Nobody moved after the call ended. My mother stood beside the filing cabinet with the phone still pressed to her ear, although the connection had already gone dead. Valeria was staring at the floor. I could hear Margaret breathing behind me.
“What did he mean?” I asked.
Valeria didn't answer.
I looked directly at her. “Who is Chloe?”
Her eyes lifted slowly. For the first time since we had found her alive, she looked less frightened than defeated.
“I knew her.”
My mother made a small sound.
“You said you didn't know her,” I said.
“I said I didn't know what happened to her.”
“That isn't the same thing.”
“No.”
Valeria rubbed her palms against her jeans. “Chloe worked at one of Dad's properties. She was there before I disappeared.”
“What did she do?”
“She cleaned the house. Sometimes she looked after things when Dad wasn't there.”
“Was she his employee?”
“Officially, yes.”
“And unofficially?”
Valeria looked toward the locked door.
“She knew too much.”
Margaret stepped closer. “How much?”
Valeria hesitated.
“She had seen documents.”
“What documents?”
“The same kind I found. Property transfers. Payments. Companies that existed only on paper.”
My father had spent years telling us that every strange transaction had a reasonable explanation. I suddenly remembered how quickly he used to change the subject whenever Valeria asked questions about the family businesses.
“What happened to Chloe?” I asked.
“She wanted to leave.”
Valeria's voice became quieter.
“She told me she had found evidence that someone was moving money through properties connected to my grandfather. She was scared. She said she'd copied some records.”
“Did she show you?”
“A few.”
“Do you still have them?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because Dad found out.”
My mother sat down hard in one of the chairs.
“What did he do to her?”
Valeria shook her head.
“I don't know.”
“You must know something.”
“I know she disappeared.”
“When?”
“Several months before I was taken.”
Margaret exchanged a look with me.
“Then why did your father tell you nothing?”
“He told me she had stolen from him and run away.”
Valeria looked toward my mother.
“Later I realized that was the story he used whenever someone vanished.”
The words settled heavily in the room.
I thought about the funeral.
The flowers.
The photographs.
My mother's seven years of prayer.
And suddenly the question that had haunted me since the television broadcast became much larger.
If Chloe had disappeared before Valeria, why had her body later been used to prove Valeria was dead?
Valeria seemed to understand what I was thinking.
“Because somebody needed a body.”
Margaret looked at her sharply.
“Are you saying Chloe was deliberately killed?”
“I don't know who killed her.”
“But you believe she was killed.”
“Yes.”
My mother covered her face.
“Why didn't you tell us this before?”
“Because I didn't know if you were involved.”
My mother lowered her hands.
“Involved in what?”
Valeria's eyes filled with tears.
“Dad told me you knew about the house.”
“What house?”
“The one where they kept me.”
My mother shook her head.
“I never knew.”
“I believe you now.”
The words seemed to hurt my mother more than an accusation would have.
Margaret moved to the window and looked through the blinds.
“We need to leave.”
“Why?”
“Because Daniel Mercer is still inside the building.”
I looked toward the hallway.
“You think he followed us?”
“I think he was already following someone.”
“Who?”
Margaret didn't answer.
We slipped through the rear service door and reached the parking garage. Rain had begun falling again, turning the concrete ramps slick and reflecting the fluorescent lights.
Valeria walked beside me.
“You're still not telling me everything.”
“I know.”
“Why?”
“Because I don't know who to trust.”
“You can trust me.”
She gave me a sad smile.
“That's what I used to think about Dad.”
We reached Margaret's car.
Before she unlocked it, Valeria stopped.
“There.”
Across the street, a dark sedan sat with its headlights off.
My mother whispered, “Is that the same car?”
Margaret nodded.
Nobody approached it.
After several seconds, the sedan started and disappeared around the corner.
Margaret unlocked the car.
“We need somewhere private.”
She drove us to an old house owned by a former colleague. It stood beyond a line of trees, far from the main road. The electricity worked, but the place had been empty for months.
Inside, Margaret drew the curtains.
Valeria placed the USB drive on the kitchen table.
“There are files here I couldn't open.”
Margaret connected it to an old laptop.
Three folders appeared.
FINANCIAL.
PROPERTY.
ARCHIVE.
The first two opened normally.
The third requested a password.
“Try Valeria,” I said.
She did.
Nothing.
“My birthday?”
Nothing.
“My father's?”
Nothing.
My mother stared at the screen.
“Try Chloe.”
Valeria looked at her.
“You remember her?”
“No.”
“Then why Chloe?”
“I don't know.”
Margaret typed the name.
The folder opened.
Nobody spoke.
Photographs filled the screen.
The first showed Chloe standing outside a large house.
The second showed her holding a young boy.
The third showed my father beside the same child.
My mother leaned forward.
“I know that boy.”
I looked at her.
“How?”
Her face had drained of color.
“Because his face was in your grandfather's old photographs.”
Valeria whispered, “Who is he?”
My mother answered without looking away.
“Elias.”
Margaret frowned.
“Elias who?”
My mother shook her head.
“Your grandfather's family had a man named Elias.”
Valeria stared at the photograph.
Then another file appeared.
A scanned document.
The child's name had been erased.
Underneath the blacked-out section, someone had written one word by hand.
ELLIS.
Valeria stepped backward.
“That was the name I used.”
I looked at her.
“Why?”
“Because someone told me to.”
“Who?”
She didn't answer.
The laptop screen flickered.
A new file appeared without anyone touching the keyboard.
Today's date.
Margaret opened it.
There was only one sentence.
You are looking in the wrong generation.
The screen went black.
My mother whispered, “Someone knows we're here.”
Valeria stared at the dark screen.
“No.”
She shook her head.
“They've known for years.”
Click here to continue reading: PART 6: The Photograph of a Child Opened an Older Family Secret, and My Mother Finally Admitted What She Had Spent Years Trying to Forget
The Face on the Television Was Supposed to Belong to a Dead Woman, Until She Spoke My Name and Changed Everything
Part 5 of 26
