Chapter 4 - THE CHILD IN THE PHOTOGRAPH
I remembered almost nothing from before I was five.
A red scarf.
A man laughing somewhere above me.
An elevator bell.
Grandma always told me childhood memories were unreliable.
Now I wondered how many she had helped me forget.
Vincent enlarged the photograph.
His father looked younger.
Harder.
But he wasn’t smiling at the camera.
He was smiling at me.
I sat on his arm, holding a stuffed rabbit.
Grandma stood beside us.
“What was I doing there?”
Vincent looked troubled.
“I don’t know.”
Luke studied the back of the photo.
“There’s handwriting.”
He read aloud.
CLAIRE — KEEP HER AWAY FROM MERCER.
My stomach dropped.
“Who wrote that?”
Vincent recognized it immediately.
“My father.”
I stared at him.
“Why would your father care about me?”
Before he could answer, a detective called Vincent.
Police had located Charles Mercer.
Alive.
He had walked into a hospital with a gunshot wound to the shoulder.
No Eleanor.
The police wanted to question him.
Vincent looked at me.
“You stay here.”
“No.”
He sighed.
“Claire.”
“He knows where my grandmother is.”
“Yes.”
“Then I’m coming.”
Vincent studied me for several seconds.
“Fine.”
The hospital interrogation room smelled like antiseptic.
Mercer looked seventy.
Weak.
Pale.
But his eyes sharpened the moment he saw me through the observation window.
“That’s her.”
The detective frowned.
“Who?”
Mercer pointed toward me.
“Claire Bennett.”
My skin went cold.
Vincent stepped forward.
“Where is Eleanor?”
Mercer laughed weakly.
“Still giving orders, Vincent?”
“Where is she?”
“You grew into your father’s arrogance.”
Vincent’s jaw tightened.
The detective raised a hand.
“Mr. Mercer, answer the question.”
Mercer looked at me.
“Your grandmother is safe.”
“Where?”
“She went where nobody in the Hayes family would think to look.”
Vincent’s voice turned dangerous.
“Try me.”
Mercer smiled.
“That’s the problem. Your father already did.”
The detective leaned forward.
“What happened in the car?”
Mercer’s expression changed.
“Someone followed us.”
“Who?”
“I didn’t see.”
“Who shot you?”
“Same person who killed Arthur Hayes.”
Vincent went completely still.
“What?”
Mercer looked almost pleased.
“You really don’t know.”
“Know what?”
“Your father discovered the ledger was never stolen.”
Silence.
“He hid it himself.”
Vincent stared.
“Why?”
“Because it contained proof someone inside his family was stealing from him.”
My pulse quickened.
“Who?”
Mercer turned toward Vincent.
“Your mother.”
Vincent’s face went blank.
Then Mercer looked at me.
“And Eleanor wasn’t Arthur’s secretary when she disappeared.”
“What was she?”
His answer made me stop breathing.
“She was protecting you.”
I stared.
“From what?”
May you like
Mercer’s voice dropped.
“From the reason your parents were killed.”
