My mother dropped the phone.
I picked it up.
“Who are you?”
The line was still connected.
The woman breathed softly.
Then she said, “You sound like her.”
“Like who?”
“Our mother.”
My father took the phone.
“Who is this?”
The woman paused.
“Elias?”
My father went rigid.
“How do you know me?”
“I've known you all my life.”
The call ended.
We stood beside the river in silence.
Ortiz looked at me.
“Your mother needs to explain.”
My mother sat down.
She seemed suddenly unable to stand.
“I thought she was dead.”
“Who?”
“Evelyn's daughter.”
I crouched beside her.
“What's her name?”
“Anna.”
My father's face changed.
“Anna?”
“You knew?”
“No.”
My mother looked at him.
“I met her once.”
“When?”
“After you disappeared.”
My father stared.
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“Because Richard was looking for her.”
“Where is she?”
“I don't know.”
I held up the photograph.
“She just called.”
My mother looked at it.
“That photograph was taken before she was born.”
I frowned.
“What?”
She pointed.
“Look at the date.”
I did.
The date was before my father's birth.
“That isn't Anna.”
“Then who is she?”
My mother whispered a name.
“Clara.”
My father's expression went blank.
“Who is Clara?”
“My sister.”
I looked at her.
“You had a sister?”
“She disappeared when we were children.”
My mother looked toward the river.
“Richard said she died.”
My father shook his head.
“Richard says everyone dies.”
Ortiz took the photograph.
“There are three women connected to this family. Evelyn, Marianne, Clara.”
“And Anna,” I said.
My mother nodded.
“Anna was Clara's daughter.”
I felt dizzy.
“So she's my cousin.”
“Yes.”
The woman on the phone had called me little sister.
My mother suddenly reached for the photograph.
“Wait.”
She pointed to the bracelet.
“That belonged to Clara.”
I looked at her.
“You said you gave it to Anna.”
“I gave it to Clara.”
“Then how does Anna have it?”
My mother didn't know.
Ortiz examined the flash drive.
“We need a computer.”
We returned to the station office.
The old terminal still had one working machine.
Ortiz connected the drive.
A folder appeared.
Inside were dozens of scanned documents.
Most concerned Mercer family finances.
Then we found a file named FIRST CHILD.
My father opened it.
The document contained a birth record.
Mother: Clara Mercer.
Father: Unknown.
Child: Anna Mercer.
Date of birth: nineteen years before mine.
I stared.
Anna was older than me.
Not by much.
But enough.
The next document was a photograph.
Anna as a teenager.
She had the same eyes.
The same narrow chin.
But her expression was harder.
A note appeared beneath the photograph.
SUBJECT BELIEVES ELIAS IS HER FATHER.
My father stood abruptly.
“She thinks I'm her father.”
My mother shook her head.
“Richard manipulated her.”
“Then why does she believe it?”
“Because he told her Clara died giving birth.”
My father looked at the screen.
“He stole another child.”
“No,” my mother said.
She pointed to the next document.
“He didn't steal her.”
The document described a transfer.
Clara had voluntarily surrendered Anna.
Reason:
PROTECTION FROM MERCER NETWORK.
I read it twice.
“Clara gave up her daughter to save her.”
My mother nodded.
“Just as I tried to save you.”
I looked at her.
“But Anna grew up thinking Elias was her father.”
“Yes.”
My father looked devastated.
“Why?”
“Because Clara wanted her to have someone.”
“Someone who wasn't there.”
My mother lowered her eyes.
“I know.”
A new file opened automatically.
A video appeared.
Daniel's face filled the screen.
“If you're watching this, I've lost the ledger.”
He looked tired.
“Don't trust the woman who calls herself Anna.”
My father frowned.
Daniel continued.
“She isn't working for Richard.”
“That sounds contradictory.”
“She is working for herself.”
The video stopped.
Another opened.
Anna appeared.
She was standing inside a train station.
“I know what Daniel told you.”
She looked directly into the camera.
“I also know what Richard told you.”
She smiled.
“Both men are lying.”
The video ended.
Ortiz leaned back.
“This is becoming ridiculous.”
“No,” my father said.
“It's becoming organized.”
He pointed at the documents.
“Someone has been keeping records of all of us.”
My mother looked at the screen.
“There is one thing missing.”
“What?”
“Clara.”
We searched.
No records.
No death certificate.
No photographs after the year Anna was born.
Nothing.
Then Ortiz found a hidden directory.
A single file.
CLARA — CURRENT.
She opened it.
A recent photograph appeared.
An elderly woman sat in a wheelchair beside a window.
Alive.
My mother gasped.
“That's her.”
My father stared at the screen.
“Where?”
The address was listed below.
A private care facility.
My mother stood despite the pain in her leg.
“We go there.”
Ortiz shook her head.
“First we need to know who owns it.”
She searched the facility.
The owner appeared.
Mercer Holdings.
My father swore.
“Richard.”
“Maybe,” Ortiz said.
A second name appeared underneath.
Administrator:
Captain Adrian Vale.
We all stared.
“Vale is dead,” I said.
Ortiz looked at the screen.
“Apparently.”
The body found at the estate had been burned badly.
No one had positively identified it yet.
My father looked at me.
“Then Vale may still be alive.”
My mother whispered, “And Clara may be in danger.”
We drove to the facility.
The building looked ordinary.
White walls.
Small gardens.
A fountain near the entrance.
Too clean.
Too quiet.
We entered through reception.
The woman behind the desk smiled.
“Can I help you?”
Ortiz showed her identification.
“We're here to see Clara Mercer.”
The woman's smile disappeared.
“She died yesterday.”
My mother nearly collapsed.
“No.”
The receptionist checked the computer.
“I'm sorry.”
“Who signed the death certificate?”
The woman looked at the screen.
“Dr. Adrian Vale.”
Ortiz froze.
“Where is the body?”
“Transferred this morning.”
“To where?”
The receptionist looked frightened.
“I don't know.”
A phone rang behind the desk.
She answered.
“Yes?”
She listened.
Then looked directly at me.
“There's someone who wants to speak with you.”
She handed me the phone.
A man's voice whispered.
“Don't believe anyone in that building.”
I recognized it.
Daniel.
“Where are you?”
“Not far.”
“Is Clara alive?”
“Yes.”
My mother grabbed my arm.
“Ask him where.”
I did.
Daniel answered.
“She isn't there.”
“Then where?”
“Under the city.”
The line went dead.
A second later, the facility doors locked automatically.
The receptionist screamed.
The lights went out.
And from somewhere below us came the sound of a heavy metal door opening.
Click here to continue reading: PART 15: Beneath the Care Facility We Found the Woman Everyone Believed Dead, Guarding a Secret That Changed What My Father Had Been Told
The Night the Locked Door Opened and Everything I Thought I Knew About My Family Changed
Part 14 of 20
