Chapter 9
For nearly thirty years, everyone had built their lies around the wrong father.
Charles Whitmore was not Ryan’s biological father.
Dr. Stephen Harlan was.
Detective Morales put my call with Susan on speaker.
“Explain.”
Susan breathed shakily.
“Laura had been seeing Charles.”
“But?”
“She was also being treated by Harlan.”
“He was a medical student.”
“He volunteered at Saguaro.”
My stomach turned.
“How old was Laura?”
“Seventeen.”
“And Harlan?”
“Twenty-four.”
Claire closed her eyes.
Another powerful adult.
Another teenage girl.
Susan continued.
“Charles believed the child might be his. Diane believed it too.”
“So Ryan spent his entire life thinking Charles was connected to him?”
“I don’t know what Ryan knows.”
“What did Diane know?”
“Not until today.”
“How?”
“Charles ordered private DNA testing years ago.”
“Why?”
“He suspected.”
“And?”
“He discovered Ryan wasn’t his son.”
“Why keep helping him?”
“Guilt.”
I almost laughed.
“Charles doesn’t sound like a man with guilt.”
“You don’t know everything.”
“Then tell me.”
Susan was silent.
Detective Morales stepped closer.
“Susan, where are you?”
“No.”
“Diane kidnapped Charles.”
“Yes.”
“Then we need a location.”
“If police come too soon, she’ll kill him.”
I felt no sympathy for Charles.
But I wanted Diane alive.
I wanted answers.
“What does she want?”
“The blue box.”
My eyes went to it.
“Of course.”
“She knows you have it.”
“How?”
“Ryan told his attorney.”
I clenched my jaw.
Ryan continued creating damage even while trying to save himself.
“What happens if she gets it?”
“She destroys the last proof tying her to Laura.”
“We already copied everything.”
Susan hesitated.
“She doesn’t know that.”
Detective Morales whispered instructions to another officer.
They were tracing the call.
I asked, “Why are you helping us?”
Susan started crying again.
“Because Rebecca was my sister too.”
“You worked for Charles for years.”
“I stayed close so I could know what he knew.”
“Did my mother know you were alive?”
“Yes.”
Claire gasped.
“Then why did Dad say—”
“Thomas didn’t trust me.”
“Why?”
“Because I made mistakes.”
“What mistakes?”
Susan’s voice cracked.
“I told Diane Rebecca was collecting evidence.”
The room went silent.
My hands became cold.
“You betrayed my mother.”
“I was twenty-two.”
“That’s your excuse?”
“No.”
“You told the woman threatening us that my mother had evidence.”
“I thought Diane would pay her.”
“Pay her?”
“She paid everyone.”
“My mother died.”
Susan began sobbing.
“I know.”
“Did Diane kill her?”
Silence.
“Answer me.”
“I believe so.”
Claire turned away.
My throat hurt.
“And Laura?”
“I know Diane killed Laura.”
Detective Morales looked sharply at the phone.
“You witnessed it?”
“No.”
“How do you know?”
“Because Diane told me.”
“When?”
“After Rebecca died.”
“What exactly did she say?”
“She said, ‘Your sisters should have learned when to stop.’”
I closed my eyes.
Two sisters.
Both gone.
And now Diane was trying to erase the next generation.
“Where is Charles?”
Susan whispered an address.
An abandoned Whitmore construction site outside Mesa.
Police moved immediately.
Susan ended the call before they could trace her exact location.
Rachel turned to me.
“You’re staying here.”
“I wasn’t planning to join a hostage rescue.”
“Good.”
“I want to know everything the second it happens.”
“You will.”
For two hours, we waited.
Then Detective Morales returned.
“Charles is alive.”
I didn’t realize I had been holding my breath.
“And Diane?”
“Gone.”
“What happened?”
“They found Charles tied inside a construction trailer.”
“Did he talk?”
“Yes.”
“What did Diane want?”
“The box and the diary.”
“She has neither.”
“No.”
“What else?”
“She demanded Charles publicly name Ryan as his son.”
I frowned.
“Why?”
“Because Ryan’s life is the only proof Diane believes she has of her importance to Charles.”
That was pathetic.
And terrifying.
Diane had spent three decades building her identity around a lie.
She raised another woman’s son because she believed the child connected her to Charles.
Then discovered even that wasn’t true.
Everything she had done suddenly threatened to become meaningless.
People became dangerous when they thought their entire life had been wasted.
“Where is Harlan?” I asked.
“Still missing.”
“And Susan?”
“Also missing.”
Charles agreed to be questioned.
His attorney protested.
Charles apparently ignored him.
He admitted paying Saguaro to hide Laura’s pregnancy.
He admitted his affair with Diane.
He admitted knowing Laura disappeared.
“But he says Diane told him Laura ran away,” Detective Morales said.
“Did he believe her?”
“For years.”
“And when did he learn she was dead?”
“After Rebecca found the grave.”
My pulse jumped.
“He knew my mother found Laura?”
“Yes.”
“What did he do?”
“He confronted Diane.”
“And then my mother died.”
“Yes.”
“Did he order that?”
“He denies it.”
“Convenient.”
“He says he paid your father because Diane told him Rebecca’s files could destroy several people.”
“So hush money.”
“Yes.”
I looked toward the blue box.
“At least he admitted that.”
“He also admitted arranging Ryan’s employment.”
“Why if Ryan wasn’t his son?”
“He didn’t know that when Ryan started working there.”
“When did he get the DNA test?”
“Three years ago.”
That was after Ryan and I began dating.
