Chapter 5: The Woman in the Photograph
I grabbed Ethan's phone with both hands.
"Where did you get this?""
Ethan steadied the device.
"From the private investigator my father hired.""
I stared at the photograph.
The woman wore a beige coat and carried a brown shopping bag. Her hair was shorter than I remembered, and there were more lines around her eyes.
But I knew that face.
I knew the slight tilt of her head.
I knew the way she held her left shoulder a little higher than her right.
It was my mother.
"That's her," I whispered.
Rachel began crying.
"Margaret...""
I looked at Ethan.
"Where is she?""
"The investigator believes she's living somewhere outside Savannah.""
I felt my heart pounding.
"Why hasn't she contacted me?""
Arthur lowered himself into a chair.
"Because she believes you're being watched.""
I shook my head.
"No. My mother would never let me think she was dead.""
Arthur looked down.
"She may have believed it was the only way to keep you alive.""
Vanessa suddenly burst into laughter.
"Do you hear yourselves? You're all chasing a photograph taken by some investigator who probably wants more money.""
Ethan turned toward her.
"Then why are you so frightened?""
"I'm not frightened.""
"Your hands are shaking.""
Vanessa quickly tucked them beneath her arms.
"You're making a spectacle of a private family matter.""
Rachel looked at her.
"You tried to steal my inheritance. You lied about my medical condition. And now you're trying to convince everyone that my sister is dead.""
Vanessa's expression hardened.
"You should be careful, Rachel. You've already lost enough.""
Ethan stepped between them.
"One more threat, and security will escort you out.""
Vanessa looked at him.
"You wouldn't dare.""
"Try me.""
Richard suddenly moved toward the exit again.
This time, he pushed past one of the guards.
"Get out of my way!""
The guard caught his arm.
Richard struggled, knocking a champagne glass from a nearby table.
"Let go!""
Ethan raised his voice.
"Call the police now.""
Thomas Reed hurried toward the security desk.
I barely noticed.
My eyes were fixed on the photograph.
My mother was alive.
Somewhere.
Possibly frightened.
Possibly alone.
I remembered the last conversation we had before she died—or before I believed she had died.
She had been standing in our kitchen, holding a cup of tea.
"Isabella, promise me something.""
"What?""
"If anyone ever tells you that money can solve every problem, don't believe them.""
I had laughed.
"Mom, I can barely afford groceries. I don't think anyone is offering me money.""
She hadn't laughed.
She had simply touched my cheek.
"Some people will do terrible things to keep what they think belongs to them.""
At the time, I thought she was talking about her difficult job.
Now I understood that she had been trying to warn me.
Ethan placed a hand on my shoulder.
"Isabella, we need to get you somewhere safe.""
I looked at him.
"Why?""
He hesitated.
"Because if the photograph is genuine, someone else may already know we've found her.""
Rachel reached for my hand.
"Please come with us. I don't want you going through this alone.""
I nodded.
But before we could move, Arthur spoke.
"There's another reason Margaret may have contacted you tonight.""
I turned.
"What reason?""
Arthur opened his leather folder and removed a sealed envelope.
It was old, yellowed at the edges, and had my full name written across the front.
Isabella Brooks.
My mother's handwriting.
I recognized it instantly.
Arthur handed it to me.
"She left this with me shortly before she disappeared.""
I stared at the envelope.
"Why didn't you give it to me?""
"Because she instructed me to deliver it only when Vanessa's financial scheme was exposed.""
My fingers trembled as I opened it.
Inside was a handwritten letter and a small silver key.
I unfolded the letter.
My darling Isabella,
If you're reading this, it means the people I feared have finally exposed themselves.
I'm sorry I couldn't tell you everything. I wanted you to have a normal life. You deserved that much.
But there's something I need you to understand.
Your father did not abandon us.
I stopped reading.
My father.
I had never known him.
My mother always told me he had left before I was born and never wanted responsibility.
I looked up.
"Arthur, what is this?""
He looked uncomfortable.
"Your father was involved with the Harrison family.""
My mouth went dry.
"Who is he?""
Arthur glanced at Ethan.
Then at Rachel.
Before either could answer, Vanessa spoke.
"Don't listen to him, Isabella.""
I turned toward her.
She had stopped pretending to be calm.
"Your mother was obsessed with secrets. She destroyed her own life because she couldn't leave things alone.""
I clutched the letter.
"Who is my father?""
Vanessa stared at me.
Then she said something that made Ethan take a step backward.
"Your father was the reason Rachel ended up in that wheelchair.""
Rachel gasped.
"No.""
Vanessa nodded.
"Ask Arthur. He knows.""
I looked at Arthur.
He slowly lowered his eyes.
"Is it true?""
He didn't answer.
Instead, he reached into his folder and removed another photograph.
This one showed a younger man standing beside my mother.
His arm was wrapped around her waist.
I recognized the face immediately.
Not because I had met him.
But because I had seen him all evening.
I looked toward Ethan.
He was staring at the photograph.
His face had turned completely white.
The man in the picture was Arthur Harrison's eldest son.
May you like
Ethan's older brother.
And according to the date written on the back, the photograph had been taken three months before I was born.
