Chapter 2 - The Name Inside the Backpack“Soup is good,” Sophie said.
Grant had never heard two words carry so much relief.
He warmed the chicken soup while the twins sat side by side at the kitchen island. They were so quiet that the bubbling pot seemed loud.
Sadie kept the purple backpack between her knees.
Sophie watched Grant's hands.
Not his face.
His hands.
Every time he reached toward a drawer, she stiffened.
Grant noticed.
He pretended not to.
He found bread, toasted four slices, added butter, then stopped himself from piling too much food onto their plates. The girls looked hungry enough to eat everything in his kitchen, but he remembered something his mother used to say about eating slowly after being sick.
“Start with this.”
Sophie waited until Sadie picked up her spoon.
Then she ate.
Grant sat opposite them.
Within minutes, the careful manners disappeared. Sadie drank broth directly from the spoon with both hands around it. Sophie tore her toast into pieces and dipped each one into the soup.
Grant looked away.
Something about watching hungry children eat made anger begin quietly inside him.
Someone had failed them.
Perhaps several people had.
“Why did you come here?” he asked eventually.
Sophie stopped chewing.
Sadie looked at her sister.
Grant softened his voice. “You didn't choose my building by accident, did you?”
Sadie's hand slipped beneath the table and found Sophie's.
“No,” Sophie admitted.
“Then how did you know my address?”
No answer.
“The backpack?”
Sadie immediately pulled it closer.
Grant raised both hands.
“Okay. I won't touch it.”
The child's shoulders relaxed slightly.
Grant's phone buzzed.
Building security.
He had ignored three calls already.
He answered and told the night manager that the children were safe and that nobody was to come upstairs without his permission.
Then he called his attorney, Rachel Kim.
She answered on the sixth ring.
“Grant?”
“I need help.”
“At three in the morning?”
“Two children showed up at my apartment.”
Silence.
“What?”
“They ran away from foster care.”
Rachel was suddenly awake.
“Call the police.”
“I will.”
“Immediately, Grant.”
“They're terrified.”
“That doesn't change what you legally need to do.”
“I know.”
Rachel heard something in his voice.
“What aren't you telling me?”
Grant looked at Sophie.
She was studying him with those impossible gray-green eyes.
“They look like me.”
Another silence.
“What does that mean?”
“I don't know.”
Rachel arrived forty minutes later wearing jeans, sneakers, and a wool coat over pajamas.
By then Sadie had fallen asleep on Grant's couch, curled around the backpack. Sophie remained awake beside her.
Rachel stopped when she saw them.
Then she looked at Grant.
“Oh.”
“Exactly.”
Rachel crouched several feet from Sophie.
“Hi. I'm Rachel.”
Sophie said nothing.
“Grant tells me you and your sister had a difficult night.”
Still nothing.
Rachel didn't push.
She walked into the kitchen with Grant.
“You weren't exaggerating.”
“No.”
“Could they be relatives?”
“I don't have relatives.”
“That you know about.”
Grant frowned.
Rachel continued carefully. “You said your parents died years ago. Families have secrets.”
“My parents weren't those kinds of people.”
“Everyone thinks that until paperwork says otherwise.”
Grant glanced toward the couch.
“What happens if we call?”
“Child Protective Services will become involved. Police will confirm they're reported missing. They'll probably be returned to their placement unless there's evidence it was unsafe.”
From the living room came a tiny voice.
“No.”
Sophie was standing there.
Her face had gone white.
“Please.”
Rachel immediately lowered her voice.
“Sophie, nobody wants to frighten you.”
“You can't send us back to Mr. Bell's.”
Grant's expression changed.
“Who is Mr. Bell?”
Sophie realized she had said too much.
She looked down.
Rachel crouched again.
“Did Mr. Bell hurt you?”
Sophie shook her head too quickly.
“Did he hurt Sadie?”
Another shake.
Then Sadie woke.
She sat upright, confused.
The backpack slipped from her lap.
Its zipper, already damaged, opened when it hit the floor.
Several objects spilled across the marble.
A toothbrush.
Two socks.
A small plastic horse.
A granola-bar wrapper.
And a photograph.
Grant bent instinctively to pick it up.
Then froze.
A young woman stood beside Lake Michigan.
Dark auburn hair.
Gray sweater.
A familiar smile.
Grant knew her.
Not vaguely.
Not from business.
He knew her.
“Emily.”
The word left his mouth before he could stop it.
Sophie stared.
“You know Mommy?”
Grant could no longer hear anything except his own pulse.
Emily Carter.
Twenty-eight years old.
A summer in Chicago.
The woman he had loved before Mercer Urban Design became his entire life.
The woman who had left after Grant chose an overseas development project instead of the future she wanted.
They had argued at O'Hare.
Emily had cried.
Grant had boarded the plane anyway.
He had never seen her again.
Until now.
Grant turned the photograph over.
Writing covered the back.
The first line was unmistakably Emily's handwriting.
Grant—
If the girls ever reach you, something has gone terribly wrong.
He stopped breathing.
Rachel stepped closer.
“Grant?”
He continued reading.
Sophie and Sadie are yours.
The room seemed to tilt.
Grant gripped the countertop.
There was more.
I know what I did was unforgivable. I can explain, but if they came to you alone, I may no longer have the chance.
Grant read the lines twice.
Then a third time.
His daughters.
Six years old.
He looked at the twins.
Six years of birthdays.
Six Christmas mornings.
First words.
First steps.
First days of school.
Fevers.
Nightmares.
Laughter.
Six entire years existed somewhere in the world without him knowing.
His knees nearly failed.
“Why didn't she tell me?”
Sophie looked frightened.
Grant realized he'd said it aloud.
Rachel took the photograph.
“There's something else.”
At the bottom, Emily had written one final sentence.
Do not trust anyone who says I abandoned them.
Grant looked at Sophie.
“Your mother didn't leave you?”
Sophie shook her head.
“They made her go.”
“Who?”
“I don't know.”
“Who took you to foster care?”
“A lady.”
“What lady?”
“She said Mommy couldn't come back.”
Sadie climbed off the couch.
She walked toward Grant.
Then she reached into the purple backpack.
“There was another thing.”
She removed a sealed white envelope.
Grant's full name was written across it.
GRANT MERCER — ONLY.
“When did your mother give you that?”
“She didn't,” Sadie whispered.
“We found it.”
“Where?”
“In Mommy's apartment.”
Grant took the envelope.
Inside was a folded sheet of paper and a small brass key.
The letter contained only four lines.
Grant,
If you're reading this, they found me before I could reach you.
The girls are in danger because of what I discovered.
And someone inside your company knows they exist.
Grant slowly lifted his eyes.
At that exact moment, his phone rang.
The caller ID displayed the name of the one man Grant trusted with virtually everything.
His business partner.
Nathan Cole.
Grant answered.
Nathan didn't say hello.
May you like
Instead he asked:
“Grant, why are two missing girls in your penthouse?”
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