Chapter 7 - THE ELEVEN CHILDREN NOBODY REMEMBERED
The children in the photograph looked terrified.
Some were barefoot.
One little boy held a stuffed rabbit.
Behind them, flames climbed the side of a warehouse near Chicago's South Branch.
I leaned closer.
“Who are they?”
Dominic enlarged the photograph.
His expression changed.
“I remember this fire.”
“When?”
“Seventeen years ago.”
I looked at him.
“You were there?”
“No. My father's company owned the warehouse.”
The photograph was dated November 12, 2009.
According to the official report, the building had been empty when it burned.
No injuries.
No fatalities.
But my mother's folder contained a different report.
Eleven children had been trapped inside.
Eight survived.
Three disappeared.
I felt sick.
“Why were children in a warehouse?”
Dominic opened another file.
Shipping manifests.
Payments.
Names.
A network of fraudulent charities and illegal labor contractors.
The children had been brought into the country under false promises of adoption or employment for their parents.
Then they'd been hidden while criminals arranged where to send them.
Dominic's face went gray.
“My father financed this.”
“Did you know?”
“No.”
I wanted to believe him.
But I had spent three years working in his house, watching powerful men lower their voices when he entered.
“Dominic.”
He looked at me.
“If you discover you benefited from this, what will you do?”
His answer came without hesitation.
“Help bring it down.”
I searched his face.
There was no performance in his expression.
Only shame.
And anger.
He opened another document.
A list of eleven names.
Beside three were the words UNACCOUNTED FOR.
One name made me stop breathing.
LUCY CARTER.
I stared.
“That can't be right.”
Dominic looked at me.
“Emily?”
“My mother told me my little sister died when she was four.”
His eyes widened.
“You had a sister?”
I nodded.
“Lucy. She was born when I was nine. She got sick. Mom said the hospital couldn't save her.”
Dominic scrolled.
The child in the photograph was labeled Lucy Carter.
Age four.
Missing after the fire.
I felt the room tilt.
“My sister was alive?”
Dominic caught my shoulders.
“Emily, sit down.”
I pushed his hands away.
“No. Don't tell me to sit down.”
He stepped back.
I looked at the screen again.
Lucy had my mother's eyes.
My nose.
My childhood smile.
I covered my mouth.
For seventeen years, I'd mourned a little girl who might never have died.
Dominic examined the file.
“There's a notation beside her name.”
“What?”
He enlarged it.
A relocation code.
A date.
And a signature.
Caleb Moretti.
I stared at the signature.
“He was involved?”
Dominic's expression hardened.
“He would've been twenty-one.”
“Old enough to know what he was doing.”
“Yes.”
I looked toward the door.
“Take me to him.”
“Emily—”
“Now.”
Dominic studied me.
Then nodded.
“Okay.”
We reached the basement security room ten minutes later.
Victor opened the door.
Caleb sat at a table, handcuffed.
When he saw me, he went pale.
I placed the photograph in front of him.
“Where is my sister?”
Caleb stared at Lucy's face.
Then he looked at Dominic.
“You opened the folder.”
“Answer her,” Dominic said.
Caleb swallowed.
“Emily, your sister didn't die.”
My knees nearly gave out.
“Where is she?”
He closed his eyes.
May you like
Then whispered the name of a woman I'd trusted for three years.
“She's been living in this house.”
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