Maya could not stop looking at the little girl in the photograph.
She was four years old, perhaps five, standing beside the workshop door with the old key dangling from one hand. Her hair was tied into two uneven ribbons. One shoe appeared to be untied. She was looking directly at the camera.
Maya remembered none of it.
Her father stood beside her.
“Where did you get this?”
He didn't answer.
“Dad.”
“I didn't take that photograph.”
“Then who did?”
He looked at Rachel.
“I don't know.”
Rachel shook her head.
“This is impossible.”
Maya held the photograph closer to the light.
There was something written along the bottom edge in faded blue ink.
She could barely read it.
*She was shown the door before she was shown the truth.**
Maya looked up.
“What does that mean?”
Her father closed his eyes.
“I don't know.”
“You keep saying that.”
“Because there are things I genuinely don't know.”
“You knew about the fire.”
“Yes.”
“You knew Grandpa was hiding people.”
“Yes.”
“You knew Clara survived.”
“Yes.”
“You knew Mom had met her.”
His expression changed.
“That photograph is the first time I've seen proof.”
Maya turned toward him.
“Proof of what?”
“That your mother was involved in whatever your grandfather was investigating.”
Rachel stepped between them.
“Dad, stop protecting her.”
“I am not protecting her.”
“Then tell Maya what happened before she was born.”
Her father looked at Rachel.
“You weren't there.”
“I've spent twenty years being told half-truths.”
“So have I.”
Maya raised a hand.
“Enough.”
Both fell silent.
She placed the photograph on the table.
“We are going to St. Matthew's.”
Her father immediately shook his head.
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because Clara told you to go there.”
“Yes.”
“That means someone wants you there.”
Maya stared at him.
“And you think staying here is safer?”
He had no answer.
Rachel grabbed her coat.
“I'm coming.”
Maya nodded.
Her father remained where he was.
“You shouldn't.”
Rachel looked at him.
“Neither should you.”
The three of them left together.
The rain had stopped, but the pavement remained slick. Maya drove while Rachel sat beside her and their father sat in the back.
Nobody spoke for the first five minutes.
Then Rachel said, “Dad.”
“What?”
“Did Mom know Clara was alive?”
“I don't know.”
“You've said that too many times.”
“I've told you what I know.”
Maya watched the road.
“Then tell us what you suspect.”
Her father looked out the window.
“I suspect your mother believed Clara had the ledger.”
“And?”
“I suspect Robert believed it too.”
Rachel turned around.
“Then why hasn't Robert found her?”
“Maybe he did.”
The car went silent.
Maya tightened her grip on the wheel.
“You think Robert found Clara?”
“I think people disappear for reasons.”
“You're saying he killed her.”
“No.”
“Then don't imply it.”
Her father nodded.
“I don't know what happened to Clara.”
They reached the church.
The caretaker was not at the front entrance.
Maya tried the side door.
Unlocked.
She looked at Rachel.
“That's wrong.”
Rachel nodded.
They entered.
The church smelled of old wood and candle wax.
Their footsteps sounded too loud.
Maya led them toward the basement.
The wall remained where they had found the box.
But something was different.
One brick had been removed.
Maya stopped.
“Someone's been here.”
Her father pushed past her.
“Stay back.”
He examined the opening.
Behind it was darkness.
A narrow passage extended beneath the church.
Rachel whispered, “That wasn't open before.”
Maya looked at her father.
“You knew about this.”
“I knew there was a passage.”
“You said there was a wall.”
“I didn't know the entrance had been reopened.”
Maya turned on her phone flashlight.
“Then we're going down.”
Her father grabbed her wrist.
“No.”
She pulled free.
“You don't get to stop me.”
“This isn't about your pride.”
“It's about my daughter.”
That silenced him.
Maya stepped into the passage.
Rachel followed.
Their father came last.
The corridor was barely wide enough for one person. Dampness darkened the stone. Pipes ran along the ceiling, and somewhere beneath them water dripped at regular intervals.
After twenty yards, the passage divided.
One route went left.
The other went straight.
On the wall between them was a number.
17.
Maya touched it.
“Which way?”
Her father stared at the floor.
“Straight.”
“How do you know?”
“Because that's where your grandfather kept the room.”
They continued.
At the end stood a steel door.
There was no handle.
Only a keyhole.
Maya removed the key.
Rachel whispered, “Wait.”
Maya looked at her.
“There could be someone inside.”
“Then we should know.”
She inserted the key.
It turned.
The lock clicked.
The door opened inward.
A cold draft touched Maya's face.
The room beyond was larger than she expected.
Shelves lined the walls.
Old boxes filled the corners.
A wooden desk sat beneath a single hanging bulb.
And on the desk was a ledger.
Maya stopped.
Her father whispered, “No.”
Rachel stepped forward.
“What?”
He pointed.
“That isn't the original.”
Maya approached the desk.
The ledger was old, but not nearly as old as the photograph.
She opened it.
Names filled the pages.
Dates.
Amounts.
Property references.
Then she saw her own name.
Maya Bennett.
Underneath it were two others.
Clara Voss.
Denise Bennett.
Maya turned the page.
A fourth name had been blacked out.
She looked at her father.
“Who is that?”
He stared at the page.
“I don't know.”
Maya touched the ink.
It was fresh.
Not decades old.
Someone had blacked out the name recently.
Rachel leaned over the desk.
“There's something underneath.”
Maya lifted the page carefully.
A second sheet had been attached.
Three words were written across it.
*TRUST BENEFICIARIES — ORIGINAL**
Below them were several names.
Maya read the first.
Then the second.
Then the third.
Her breath caught.
One of the names belonged to Lily.
Click here to continue reading: PART 10: The Ledger Listed Lily Before She Was Born, Revealing That the Family Secret Was Far Older Than Maya Had Imagined
The Dinner Was Supposed to Mend Our Family Until My Daughter’s Cry Changed Everything
Part 9 of 20
