Chapter 5 — The Woman Brenda Was Afraid Of
Chapter 5 — The Woman Brenda Was Afraid Of
My father was alive.
Derek's father was supposedly dead.
Brenda had spent years hiding the truth.
And somehow, all of them were connected to a document written before Derek and I had even met.
I stood in the old house staring at my father.
The man I had buried in my mind for eleven years.
He looked at me like he was afraid to come any closer.
I hated that.
Not because he was afraid.
Because I was too.
"Dad."
His eyes filled with tears.
"I know."
"You let me believe you were dead."
"I had to."
"You let me grieve you."
"I know."
"You let me grow up believing I had nobody."
His face collapsed.
"I know."
I walked toward him.
Then stopped.
"Don't tell me you did it to protect me."
He looked down.
"Because that's what everyone says."
Derek stood silently near the door.
My father looked at him.
"Did you tell her everything?"
Derek shook his head.
"No."
My father sighed.
"Then you still haven't learned."
I turned toward him.
"Learned what?"
"That half-truths are more dangerous than lies."
I folded my arms.
"Then tell me the whole truth."
He looked at Derek.
"Not here."
"Why?"
"Because Brenda knows this house."
My heart tightened.
"How?"
My father walked toward an old fireplace.
He touched the stone.
"She helped build it."
I stared.
"This house belonged to you?"
"Once."
"And Brenda?"
"My business partner."
Derek frowned.
"You never told me that."
My father looked at him.
"Your mother told you what she wanted you to know."
He pressed a hidden switch.
A section of the wall opened.
Behind it was a narrow staircase.
"Come."
I followed.
Derek followed me.
The staircase descended beneath the house.
At the bottom was a steel door.
My father entered a code.
The door opened.
Inside was a room filled with files.
Boxes.
Photographs.
Hard drives.
Bank records.
And a wall covered with names.
Hundreds of them.
I stared.
"What is this?"
"My life's work."
I walked closer.
At the center of the wall was one name.
BRENDA VALE.
Underneath were dates.
Payments.
Meetings.
Transfers.
And one photograph.
Brenda.
Twenty years younger.
Standing beside my mother.
I stopped breathing.
"My mother knew her."
My father nodded.
"They were friends."
"Friends?"
"Before Brenda became your enemy."
I looked at the photograph.
"What happened?"
My father sat down.
"Money."
I almost laughed.
"Of course."
He looked at me.
"Your mother discovered Brenda was stealing from the company."
"How much?"
"At first, small amounts."
"Then?"
"Millions."
"And you stopped her?"
"I tried."
"What did she do?"
He looked away.
"She threatened your mother."
My stomach tightened.
"With what?"
"The truth."
"What truth?"
My father looked at me.
"Your mother had been laundering money too."
I froze.
"What?"
"Not for herself."
"Then for whom?"
"To protect me."
I shook my head.
"This doesn't make sense."
"It will."
He stood.
"Your mother discovered that the company was being used to move money for powerful people."
"Brenda?"
"Brenda was only the middleman."
"Who was above her?"
My father pointed to the wall.
One name had been circled.
THOMAS VALE.
Derek's father.
I looked at him.
"Your father."
Derek stared at the name.
"I thought he died."
My father smiled sadly.
"That's what Brenda wanted everyone to believe."
I looked back at the photograph.
Brenda and my mother were smiling.
They looked happy.
Almost like sisters.
"What happened between them?"
My father answered.
"Your mother tried to leave."
"And Brenda stopped her?"
"She tried."
"Did she kill her?"
"No."
I stared.
"Then where is my mother?"
My father hesitated.
I knew the answer before he spoke.
"She's alive."
My knees weakened.
Derek caught my arm.
I pulled away.
"Where?"
My father looked at the door.
"She is coming."
I stared at him.
"What?"
"She knows you're here."
I couldn't breathe.
My mother was coming.
After eleven years.
An hour later, headlights appeared outside.
A car stopped.
The front door opened.
Footsteps entered the house.
Then I heard a woman's voice.
"Chloe?"
My heart broke.
I knew that voice.
I had spent eleven years trying to forget it.
I ran upstairs.
The woman standing in the hallway looked older.
Her hair was streaked with gray.
Her face was thinner.
But her eyes were the same.
My mother.
I stopped.
She stopped.
Neither of us spoke.
Then she whispered:
"My baby."
I started crying.
I didn't want to.
But I couldn't stop.
She walked toward me.
I let her hug me.
Her arms wrapped around me.
She smelled like lavender.
The same scent she had worn when I was a child.
I closed my eyes.
For one moment, I was nine years old again.
Safe.
Then I remembered.
She had abandoned me.
I pulled away.
"Why?"
She wiped her tears.
"I had to leave."
"You all had to leave."
"I know."
"You let me believe Dad was dead."
"He wasn't."
"You let me believe you were dead."
"I know."
"Why?"
She looked at my father.
Then Derek.
Then me.
"Because Brenda was watching you."
I froze.
"Watching me?"
"Since you were seventeen."
My stomach tightened.
"Why?"
"Because she believed you had the archive."
"But I didn't."
"She thought you did."
My mother took a breath.
"Your father hid the archive inside your identity."
"What does that mean?"
"He didn't leave you a key."
He left you the key."
I didn't understand.
She touched my face.
"Your memories."
I stared.
"What?"
"Your father designed the archive so nobody could access it without information only you would know."
"What information?"