“Did Charles arrange our relationship?”
Detective Morales hesitated.
My stomach sank.
“He says yes.”
Claire whispered, “Oh God.”
I felt strangely numb.
“How?”
“Ryan approached you deliberately.”
“I know that much from Diane’s letter.”
“Charles had learned Rebecca had two daughters.”
“Why did he want Ryan near me?”
“He believed you might have inherited the evidence.”
“And he used Ryan to search for it.”
“Yes.”
I laughed once.
Every anniversary.
Every vacation.
Every kiss.
Ryan had entered my life as a spy.
“Did Ryan know why?”
“Yes.”
There it was.
No excuse left.
He hadn’t only betrayed me with Jessica.
Our marriage itself began as betrayal.
“Did he ever love me?”
Detective Morales didn’t answer.
That question wasn’t hers.
Maybe it didn’t matter anymore.
“What changed when I got pregnant?”
“According to Charles, Ryan became protective of you.”
I stared.
“Protective?”
“He told Charles he was done searching.”
That surprised me.
“Then why the attack?”
“Diane discovered you were pregnant. She became convinced the child gave her a new opportunity.”
“For what?”
“To force Charles to acknowledge Ryan publicly as family.”
“That still doesn’t make sense if she thought Ryan was Charles’s son.”
“She wanted legitimacy. Money. Control.”
“And Ryan?”
“He wanted custody.”
“Why?”
“He told detectives he believed if you discovered the truth about how you met, you would leave and never let him see Lily.”
“He was right about the leaving part.”
Claire squeezed my hand.
I looked at Lily.
She was stronger every day.
Her oxygen support had decreased.
Her tiny face was beginning to fill out.
Ryan had chosen fear over honesty.
Then selfishness over love.
He could have told me the truth.
He could have begged forgiveness.
Instead, he planned to terrorize me into staying.
He had become exactly like the people who raised him.
That night, Lily had another breathing episode.
This one lasted longer.
The NICU doctor ordered additional tests.
I sat beside her for six hours.
Nothing else mattered.
Not Diane.
Not Charles.
Not Ryan.
Only Lily.
Near midnight, the doctor returned smiling.
“Her lungs are immature, but there’s no sign of infection or new injury.”
I cried with relief.
“When can I hold her?”
“Tomorrow, if she stays stable overnight.”
My heart swelled.
Tomorrow.
A normal word.
A hopeful word.
At 2:00 a.m., my phone buzzed.
A video message.
Unknown sender.
Diane appeared on screen.
She looked exhausted.
Her hair was messy.
Her expensive clothes were stained.
Behind her was darkness.
“Emily,” she said.
“You think you won.”
I immediately called Detective Morales.
But the video continued.
“You have no idea what your mother did.”
My pulse accelerated.
“Rebecca didn’t only collect evidence.”
Diane smiled.
“She stole something from Charles worth far more than money.”
The camera shifted.
A large safe appeared behind her.
“You think the blue box was the secret.”
“It wasn’t.”
She placed her hand on the safe.
“The real secret is here.”
Then she held up a photograph.
My mother stood beside a baby.
Not Ryan.
A girl.
On the back was written:
Susan’s daughter, 1998.
I stared at the picture.
Diane continued.
“Ask your precious aunt Susan what happened to her child.”
The video ended.
Another message appeared immediately.
A location pin.
And four words.
COME ALONE OR SHE DIES.
Attached was a photograph.
Susan sat tied to a chair.
Blood ran from her forehead.
Claire grabbed my phone.
“No.”
“I’m not going.”
“Good.”
“I’m sending this to police.”
Detective Morales arrived within minutes.
Officers surrounded the location.
An old warehouse on the west side.
I remained at the hospital.
But before police entered, Diane called again.
This time Detective Morales answered.
“Diane.”
“Put Emily on.”
“No.”
“Then Susan dies.”
I took the phone.
“I’m here.”
“Good girl.”
“What do you want?”
“The necklace.”
“Why?”
“You know why.”
“No. I don’t.”
Diane laughed.
“Because it proves I paid for Laura’s disposal.”
“So you admit it?”
Silence.
“You killed her.”
“She was going to destroy everything.”
“You murdered a seventeen-year-old girl because she wanted her child back.”
“She was weak.”
I felt sick.
“And my mother?”
“Rebecca was stronger.”
“That wasn’t what I asked.”
Diane breathed slowly.
“She should have stopped.”
Claire started crying.
“You killed her too.”
“I gave instructions.”
There it was.
A confession.
Detective Morales silently pointed to the recording device.
Everything was being captured.
“What about Susan’s daughter?” I asked.
Diane became quiet.
“Ask Charles.”
“What did he do?”
“He made sure history repeated itself.”
My skin prickled.
“What does that mean?”
“Your family always loses babies to powerful people.”
Then gunfire erupted over the phone.
Susan screamed.
The connection died.
Detective Morales ran from the room.
I sat frozen beside Lily’s incubator.
Claire wrapped her arms around me.
For eighteen minutes, we knew nothing.
Then the detective called.
Susan was alive.
Diane had fired at officers and fled through a rear exit.
Police found the safe.
Inside were adoption documents from Saguaro and several private maternity homes.
Dozens of infants.
Dozens of payments.
The network had continued long after Saguaro closed.
And one file was labeled with a name that made no sense.
LILY CARTER.
My newborn daughter already had an adoption file.
Prepared six months before she was born.
May you like
The intended adoptive parents were not Ryan and Jessica.
They were Charles Whitmore’s eldest daughter and her husband.
