Chapter 5 - The Night My Mother Disappeared
I didn't sleep after the messages arrived.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw my mother's face.
Not the smiling woman from family photographs.
The frightened woman I imagined standing inside Warehouse 17.
Alive.
Waiting.
Perhaps calling for help.
By sunrise, I'd made a decision.
I was going to confront my father.
But first, I needed to know whether the messages were genuine.
Rebecca arrived at nine.
I handed her my phone.
She read everything twice.
"Have you responded?"
"No."
"Good."
She photographed the messages and documented the timestamps.
"Don't delete anything. We may be able to obtain records through lawful process."
"Do you think someone is telling the truth?"
Rebecca looked at me carefully.
"I think someone wants you frightened."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only honest one I have."
I looked toward Owen's nursery.
"What if Mom survived?"
Rebecca's expression softened.
"Then we'll follow the evidence."
My father returned home at noon.
He looked exhausted.
His shirt was wrinkled, and there were dark circles beneath his eyes.
I was waiting in the living room.
"Sit down, Dad."
He stopped.
"Elena?"
"Please."
He sat.
I placed the photograph of my mother and Arthur on the coffee table.
Then I showed him the messages.
His face changed.
Not with surprise.
With recognition.
"You know something," I whispered.
He closed his eyes.
"Dad."
"Your mother was investigating the warehouse."
"I know."
"She believed the Cole family was using it to move illegal shipments."
"I know that too."
He looked at me sharply.
"How?"
"Rebecca found the ownership records."
My father stood and began pacing.
"Your mother had arranged to meet a witness that night. A man who claimed he could prove Arthur and Richard Cole were working together."
"Who was he?"
"I never knew his real name."
"What happened?"
My father's voice broke.
"She called me at nine seventeen. She said she'd found something terrible. She told me to take you somewhere safe."
I felt tears burning behind my eyes.
"What did you do?"
"I went to your grandmother's house. I picked you up from your sleepover and drove you to a motel outside the city."
"Why didn't you call the police?"
"I did."
He looked at me.
"That's what I never told you."
I stared.
"The police?"
"Yes. I called a detective I trusted. He promised to meet your mother."
"What happened?"
My father's hands trembled.
"An hour later, the detective called me back."
I waited.
"He told me your mother's car had crashed."
The room felt suddenly cold.
"And the detective?"
My father swallowed.
"His name was Thomas Reed."
I frowned.
"Where is he now?"
"Dead."
"How?"
"Supposedly suicide."
I looked down at the photograph.
My mother.
Arthur.
The warehouse.
The Cole family.
A dead detective.
Seventeen years of silence.
I whispered, "Someone covered it up."
My father nodded.
"Yes."
Across Chicago, Graham stood over Vanessa in his penthouse.
She was sitting on the sofa, crying.
"Victor is your brother?" he repeated.
Vanessa nodded.
"My half brother. My father had another family."
"And you forgot to mention that?"
"I was ashamed."
Graham stared at her.
"Victor tried to kill me."
"He told me you ordered the murder of his wife."
Graham went still.
"What?"
Vanessa wiped her cheeks.
"He said you destroyed his family."
"That's a lie."
"How was I supposed to know?"
"Because you could've asked me."
She looked away.
Graham's voice hardened.
"How long have you been meeting him?"
"Six months."
"Six months."
"I was trying to convince him to leave Chicago."
Graham didn't believe her.
Not anymore.
He turned toward the window.
Then he asked, "Did you know Elena's mother?"
Vanessa froze.
"What?"
"Margaret Mercer."
Her eyes widened.
"Why are you asking about her?"
Graham turned.
"Answer."
Vanessa stood abruptly.
"I need to leave."
He moved toward the door.
"You're not going anywhere until we finish this conversation."
She backed away.
"Graham, please."
"Did your father know Margaret Mercer?"
Vanessa's face twisted.
"Everybody knew Margaret Mercer."
Graham stared at her.
"What does that mean?"
Vanessa began crying harder.
"She ruined everything."
That evening, Rebecca called me.
"I found something."
I sat up.
"What?"
"Thomas Reed's death wasn't officially classified as suicide."
My pulse quickened.
"What was it?"
"Undetermined. The initial investigation was incomplete, and the file was later sealed."
"Can you get it?"
"I'm working on that."
She hesitated.
"Elena, there's something else."
I gripped the phone.
"What?"
"I found a witness statement from the night your mother disappeared."
"Who gave it?"
"A warehouse security guard named Samuel Price."
My heart pounded.
"What did he see?"
Rebecca inhaled.
"He reported seeing Margaret Mercer enter a black sedan after the warehouse fire began."
I stopped breathing.
"Was she conscious?"
"According to the statement, yes."
I covered my mouth.
"Where did the car go?"
"That's the problem. The license plate was never recorded."
I felt hope and terror collide inside my chest.
My mother had survived the warehouse.
But what happened afterward?
Rebecca's voice softened.
"Elena, there's one more thing."
I closed my eyes.
"Tell me."
"Samuel Price disappeared two days after giving that statement."
May you like
A silence stretched between us.
Then Rebecca said, "And yesterday, someone using his name contacted my office."