"Things from your childhood."
I felt dizzy.
"Like what?"
"Your first pet."
"My favorite book."
"Your mother's maiden name."
"My father's favorite song."
I stared at her.
"Those are passwords?"
"Not exactly."
She smiled sadly.
"Your father believed the safest vault was a human mind."
I looked toward Derek.
"Does Brenda know?"
"She knows enough."
"Then why hasn't she taken it?"
My mother looked at me.
"Because she doesn't know which memories matter."
I understood.
The archive wasn't protected by a password.
It was protected by a pattern.
My life.
My memories.
My family.
Everything Brenda had spent years trying to reconstruct.
Then my mother said something that made my blood run cold.
"Brenda is afraid of me."
I stared.
"Why?"
"Because I know where the first body is."
Silence.
Derek stepped forward.
"What body?"
My mother looked at him.
"Your father's."
Derek went pale.
"What?"
My mother continued.
"Thomas Vale is alive."
"Where?"
She shook her head.
"I don't know."
"But you said—"
"I said I know where the first body is."
She looked at me.
"That isn't necessarily where the person is."
I felt a chill.
"What happened to him?"
"Your father tried to expose him."
"And?"
"Thomas disappeared."
"Why?"
"Because Brenda turned on him."
Derek looked stunned.
"My mother?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Because Thomas wanted to eliminate Chloe."
Derek stepped backward.
"My father wanted to kill her?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Because Chloe was the only person who could expose everything."
I looked at my mother.
"What everything?"
She walked toward the wall.
Pointed to the names.
"Every person who ever received money from the Vale operation."
She touched Thomas's name.
"Every person he controlled."
Then Brenda's name.
"Every person she threatened."
Then my father's.
"And every person your father tried to save."
I looked at the wall.
Hundreds of names.
Hundreds of lives.
And suddenly the story was much larger than my marriage.
This wasn't about one family.
It was an organization.
A network.
A system.
And my father had spent eleven years trying to destroy it.
My phone vibrated.
I looked down.
Unknown number.
YOUR MOTHER IS LYING.
Another message.
ASK HER ABOUT THE NIGHT YOUR FATHER "DIED."
Then:
SHE WAS THERE.
I looked at my mother.
She saw my face.
"What happened?"
I showed her the messages.
She closed her eyes.
"Damn."
I stepped closer.
"You were there."
She didn't answer.
"You were there when Dad disappeared."
"Yes."
"You knew he was alive."
"Yes."
"You helped him disappear."
"Yes."
"Then why did you leave me?"
She started crying.
"Because I had no choice."
I shook my head.
"Everyone says that."
She whispered:
"I did."
"Why?"
"Because Brenda had you."
My heart stopped.
"What?"
"She had you followed."
"By whom?"
"Thomas."
I stared.
"They knew where I lived."
"Yes."
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"Because you were eighteen."
She took a breath.
"And I had already lost one child."
Silence.
I looked at her.
"One child?"
She nodded.
"Derek's mother had a daughter."
I frowned.
"What does that have to do with me?"
My mother looked toward Derek.
His face had gone pale.
"What?"
My mother said:
"Brenda's daughter died because of your father."
Derek stared.
"My mother had a daughter?"
"Yes."
"When?"
"Before you were born."
I looked at Derek.
He looked completely shattered.
"What happened to her?"
My mother swallowed.
"She was six."
Derek closed his eyes.
"What was her name?"
My mother looked at him.
"Emily."
He stumbled backward.
I had never seen him look so broken.
"My mother never told me."
"She wouldn't."
"Why?"
"Because she blamed your father."
Derek looked at me.
Then my mother.
Then the wall.
Suddenly, he understood.
"My mother didn't hate Chloe because of the money."
My mother shook her head.
"No."
"Then why?"
"Because she believed your father took her daughter from her."
I felt cold.
"Did he?"
My mother didn't answer.
Derek looked at my father.
"Did you?"
My father stood silently.
Then finally spoke.
"Yes."
Derek's face collapsed.
"Why?"
My father looked at him.
"Because Emily wasn't your mother's daughter."
Silence.
"What?"
"She was mine."
I couldn't breathe.
My mother closed her eyes.
Derek stared at my father.
"You had a daughter with my mother?"
My father shook his head.
"No."
He looked at me.
"Emily was your sister."
The room went silent.
My mother whispered:
"Your father's first child."
I stared at her.
"My sister?"
She nodded.
"And Brenda stole her."
My blood ran cold.
"Stole her?"
My father looked at the wall.
"That is why Brenda is afraid of me."
He turned toward me.
"Because I know what she did to Emily."
I swallowed.
"What did she do?"
He didn't answer.
Instead, he pointed to a file at the bottom of the wall.
One file.
Marked with a date.
The date Emily disappeared.
I picked it up.
The cover contained only three words.
PROJECT EMILY — ALIVE.
I stared at it.
Derek's face turned white.
My mother whispered:
"She never died."
I looked up.
"Where is she?"
My father looked toward the window.
"That's the question Brenda has spent twenty years trying to make sure nobody asks."
I opened the file.
Inside was a recent photograph.
A young woman.
Dark hair.
Green eyes.
A familiar scar above her eyebrow.
I dropped the photograph.
Because I knew that face.
I had seen her before.
At my wedding.
Standing among Derek's twenty-two relatives.
Smiling beside Brenda.
My sister.
May you like
Alive.
And Brenda had known exactly who she was.
