“Send me that.”
Claire’s voice came through the phone with a calmness I knew meant she was frightened.
I forwarded the photograph.
Marlene leaned over Claire’s shoulder.
Daniel remained standing across the table.
His expression changed when he saw the document.
“You’ve seen this before,” Claire said.
“No.”
“Yes, you have.”
“I’ve seen documents like it.”
“What does that mean?”
Daniel looked toward the phone.
“Evan, who sent you that?”
“Unknown number.”
“Did you respond?”
“No.”
“Don’t.”
The urgency in his voice made me suspicious immediately.
“Why?”
“Because whoever has those records has been sitting on them for decades.”
“Maybe they’re finally trying to help.”
Daniel laughed.
“People sitting on six-million-dollar secrets don’t suddenly become generous.”
My mother leaned toward the screen.
“Look at the date.”
I had already seen it without understanding its significance.
October 3, 1999.
Claire stared at it.
“That was when Rebecca disappeared.”
Marlene nodded faintly.
“She left for the cabin October second.”
“When did she come back?”
“Mid-November.”
Daniel corrected her.
“November eighteenth.”
Claire looked at him.
“You remember the exact day.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Daniel’s jaw tightened.
“Because she brought you to my office.”
“What happened?”
“She told me I would never see either of you again.”
Claire’s expression hardened.
“Why?”
“She thought I had stolen from her.”
“Had you?”
“No.”
Daniel’s answer was immediate.
Marlene looked at him in a way that suggested she had stopped assuming anything.
Claire turned to the bank document.
“October third. While Rebecca and I were hiding, someone opened an account in Evan’s name.”
I looked at my mother.
“Dad was with us that week.”
She nodded.
“He took you fishing.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“Could he have signed something before?”
“I don’t know.”
Daniel spoke.
“The account may not have required him to be physically present.”
“What does that mean?”
“Victor controlled half the banks in this county through business relationships.”
“That sounds convenient.”
“It sounds corrupt.”
The word landed harder.
I looked down at Luca.
My son slept through everything.
A week earlier, the biggest failure I could imagine was forgetting Claire’s prescription.
Now my childhood identity was attached to an account worth millions, Claire’s mother had apparently been declared dead while still alive, and at least one person was contacting us from somewhere close enough to know which records we had found.
My first instinct was to solve it.
Call a lawyer.
Call the bank.
Call police.
Start demanding answers.
Then I looked at Claire.
Her face was exhausted.
Her incision was only days old.
“Are you in pain?”
She blinked.
“What?”
“Your incision.”
Everyone looked at me.
Claire almost smiled.
“A little.”
“Did you take your medication?”
“Yes.”
“Eat anything?”
“Half a sandwich.”
“Finish it before we keep going.”
Daniel made an impatient sound.
Claire turned on him immediately.
“No.”
“What?”
“He’s right.”
She reached for the sandwich on the table.
For some reason, that tiny decision mattered.
The mystery could wait ten minutes.
Her body could not.
While she ate, I changed Luca’s diaper, prepared a bottle of expressed milk Claire had left in the refrigerator, and carried him around the living room until he settled.
My mother watched me.
“You’re different.”
I did not answer.
I had no interest in being congratulated for doing what Claire had needed from the beginning.
Another message arrived.
SAME ACCOUNT. DIFFERENT NAME.
This photograph showed a transfer.
Six million dollars had moved from a trust identified by a long numerical code into the account bearing my name.
The originating trust had a beneficiary listed.
Rebecca Anne Hale.
Claire nearly dropped her sandwich.
“Hale?”
Marlene nodded.
“Our maiden name.”
Daniel moved toward Claire.
“Let me see.”
She pulled the phone away.
“No.”
“Claire.”
“You can see it from there.”
His expression tightened.
“Whoever is sending this may be manipulating you.”
“So might you.”
He stepped back.
The statement hurt him.
Good, I thought.
Then felt ashamed of the satisfaction.
Marlene studied the image.
“That money was hers.”
Daniel said nothing.
Claire noticed.
“You knew.”
“I knew Peter believed there was a trust.”
“Did you know how much?”
“No.”
“Did you know Victor moved it?”
“No.”
“Did you know Evan’s name was used?”
“No.”
Three denials.
Each plausible.
None trustworthy anymore.
My mother sat beside me.
“Thomas once told me you had money somewhere.”
I looked at her.
“You said that.”
“I thought he meant a college account.”
“Six million dollars?”
“He didn’t tell me the amount.”
“Did he ever give you access?”
“No.”
“Did he try?”
“Once.”
“When?”
“Before he died.”
A cold feeling returned.
“What happened?”
“He said there was something he needed to put in order for you.”
“Why didn’t he?”
“He got sick.”
My father had died of pancreatic cancer eleven months after diagnosis.
For most of that year, he had still worked.
“Dad had time.”
“Yes.”
“So what stopped him?”
Mom looked down.
“He said opening the account would alert the wrong person.”
“Victor?”
She nodded.
“But Victor outlived Dad by three years.”
“Yes.”
“Then why didn’t you do anything after Dad died?”
“Because I was afraid.”
I almost snapped at her.
