Chapter 3 - THE WOMAN IN THE PHOTOGRAPH
Three days later, I found the photograph.
Not online.
Not in a database.
In my mother's old cedar chest.
Abigail sat beside me as I opened it.
There were letters.
Military commendations.
Old photographs.
And one sealed envelope.
On the front, my mother's handwriting said:
FOR RACHEL — ONLY IF THEY COME FOR MY FAMILY.
My hands went cold.
I opened it.
Inside was a photograph.
My mother stood beside a younger man.
Daniel Cross.
And between them stood another woman.
I recognized her immediately.
The woman from Abigail's description.
She looked like my mother.
But she wasn't.
On the back:
Evelyn Mercer — witness protection asset.
I stared at the words.
My mother had never told me about her.
Then another document fell from the envelope.
A list.
Names.
Companies.
Dates.
Payments.
The Ferguson family appeared repeatedly.
Abigail stared at the pages.
“They've been connected to your mother for years.”
“No.”
I shook my head.
“They've been connected to something my mother was investigating.”
That distinction mattered.
The next morning, Daniel Cross appeared outside my house.
I recognized him immediately.
He was older than the photograph.
But alive.
“You're supposed to be dead,” I said.
He smiled sadly.
“Your mother wanted me to be.”
“Why?”
“Because I knew too much.”
He explained that twenty years earlier, my mother had discovered a network moving money through veterans' charities.
The Ferguson family wasn't the mastermind.
They were one of several intermediaries.
But someone had continued the operation.
Someone inside the government.
“Who?”
Daniel looked at me.
“We never found out.”
“Then why are you here?”
“Because your daughter found the same trail.”
My blood ran cold.
“Abigail?”
“She opened the room.”
Daniel nodded.
“And someone panicked.”
That explained the assault.
The confinement.
The media campaign.
They weren't trying to punish Abigail.
They were trying to scare her into silence.
Then Daniel said something that changed everything.
“Your mother left one final piece of evidence.”
“Where?”
“In the Ferguson estate.”
The brass key.
The locked room.
Suddenly everything connected.
I looked at Abigail.
“We're going back.”
Daniel shook his head.
“Not yet.”
“Why?”
“Because they want you to.”
He placed a photograph on the table.
It showed my car.
Parked outside my house.
Someone had been watching us.
“They're setting a trap.”
May you like
I smiled.
“Then we'll let them think it worked.”
