Chapter 7 - THE GIRL WHO DISAPPEARED BEFORE SUNRISE
Sophie's apartment door was open when we arrived.
Her furniture had been overturned.
Her phone lay broken beside the couch.
And the little yellow notebook she carried everywhere was missing.
I stood in the doorway, remembering the way she'd hugged me on my birthday.
The way she'd saved extra strawberries for my pastries.
The way she'd gone pale whenever Nathan entered the kitchen.
"She knew," I whispered.
Vincent turned.
"What?"
"Sophie knew something about Nathan."
"Why do you think that?"
"She was terrified of him."
Vincent's expression darkened.
"Did she ever say why?"
I shook my head.
"Whenever I asked, she said it was complicated."
The investigators examined the apartment.
A neighbor reported seeing Sophie leave with a woman in a gray sedan shortly before dawn.
She hadn't appeared frightened.
But she'd been carrying a suitcase.
That detail bothered me.
Had she been kidnapped?
Or had she fled?
Vincent took out his phone.
"Find out who she contacted before leaving."
Then he looked at me.
"Lena, I want you somewhere secure."
I crossed my arms.
"I'm not hiding while Sophie is missing."
His jaw tightened.
"I'm not ordering you."
"Then don't start."
For a moment, his eyes flashed.
Then something changed.
He nodded.
"Fair enough."
We returned to the estate.
The kitchen felt different without Sophie.
Too quiet.
Too empty.
I opened her locker.
Inside were her spare shoes, a knitted scarf, and a photograph of two little girls standing beside a Christmas tree.
One girl was Sophie.
The other looked familiar.
I leaned closer.
The second child had dark hair, round cheeks, and a gap between her front teeth.
Me.
I stopped breathing.
I remembered that photograph.
It had been taken at a holiday gathering when I was eight.
I'd believed the other girl was a cousin.
My mother had never corrected me.
I turned it over.
On the back, written in Margaret Brooks's handwriting, were two names.
Lena and Elena.
My knees weakened.
Sophie wasn't simply Daniel Calder's daughter.
She had been part of my childhood.
And someone had deliberately separated us.
I sat on the kitchen bench.
Vincent approached.
"What is it?"
I handed him the photograph.
He stared.
"That's you."
I nodded.
"And Sophie."
His expression changed.
For a moment, he looked like the weight of his entire family history had landed on his shoulders.
Then he said quietly, "My brother had a daughter all this time."
Tears filled my eyes.
"And my mother tried to protect her."
Vincent turned toward the investigators.
"Find her."
His voice was calm.
But I knew what lay beneath it.
Fear.
Guilt.
And something else.
Hope.
That evening, an unknown number called my phone.
I answered.
A woman's voice whispered, "Lena?"
My heart stopped.
"Sophie?"
She began crying.
"I'm sorry."
"Where are you?"
"I can't tell you."
"Are you safe?"
"For now."
I stood.
"What's happening?"
She took a shaky breath.
"Nathan found out I was searching for my birth records."
I gripped the counter.
"Sophie, listen to me. We can help you."
"No."
"Why?"
Her voice broke.
"Because Nathan isn't working alone."
Then she whispered the name that made my blood run cold.
May you like
"Everett."
Our executive chef.
