CHAPTER 3 — The Woman Who Was Supposed to Be Dead
CHAPTER 3 — The Woman Who Was Supposed to Be Dead
The woman in the photograph was supposed to be dead.
That was what my mother had told me.
That was what my father had told me.
That was what every document in the family archive seemed to confirm.
Maria Hawthorne died in 1999.
One year after Nathan's birth.
A car accident.
A mountain road.
No survivors.
Case closed.
Except now I was standing in my father's office with a photograph of Maria holding a newborn child.
And the date on the back was impossible.
March 17, 1998.
The same day Nathan was supposedly born.
The same day a fortune changed hands.
The same day my mother became guardian of a child whose identity didn't appear to match the boy who grew up beside me.
I looked at the final sentence on my father's note.
THE FIRST CHILD WAS ONLY THE BEGINNING.
My hands were cold.
My phone was still in my hand.
The unknown caller had told me one thing that wouldn't leave my mind.
Nathan isn't the danger.
Then who was?
I called Claire.
No answer.
I called the hospital.
"She's sleeping," the nurse said.
"Please wake her."
"Sir, she needs rest."
"I understand."
I looked at the photograph.
"But if someone comes into her room, call me immediately."
"We will."
I hung up.
Then I heard something behind me.
A knock.
Three slow taps.
I turned.
No one was there.
I opened the door.
The hallway was empty.
At the far end of the corridor, the front door stood slightly open.
Cold air moved through the house.
I grabbed my jacket.
Someone had been inside.
Again.
I walked downstairs.
The security alarm hadn't sounded.
That meant whoever entered had a key.
My mother's key.
Nathan's key.
Or my father's old master key.
I checked the entryway.
Nothing.
Then I saw something lying on the floor.
A small white envelope.
My name was written on it.
I picked it up.
Inside was a photograph.
This one was different.
It showed my father standing beside a woman in a hospital corridor.
Maria.
But there was someone else in the background.
An older man.
I recognized him immediately.
Dr. Samuel Reed.
My father's personal physician.
The man who had signed my father's death certificate.
I turned the photograph over.
There were four words.
HE KNEW HE WAS DYING.
My heart began pounding.
I called Dr. Reed.
The number had been disconnected.
I searched my contacts.
Nothing.
I searched online.
No clinic.
No current address.
No obituary.
Nothing.
It was as though the man had vanished.
Then I noticed a handwritten phone number beneath the photograph.
I dialed it.
An elderly woman's voice answered.
"Hello?"
"Is this Dr. Reed's residence?"
Silence.
"Who is this?"
"My name is Daniel Marshall."
Another silence.
Then:
"Daniel?"
I froze.
"Yes."
The woman's breathing changed.
"You look exactly like him."
"Like who?"
"Your father."
My grip tightened around the phone.
"Who are you?"
"My name is Margaret."
"Margaret what?"
She hesitated.
"Margaret Hale."
The name meant nothing.
Then she said something that made my entire body go still.
"I was there the night your father died."
I drove for forty minutes.
The address led me to a small house outside the city.
Nothing about it looked important.
No security.
No cameras.
No expensive cars.
Just a narrow driveway and a porch covered in plants.
I knocked.
The door opened.
An elderly woman stood there.
She was perhaps seventy years old.
Thin.
Gray-haired.
But her eyes were sharp.
She looked at me for several seconds.
Then she whispered:
"You have his eyes."
I stepped inside.
"You're Margaret Hale?"
She nodded.
"You said you were there when my father died."
"I was."
"Then why haven't I ever heard of you?"
"Because I was told to disappear."
"By whom?"
She closed the door.
"Your mother."
I stared at her.
Margaret walked slowly toward the kitchen.
"Sit down."
I didn't move.
"Tell me what happened."
She looked at me.
"Your father didn't die from a heart attack."
The words struck with such force that I almost laughed.
"His death certificate says—"
"I know what it says."