The old reflex rose quickly.
Fear was not an excuse.
Then I remembered how easily I had dismissed Claire’s fear in the hospital and after.
“What exactly were you afraid would happen?”
Mom took a long breath.
“To you.”
“What threat?”
“Thomas got calls.”
“When?”
“During his last year.”
“From Victor?”
“I don’t know.”
“What did they say?”
“That if he touched the account, old debts would be collected.”
Daniel heard.
“Old debts.”
He repeated the phrase.
Marlene stared at him.
“You recognize that?”
“Peter used to say Victor kept two books. One for money. One for favors.”
Claire’s eyes narrowed.
“What favors?”
“People he owned.”
I said, “That sounds dramatic.”
“It was.”
Daniel leaned toward the table.
“Judges. Contractors. Inspectors. Police. Bank officers. Victor helped people when they were vulnerable, then kept proof of what they owed him.”
“Was Thomas one of them?”
“Yes.”
My mother whispered, “No.”
Daniel looked toward the screen.
“Elaine, Thomas built his company with Victor’s money.”
“That doesn’t mean Victor owned him.”
“It did to Victor.”
Claire finished the sandwich and set down the plate.
“What did Victor want from Rebecca?”
“Control of the trust.”
“Why couldn’t he just steal it?”
“He practically did.”
“But why move it into Evan’s name?”
Daniel looked genuinely uncertain.
“That part never made sense.”
Marlene spoke quietly.
“Unless Thomas was trying to hide it.”
We all looked at her.
She continued.
“What if Thomas transferred the money away from Victor?”
Daniel shook his head.
“He couldn’t.”
“Why?”
“Victor controlled the trust.”
“Maybe Peter gave Thomas access.”
Daniel became still.
Claire noticed.
“What?”
“Peter had copies of authentication codes.”
“You knew that?”
“He told Rebecca.”
Marlene whispered, “The week before he died.”
I stared at the screen.
“How did Peter die?”
No one answered immediately.
Daniel finally said, “House fire.”
“Accidental?”
“Officially.”
Claire gave him a cold look.
“That word again.”
“Because official answers mattered around Victor Shaw.”
Marlene looked toward the box.
“Peter died in 1998.”
“When exactly?” Claire asked.
“December.”
“The picture with Rebecca was Christmas 1998.”
“Yes.”
“Before or after?”
Marlene frowned.
“Before.”
“So he died after Christmas.”
“December twenty-ninth.”
Claire began searching through the box.
“What are you looking for?”
“The photograph.”
She found it beneath several folders.
Rebecca stood holding toddler Claire beside a Christmas tree.
Peter was not in the image.
Claire turned it over.
The date written there said Christmas, 1998.
Then she held it closer to the camera.
“There’s something else.”
“What?”
“Another date underneath.”
The ink had faded, but someone had written over it.
Claire angled the paper.
“December 31.”
Marlene frowned.
“That can’t be right.”
“Why?”
“Peter died on the twenty-ninth.”
Claire looked at the photograph again.
“Then who wrote the later date?”
Daniel moved closer.
“Let me see.”
Claire handed it to him reluctantly.
He studied the back.
His face changed.
“What?”
Daniel turned the photograph over.
“That’s not Rebecca.”
Claire stared.
“What?”
He pointed to the woman holding the child.
“That’s Marlene.”
Everyone looked at her.
Marlene shook her head.
“No.”
Daniel held the photograph beside his wife’s face.
“You two looked almost identical when you were young.”
Claire’s expression became confused.
“Mom?”
Marlene took the photo.
Her fingers trembled.
“I don’t remember this.”
“Could you have forgotten?”
“I would remember holding you at Christmas.”
Claire stared.
“Unless it wasn’t me.”
Silence.
The toddler in the photograph looked about three.
Dark hair.
Same age Claire would have been.
Marlene suddenly sat down.
“No.”
“What?”
“There was another child.”
Claire went completely still.
“What child?”
Marlene closed her eyes.
“Rebecca had twins.”
The phone almost slipped from my hand.
Claire whispered, “What?”
“One was stillborn.”
“That’s what I was told.”
Marlene looked at Daniel.
He looked equally stunned.
“I never knew.”
“Yes, you did.”
“No.”
“You were at the hospital.”
“I was in the waiting room.”
Claire leaned toward Marlene.
“Was the other baby really dead?”
Marlene’s breathing became shallow.
“I never saw her.”
“Her?”
“Yes.”
“A girl?”
“Yes.”
Claire looked at the photograph.
“If she lived…”
No one finished the sentence.
My phone vibrated again.
This time the message contained only four words.
CLAIRE WAS NOT THE FIRSTBORN.
A second image followed.
Two infant footprints.
Two identification numbers.
Same birth date.
March 14, 1995.
My chest tightened.
Claire stared at the screen.
“Marlene.”
Her voice shook.
“I wasn’t an only child.”
Click here to continue reading: PART 8: The Record of Claire’s Twin Should Have Been Impossible, Until One Familiar Name Appeared Beside the Missing Baby
Four Hours After Surgery, One Ordinary Question Made My Wife Look at Me Like a Stranger
Part 7 of 28
