfather?”
“Yes.”
Robert pulled another folder from his briefcase.
“This is why I didn't want to tell you until we had proof.”
I opened it.
Inside was a photograph.
A much older one.
My father stood beside a younger Victoria.
But they weren't alone.
Emma was there.
And a fourth person.
A woman I didn't recognize.
She was holding a newborn baby.
I stared at her face.
There was something familiar.
Something unsettling.
Sarah leaned closer.
“Do you know her?”
“No.”
Robert pointed to the back.
There was writing.
Dr. Evelyn Shaw.
I froze.
The same doctor from the hospital.
The doctor who remembered the two babies.
But the photograph was taken almost thirty years earlier.
Before I met Emma.
Before Victoria.
Before Lily.
Before everything.
I looked at Robert.
“Why would Dr. Shaw be with my father?”
“That's what we're trying to find out.”
I studied the photograph.
My father looked young.
Victoria looked barely twenty.
Emma looked frightened.
And Dr. Shaw was holding the baby.
I turned the photograph over again.
There was another sentence beneath the names.
The first daughter belongs to Daniel.
I stopped breathing.
“What?”
Robert took the photograph.
“There are two versions.”
He pulled out another.
The same people.
Same room.
Same baby.
But the handwriting was different.
The first daughter belongs to the Carter line.
I looked at Lily sleeping on the couch.
Then at the photograph.
“What's the Carter line?”
Robert hesitated.
“Your family has been hiding something for generations.”
I laughed without humor.
“Of course we have.”
He opened another file.
“The Carter Foundation wasn't created to protect your wealth.”
“What was it created for?”
“To protect the bloodline.”
I stared at him.
“From whom?”
He looked toward Lily.
“People who believe your family owes them something.”
“What?”
Robert's voice lowered.
“An inheritance.”
“How much?”
He shook his head.
“It's not money.”
“Then what?”
He looked at the photograph.
“Control.”
Later that morning, Dr. Shaw arrived under police escort.
She looked exhausted.
Older than I remembered.
But when she saw Lily, her expression changed.
She knelt beside her.
“Hello, sweetheart.”
Lily opened her eyes.
“You're the doctor.”
“Yes.”
“The one who helped Mommy.”
Dr. Shaw looked at me.
“She remembers?”
“She remembers everything.”
The doctor sat down.
I handed her the photograph.
She went pale.
“Where did you get this?”
“From my father's files.”
She stared at it.
“That was the first time I met your father.”
“When?”
“Thirty years ago.”
“Why?”
“He brought Victoria.”
“Why?”
Dr. Shaw closed her eyes.
“She was pregnant.”
My heart stopped.
“Pregnant with Anna?”
“Yes.”
“But Lily was born four years ago.”
“I know.”
I stared.
“Then how can that be possible?”
“She wasn't pregnant with Anna.”
My confusion deepened.
“Then who?”
Dr. Shaw looked directly at me.
“You.”
The room went silent.
“What?”
“You were not conceived the way you were told.”
I shook my head.
“No.”
“Your father brought Victoria to me because she was carrying an embryo.”
“What embryo?”
“An embryo created from your father's genetic material.”
I felt dizzy.
“And my mother?”
“Your mother didn't know.”
“Emma?”
“Yes.”
“Then how…”
Dr. Shaw looked toward Lily.
“Because your father had a plan.”
“What plan?”
“To create a second child who could inherit everything.”
I stared at her.
“Anna.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because your father believed you would die young.”
My stomach twisted.
“Why would he believe that?”
“Because he knew your family had enemies.”
“Who?”
Dr. Shaw hesitated.
“People from your grandfather's company.”
I stepped closer.
“What people?”
“Your father's business partners.”
“Names.”
She looked at Robert.
Robert slowly opened another document.
There were three names.
Thomas Vale.
Richard Mercer.
Edward Carter.
I stared at the last name.
“My uncle?”
Robert nodded.
“My father's brother?”
“Yes.”
“He's dead.”
Robert looked at me.
“No.”
I felt the floor disappear beneath me.
“What?”
“He's alive.”
That afternoon, we drove to an old property in Beverly Hills.
The house had been abandoned for fifteen years.
At least according to public records.
Robert unlocked the gate.
Sarah stayed close to Lily.
I walked inside.
Dust covered everything.
Furniture sat beneath white sheets.
A grand piano.
An old fireplace.
Family portraits.
And on the wall—
My grandfather.
My father.
My uncle Edward.
All three standing together.
I stared at the photograph.
Something felt wrong.
My father's face was serious.
My grandfather looked proud.
