Chapter 7 - THE OTHER RACHEL
I thought I had reached the limit of what one morning could do to a person.
I was wrong.
“There is no other Rachel Bennett.”
Vanessa reached for the bank statement again.
“According to the trust documents, there is.”
Marcus frowned.
“Could it be a clerical error?”
“No.”
Vanessa looked at me.
“The beneficiary’s date of birth is different.”
My pulse hammered.
“What date?”
She gave it.
October 19, 1968.
I almost stopped breathing.
“That’s Daniel’s mother’s birthday.”
Malcolm looked at me.
“You said Angela Bennett died years ago.”
“She did.”
“When?”
“2009.”
He frowned.
“The trust was created in 2023.”
My mind raced.
Why would Daniel create a beneficiary using his dead mother’s birthday and my name?
Then I remembered something.
During the final month of Daniel’s life, he sometimes became confused from medication.
One night he woke suddenly and grabbed my arm.
“Rachel found them,” he whispered.
I thought he meant me.
I had asked:
“Found what?”
He stared at me for a long time.
Then said:
“Not you.”
At the time, I assumed he was delirious.
Now my skin prickled.
“There was another Rachel.”
Marcus asked:
“Who?”
I looked toward the USB.
“We need the rest of Daniel’s files.”
Malcolm immediately said:
“Do not open them here.”
I turned.
“Why?”
“Because if the LAST RESORT folder is what I think it is, the moment it opens on an internet-connected device, copies may be sent automatically.”
“To who?”
“Federal investigators.”
Vanessa scoffed.
“That’s exactly what we should avoid.”
I looked at her.
“Why?”
She realized too late.
“Because my family—”
“Because your family is involved.”
She said nothing.
Marcus held up the offline laptop.
“This isn’t connected.”
We returned to the security office.
Malcolm and Vanessa came too.
Nobody trusted anybody enough to separate.
I opened the RACHEL folder.
There were only two files.
One photograph.
One letter.
I clicked the photograph first.
A woman stood outside a hospital.
Late fifties.
Dark hair streaked with gray.
Thin face.
Familiar eyes.
I knew those eyes.
Not from Daniel.
From my mirror.
I stopped breathing.
Marcus whispered:
“Rachel?”
I moved closer.
The woman looked enough like me to make my stomach turn.
Malcolm said softly:
“Who is she?”
“I don’t know.”
But something inside me did.
A childhood memory surfaced.
A photograph my father once kept in a desk drawer.
A woman holding me as a baby.
He told me she was a nurse.
Years later, the photograph disappeared.
I opened Daniel’s letter.
Rachel,
If you ever find this, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.
The woman in the photograph is named Rebecca Bennett.
She is not related to me.
She is related to you.
My hands began shaking.
I kept reading.
Your father lied about what happened to your mother.
I covered my mouth.
My mother had supposedly died when I was two.
Car accident.
That was the story I had lived with my entire life.
Daniel’s next sentence shattered it.
May you like
Rebecca Bennett is your mother.
And she is alive.
