Chapter 4 - The Woman in the PhotographLorenzo wanted to call every contact he had in Chicago before we left the farmhouse.
Gabriel stopped him.
“That's what Victor would have wanted.”
“Victor is dead,” Lorenzo snapped.
“His people aren't. Whoever left that photograph knew where we were. If you make a dozen calls, the person watching us will know exactly what you're planning.”
Lorenzo looked at the photograph again.
Marianne appeared to be in her late forties, though the picture's date was unclear. She stood outside a brick building, wearing a blue coat. Her face was turned toward the camera.
Behind her was a sign for a medical center.
The image was grainy, but there was no mistaking her.
Gabriel held it with both hands.
“She has the same expression she wore when she was trying not to laugh.”
Ethan stood by the window.
“Why would Edward have a recent picture of her?”
“Because he knows where she is,” Lorenzo replied.
“And because he wants us to know he knows,” I added.
Everyone turned toward me.
I swallowed.
“Whoever sent this didn't want us to wonder whether the picture was real. They wanted us frightened enough to stop.”
Lorenzo studied me.
“That's exactly what they wanted.”
He called his attorney, instructed him to preserve the adoption records, and arranged for a trusted investigator to verify the photograph's location without contacting the facility directly.
Then he turned to Gabriel.
“We're going to Geneva.”
Gabriel nodded.
“I'll come.”
“No,” Lorenzo said. “You can barely stand for ten minutes.”
“I've spent twenty-three years letting other people decide what I can do.”
“And I've spent twenty-three years believing you were dead. We're not repeating the mistakes that got us here.”
Gabriel looked as if he wanted to argue. Then he sat down.
Ethan stayed beside him.
“I'll stay with Dad.”
The word escaped before he seemed to realize he had said it.
Gabriel's eyes filled.
Ethan looked away.
“Don't make a big deal out of it.”
“I won't,” Gabriel whispered.
Before we left, Gabriel gave me a small silver charm. It was shaped like a sparrow, with a tiny blue stone set in its wing.
“Your mother bought this for you,” he said. “She said you'd grow up to be fearless.”
I held it in my palm.
“I don't feel fearless.”
“Neither did she.”
We drove to Chicago, then boarded a private flight arranged by Lorenzo's attorney. During the journey, I sat across from my uncle and tried to understand how quickly my life had changed.
Lorenzo had been my employer. Rose had been the elderly woman I cared for. Ethan had been the quiet driver who held doors open for me.
Now they were my family.
But family was not a magic word that erased the years between strangers.
Lorenzo seemed to understand.
“You don't owe anyone an instant reunion,” he told me. “Not me. Not Gabriel. Not even Rose.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
I looked out the window.
“I want to know them. I just don't want to be told how I'm supposed to feel.”
He nodded.
“Then don't let anyone tell you.”
In Geneva, the safe deposit box was registered under an old company name connected to Gabriel's first legitimate business. The bank required additional verification, but Gabriel's attorney had already secured the documents needed to establish the claim.
Inside the box lay three things.
A small envelope.
A black notebook.
And a key attached to a paper tag bearing an address in Chicago.
Lorenzo opened the envelope first.
It contained a letter in Marianne's handwriting.
Gabriel, if you're reading this, then someone has finally found the truth. I don't know whether I'll be able to come home. I don't know who I can trust.
The children are safe for now. Rose believes she can protect them, but Victor has people everywhere. If anything happens to me, please don't let the twins grow up believing that they were unwanted.
There is one person who knows what Victor did. She has been protecting us in her own way, but she is terrified of what he will do if she speaks.
Her name is—
The letter ended abruptly. The bottom half had been torn away.
Lorenzo turned it over, searching for more.
“Who tore this?”
Gabriel shook his head.
“I never saw the letter. Isabella must have put it here.”
The black notebook contained payment records, dates, initials, and references to several properties. One name appeared repeatedly beside medical expenses.
M. Bell.
Lorenzo's attorney photographed every page.
Then I noticed a handwritten line at the bottom of the final entry.
Room 214. St. Agnes. Ask for the night nurse.
I showed it to Lorenzo.
“St. Agnes Hospital?”
He nodded slowly.
“It closed fifteen years ago.”
Gabriel stared at the words.
“Not all of it.”
“What do you mean?” Lorenzo asked.
“There was a private rehabilitation wing attached to the hospital. Victor funded it through a charity. It operated separately.”
“Is it still open?”
“I don't know.”
Lorenzo called the investigator.
Within an hour, they had an address for a small medical facility operating under a new name on the outskirts of Chicago. Public records showed it had once been connected to St. Agnes.
There was no patient directory available.
But one former nurse still lived nearby.
Her name was Patricia Wells.
And when Lorenzo's investigator showed her Marianne's photograph, she began to cry.
“I thought she'd never be allowed to leave,” Patricia whispered.
Lorenzo leaned forward.
“Is she alive?”
The nurse looked at the photograph again.
“Yes.”
Gabriel covered his face.
Patricia continued.
“But if you're going to find her, you need to understand something.”
“What?” I asked.
She looked at me.
“Marianne didn't disappear because she was afraid of Victor.”
May you like
Her voice trembled.
“She disappeared because she believed one of her children had been killed.”
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