Chapter 7 - THE FAMILY SECRET
We listened to the recording three times.
Daniel's voice revealed a secret so devastating that I couldn't look at Claire afterward.
Rebecca wasn't merely an accomplice.
She had been the person who originally designed the money-laundering scheme.
She had created the shell companies.
She had recruited my father.
And she had manipulated Savannah for years.
But there was more.
Daniel said Rebecca had a reason for targeting me.
A reason connected to my birth.
Claire finally whispered:
"Your mother wasn't supposed to raise you."
I looked at her.
"What does that mean?"
Daniel's recording answered.
Your father believed Lila was his daughter.
But he was wrong.
I stopped breathing.
Claire stared at me.
"Daniel believed you were his daughter."
I shook my head.
"No."
"He had proof."
"No."
"The blood test..."
I stood up.
"Stop."
Claire didn't.
"Your father stole you from my family."
My knees nearly gave out.
"What?"
Daniel explained that my mother had given birth to twins.
One child was me.
The other was Claire's younger sister.
But one baby died shortly after birth.
Or so everyone believed.
Rebecca had secretly arranged the records.
She had taken me.
Then she convinced my father that I was his biological daughter.
The reason?
Daniel had discovered that Rebecca wanted control of his estate.
She believed that if his legal heir disappeared, everything would eventually pass through my father.
I looked at Claire.
"So you think I'm..."
"My sister."
The words landed like a physical blow.
I sat down.
All my life, I had believed Savannah was my sister.
My parents had told me we were born two years apart.
They had told me Savannah was the older child.
They had told me our family history was simple.
It wasn't.
It had been manufactured.
The adoption records were fake.
My birth certificate was fake.
Even the photograph of me as a baby had been altered.
Claire held my hand.
"I'm sorry."
I pulled away.
"Why didn't you tell me sooner?"
"Because I didn't know where you were."
"You've been looking for me?"
"For eleven years."
Then my phone rang.
Savannah.
I answered.
Her voice was barely audible.
"Lila..."
"Where are you?"
"I don't know."
"What do you mean?"
"They took me."
My heart stopped.
"Who?"
"I don't know."
I heard movement.
Then Savannah whispered:
"Rachel."
A door slammed.
Savannah screamed.
The call ended.
I immediately called the police.
Then another message arrived.
A photograph.
Savannah was tied to a chair.
Behind her was a wall covered with old family photographs.
And one photograph had been circled in red.
It showed my mother holding two newborn babies.
One was me.
The other was Claire.
Under the picture was a handwritten sentence:
ONE OF THEM WAS NEVER SUPPOSED TO SURVIVE.
Claire stared at the image.
Then she whispered:
"I know that room."
"What room?"
"My father's old farmhouse."
"Where is it?"
She gave me an address.
Twenty minutes later, we were driving through the countryside.
The farmhouse had been abandoned for years.
The front door was unlocked.
Inside, photographs covered every wall.
My family.
Daniel.
Rebecca.
Dad.
Mom.
Savannah.
And me.
There were hundreds.
Someone had been watching us for decades.
Then we heard a sound upstairs.
A woman laughing.
Claire grabbed my arm.
We climbed the stairs.
At the end of the hallway stood Rachel.
She was holding a gun.
And beside her was my father.
He looked at me.
"You're finally here."
May you like
Rachel smiled.
"Now we can finish what Rebecca started."