But Edward was looking away from the camera.
Toward someone outside the frame.
I zoomed in.
There was a woman standing near the doorway.
I recognized her.
Dr. Shaw.
And beside her—
Emma.
Young.
Pregnant.
I turned.
“Robert.”
He came over.
“That's Emma.”
“Yes.”
“Why is she here?”
“I don't know.”
Sarah looked at the photograph.
“There's a date.”
I read it.
June 18, 1996.
My birth date.
I stared.
“That's impossible.”
Robert shook his head.
“No.”
“What?”
“Your official birth certificate says June 19.”
I looked at him.
“Why?”
“Because someone changed it.”
I felt sick.
“One day.”
“One day can be enough.”
“For what?”
Robert pointed at the photograph.
“Look at Emma's stomach.”
She was heavily pregnant.
But there was something else.
A bracelet around her wrist.
A hospital bracelet.
I zoomed in.
Patient 6-18-A.
My blood ran cold.
The same designation as Lily.
A.
I looked at Sarah.
“Patient 6-18-B.”
“Anna.”
I nodded.
“Then A was…”
“Your biological mother,” Dr. Shaw said from behind us.
We turned.
She had followed us into the room.
“Emma.”
“Yes.”
“And B?”
“Another woman.”
“Victoria.”
Dr. Shaw shook her head.
“No.”
I stared.
“Then who?”
The doctor didn't answer immediately.
She walked to an old cabinet.
Opened it.
Pulled out a file.
And handed it to me.
The name on the cover was:
Rebecca Vale.
Victoria's real identity.
I opened it.
Inside was a photograph.
Victoria.
Pregnant.
Standing beside Thomas.
But the date was different.
March 12, 1996.
Three months before my birth.
I looked at Dr. Shaw.
“Then what was she carrying?”
Dr. Shaw whispered:
“Your father's child.”
I couldn't breathe.
“But Anna was created from my father's genetic material.”
“Yes.”
“And Victoria carried her.”
“Yes.”
“Then why did you say she wasn't pregnant with Anna?”
“Because she wasn't.”
I stared.
Dr. Shaw's eyes filled with tears.
“Victoria lost the pregnancy.”
I froze.
“When?”
“April.”
“Then Anna?”
“Anna was transferred later.”
“To whom?”
The doctor looked at me.
“That's the part your father buried.”
That night, I couldn't sleep.
Lily was beside me.
Her small hand held mine.
I stared at the ceiling.
Everything I believed about my family was collapsing.
My father.
Victoria.
Emma.
Anna.
The trust.
The hospital.
The accident.
Nothing was what it seemed.
At 2:11 a.m., Lily woke.
“Daddy?”
“I'm here.”
“Can I tell you something?”
“Of course.”
She sat up.
“When Mommy Victoria talked to Thomas…”
I waited.
“She said something about a photograph.”
“What photograph?”
“The old one.”
“Which one?”
“The one with Mommy Emma.”
My heart began pounding.
“What did she say?”
Lily looked frightened.
“She said…”
“What?”
“She said Mommy Emma wasn't supposed to survive.”
I sat up.
“Did she say who wanted her dead?”
Lily nodded.
“Who?”
“My grandpa.”
I froze.
“Your grandfather?”
She nodded.
“Mommy Victoria said Grandpa made Mommy Emma disappear.”
My heart hammered.
“Did you hear anything else?”
Lily thought.
“Thomas said Grandpa wasn't the real boss.”
“Who was?”
She whispered:
“Daddy.”
I stared at her.
“My father?”
“No.”
She shook her head.
“Your daddy's daddy.”
I went still.
“My grandfather?”
She nodded.
“He was still alive when Mommy Emma was alive.”
I looked toward the window.
Outside, the ocean was black.
Then my phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
One photograph.
I opened it.
It showed a woman standing outside an old farmhouse.
Emma.
Alive.
Older.
Tired.
Holding a little girl.
Anna.
Beneath the photograph was one sentence:
You finally found the right photograph.
Then another message appeared.
Now find the woman who took it.
I stared at the screen.
A third message arrived.
Her name is Rebecca Vale.
I looked toward the hallway.
Victoria.
Or Rebecca.
My wife.
The woman who had disappeared tonight.
The woman who knew everything.
And then the final message arrived.
She didn't run from you, Daniel.
She went to warn Emma.
I looked at Lily.
For the first time, I understood something terrifying.
Victoria might not have been running away.
She might have been running toward the one person who could finally tell me the truth.
Emma.
May you like
And if Victoria reached her first—
I might never see either of them again.
