Chapter 3 - THE FATHER I BURIED BEFORE I WAS BORN
My father died three months before I was born.
That was the story my mother had told me for twenty-eight years.
His name was Michael Carter.
He worked in construction.
A workplace accident took his life, and Mom had been left alone to raise me.
I grew up with no photographs of him because our basement apartment flooded when I was little.
No grandparents on his side.
No birthday cards.
No family stories.
Just an empty place where a father should have been.
Now Mom was telling me a stranger had appeared at our apartment claiming he'd survived.
"Mom, are you sure that's what she said?"
Her breathing was uneven.
"She knew things, Sophie."
"What things?"
"Your father's middle name. The hospital where you were born. The little silver bracelet he bought before you arrived."
I looked toward Adrien.
He was watching me carefully.
"Mom, lock the door. Don't let anyone else inside. I'm coming."
After I hung up, I explained.
Mrs. Ellis went pale.
Adrien's expression hardened.
"Do you want someone to accompany you?"
I hesitated.
Every instinct told me to refuse.
But someone had paid to fire me.
And now that same person knew where my mother lived.
"Yes," I admitted. "But I'm driving my own car."
Adrien nodded.
"Of course."
Forty minutes later, I reached our small apartment in Lincoln Square.
Mom opened the door before I knocked.
She looked exhausted.
Her gray cardigan hung loosely around her shoulders, and she'd clearly been crying.
Then she noticed Adrien standing behind me.
Her face changed.
"Oh, God."
I frowned.
"Mom?"
She gripped the doorframe.
"Adrien Voss."
Adrien stopped.
"Mrs. Carter?"
"You look just like your father."
The hallway went quiet.
I looked between them.
"You know his family?"
Mom stepped backward.
"I knew Victor Voss."
Adrien's expression hardened.
"My father."
She nodded.
Then she looked at me.
"Sophie, there are things I should've told you years ago."
I took her hand.
"Then tell me now."
She sat on the couch.
For several seconds, she couldn't speak.
Finally, she whispered, "Your father wasn't a construction worker."
I felt my heart hammer.
"What?"
"He was a financial investigator."
I stared.
"He worked for Whitmore Industries."
Mrs. Ellis's earlier words echoed in my mind.
The Whitmore family.
The missing money.
The strange woman named Evelyn Shaw.
Mom continued.
"Michael discovered that someone was stealing millions through charitable trusts."
"And?"
"He planned to report everything."
My hands trembled.
"What happened?"
Mom covered her face.
"He disappeared."
I felt sick.
"Did anyone find him?"
She shook her head.
"No."
"Then why did you tell me he was dead?"
Her voice broke.
"Because someone delivered his wedding ring and told me you'd be next if I kept looking."
A terrible silence followed.
Then Mom reached beneath the couch cushion.
She pulled out a small envelope.
Inside was an old photograph.
A young man stood beside an expensive black car.
He had dark hair and my blue eyes.
Beside him stood Victor Voss.
Adrien's father.
May you like
And written on the back were six words that changed everything.
MICHAEL KNOWS WHERE THE CHILDREN ARE.
