Chapter 6 - THE MOTHER WHO NEVER BURIED HER DAUGHTER
I slapped Taylor.
The sound echoed across the deserted road.
He didn't move.
I slapped him again.
“You knew?”
“No.”
“Don't lie to me!”
“I didn't know your mother was alive.”
“Then why are you showing me this?”
“Because Vale has been using her identity to move money and people through the organization.”
I stared at the photograph.
My mother looked older, but unmistakably familiar.
The same dark hair.
The same gentle eyes.
The same small crease beside her mouth whenever she smiled.
For years, I had carried her death like an invisible wound.
I had stood beside her coffin.
I had watched it lowered into the ground.
And now Taylor was telling me that the woman I had mourned might still be alive.
“Where is she?”
“We don't know.”
“Then find her.”
“I've been trying.”
I laughed bitterly.
“You've been trying? You have an army, Taylor. You have money, weapons, politicians, and half the city answering your calls.”
“And Vale has been using all of it against me.”
He handed me the photograph.
“The woman in this picture was seen entering a medical facility outside Boston two months ago. The building belongs to a company controlled by Vale.”
I looked at Vincent.
“Is he telling the truth?”
Vincent nodded.
“Daniel Mercer confirmed it.”
“Where is Daniel?”
“Under protection.”
I closed my eyes.
Everything was changing too quickly.
Three years earlier, I had been an accountant who discovered a financial discrepancy.
Now I was standing beside the most dangerous man in New York, learning that my mother might be alive, that my sister was Taylor's daughter, and that the entire criminal empire had been built around a secret network.
I wanted to leave.
I wanted to disappear.
But I couldn't abandon Sophie.
“Take me to the girl.”
Taylor nodded.
The journey to the safe house took forty minutes.
It was an old estate outside the city, surrounded by tall trees and guarded by armed men.
When we entered, a little girl sat on the living-room rug.
She was holding a stuffed rabbit.
The silver pendant rested against her small chest.
I stopped breathing.
She looked up.
“Are you Alex?”
I nodded.
She studied me.
Then she held out the rabbit.
“Daddy said you might be scared.”
My eyes filled.
I knelt in front of her.
“What's your name?”
“Sophie.”
“Do you know who I am?”
She shook her head.
“Daddy said you're my aunt.”
I looked toward Taylor.
He stood near the doorway, watching us.
For the first time, he seemed uncertain what to do with his hands.
I sat beside Sophie.
“Do you know your mother?”
Her expression changed.
“She lives far away.”
“Have you seen her?”
Sophie nodded.
“She comes sometimes.”
My heart stopped.
“When?”
“When I sleep.”
I gently brushed her hair away from her face.
“Does she say anything?”
Sophie leaned closer.
“She tells me not to trust the bad man.”
I looked up.
Taylor had gone completely still.
“Which bad man, sweetheart?”
Sophie pointed toward the hallway.
“Uncle Richard.”
Richard Vale.
He had visited the child.
He had been close enough to frighten her.
Taylor immediately called Vincent.
“Lock down the property. Nobody enters or leaves.”
Then Sophie reached into her little pocket.
She pulled out a folded piece of paper.
“Mommy said to give this to the lady with blue eyes.”
My hands trembled.
I unfolded it.
There were only seven words.
ALEX, FIND THE ROOM BENEATH THE CHAPEL.
I recognized the handwriting.
It was my mother's.
Taylor read the message over my shoulder.
“Which chapel?”
I stared at the paper.
Then I remembered something.
When I was a child, my mother had taken me to an old family chapel outside Boston.
There was a room beneath it.
A room she had always forbidden me to enter.
And according to my childhood memories, the chapel had been demolished twenty years earlier.
I turned toward Taylor.
“We need to go to Boston.”
He nodded.
But before we could leave, Vincent entered the room carrying a telephone.
His face was pale.
“Taylor, we have a problem.”
“What?”
“Richard Vale just contacted the FBI.”
Taylor's expression hardened.
Vincent continued.
“He gave them evidence showing that Alex Hayes transferred millions of dollars into an offshore account.”
I stared at him.
“That's fabricated.”
“I know,” Vincent replied.
“But there's something worse.”
He placed the phone on the table.
The screen showed a live news report.
A federal warrant had just been issued.
For my arrest.
And the photograph attached to it showed my face.
My real face.
My real name.
May you like
Alex Hayes was no longer a ghost.
She was officially America's most wanted financial fugitive.
