Chapter 4 - THE GIRL CALLED ANNA VALE
Adrien arrived at my apartment before sunrise.
No convoy.
No army.
Just Luca.
That mattered.
I played Mateo’s recording.
Adrien did not move through the entire thing.
When it ended, he asked:
“Can I hear it again?”
We played it three times.
Then he looked at the hospital bracelet.
“Where was she treated?”
The code belonged to a small private clinic outside Waukegan.
It had closed seven years earlier.
But Luca found archived admission logs.
A six-year-old girl had arrived at 11:48 p.m. the night of the crash.
No name.
Concussion.
Broken wrist.
Minor hypothermia.
At 2:16 a.m., she was transferred.
Destination:
St. Anne Children’s Home.
Adrien stood so quickly the table shook.
“Why was this never in the police file?”
Luca looked sick.
“Someone removed it.”
St. Anne had shut down years ago.
Its records moved to a Catholic services archive.
By noon, we had a name.
Anna Vale.
Age six.
No known parents.
Entered emergency care the night of Ava’s disappearance.
Adrien stared at the photograph on the old intake card.
Even grainy and faded, it was obvious.
Same eyes.
Same chin.
His daughter.
Alive after the crash.
He touched the screen.
“Ava.”
I looked away.
Eight years of grief collapsed into one photograph.
Records showed Anna remained at St. Anne for four months.
Then she was placed with a foster family in Green Bay.
Two years later, she was adopted.
Her new records were sealed.
Adrien wanted every name immediately.
The archive administrator refused without a court order.
I expected Adrien to threaten him.
Instead he called a lawyer.
Maybe he saw my surprise.
“I’m trying something new.”
“What?”
“Not terrifying civilians.”
Despite everything, I almost smiled.
The legal process would take days.
Luca found another path.
St. Anne had maintained correspondence files.
One letter from “Anna Vale,” written at age nine, had been forwarded to an address in Chicago.
The recipient:
Adrien Voss.
He had never received it.
Neither had he received four more letters.
Ava had been writing to her father for years.
Someone had intercepted every one.
The forwarding address belonged to Voss Holdings’ corporate office.
Only a handful of senior people could access executive mail.
One remained employed.
Martin Coyle.
My stomach tightened.
I knew him.
Everyone at the mansion did.
Adrien’s seventy-year-old attorney.
His father’s attorney before him.
The man who handled family trusts, wills, and inheritance disputes.
Luca searched internal archives.
Five unopened envelopes were found inside an old legal storage box registered to Coyle.
Adrien opened the first.
Daddy,
I don’t know if you know where I am.
They told me maybe you didn’t want me because I survived and Mommy didn’t.
Adrien stopped reading.
His hands shook.
The second letter contained a sentence that made Luca swear.
Ava wrote:
Uncle Victor visited me again. He says I can never come home because you are the reason Mommy died.
Adrien closed his eyes.
Victor had not merely hidden Ava.
He had spent years teaching a child to fear her own father.
Then we opened the final letter.
Written only five months earlier.
Daddy,
I’m fourteen now.
I don’t believe Uncle Victor anymore.
I think he lied.
Someone is following me again.
And if I disappear, please find the man named Conrad.
Adrien stared at the page.
Victor Voss had a son.
Adrien’s cousin.
Conrad.
May you like
Alive.
And unlike Victor, Conrad knew Ava had started asking questions.