"Dr. Reed signed it."
"Yes."
"Then why?"
"Because he was threatened."
"By my mother?"
Margaret shook her head.
"No."
"Then who?"
She looked toward the window.
"Your father knew his time was running out."
I felt my stomach tighten.
"How?"
"He had been poisoned."
I stopped breathing.
"Poisoned?"
"Slowly."
"For how long?"
"Months."
"Who?"
"I don't know."
"But you were there."
"I was his nurse."
I stared at her.
"You were his nurse?"
She nodded.
"For twelve years."
That explained the familiarity.
My father had always mentioned an old nurse named Margaret.
But I had never met her.
"Why didn't you tell the police?"
She gave me a tired smile.
"Because the police were already being paid."
My jaw tightened.
"What?"
"Your father had enemies."
"So everyone keeps telling me."
"No."
She shook her head.
"You don't understand."
She walked to a cabinet.
Removed an old metal box.
Opened it.
Inside were medical records.
Photographs.
A small cassette recorder.
And a brown envelope.
She placed the envelope on the table.
"Your father gave me this three days before he died."
I opened it.
Inside was a handwritten note.
If Daniel ever asks what happened, tell him the truth.
My heart stopped.
I read the next line.
But only after Maria returns.
I looked up.
"Maria?"
Margaret nodded.
"Your father was trying to find her."
"She died."
"No."
I stared at her.
"Maria Hawthorne is alive."
The room seemed to disappear.
"What?"
"She survived the accident."
"Then why was she declared dead?"
Margaret's expression hardened.
"Because someone wanted her dead."
I couldn't speak.
Margaret continued.
"Maria was pregnant when she came to your father."
"Pregnant with Nathan?"
"No."
I felt the room spin.
"Then who?"
Margaret looked directly at me.
"Your father never told me the child's name."
"But the photograph shows her holding a baby."
"That baby was not Nathan."
I closed my eyes.
The mystery was getting worse.
"What happened to the baby?"
"Maria was told the child had died."
"Was that true?"
Margaret shook her head.
"No."
"Then where is the child?"
"I don't know."
"Who took the baby?"
"Your mother."
My hands clenched.
"Again?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Because your father believed Evelyn was protecting the child."
"From whom?"
Margaret hesitated.
"From the Hawthornes."
I frowned.
"Maria was a Hawthorne."
"Exactly."
I didn't understand.
Margaret sat down.
"Maria's family wasn't an ordinary wealthy family. They were involved in private financial operations. Offshore trusts. Political influence. Blackmail."
My blood ran cold.
"The forty-eight million?"
She nodded.
"That was part of it."
"Who paid my father?"
"Maria's father."
"Why?"
"Because he wanted control of the child."
"Why would a grandfather pay forty-eight million dollars to control his own grandchild?"
Margaret looked at me.
"Because the child wasn't legally his grandchild."
I stared.
"What does that mean?"
"Maria wasn't the child's biological mother."
Silence.
"What?"
"She carried the baby."
My mind struggled to process it.
"The baby belonged to someone else."
"Yes."
"Who?"
Margaret looked at the recorder.
"Your father knew."
I reached for it.
"Play it."
She shook her head.
"There's something you need to understand first."
"What?"
"Your father didn't trust your mother."
I laughed bitterly.
"Neither do I."
"No."
Margaret's eyes softened.
"He didn't trust himself."
That sentence stayed in the air.
"What does that mean?"
"Your father knew he had become part of something he couldn't control."
She pushed the recorder toward me.
"Listen."
I pressed play.
Static.
Then my father's voice.
Weak.
Tired.
Terrified.
"If you're hearing this, I'm already dead."
I stopped breathing.
"Daniel, if this recording reaches you, do not trust the story about my heart."
Static.
"I wasn't sick."
A pause.
"I was poisoned."
I looked at Margaret.
She closed her eyes.
My father's voice continued.
"Someone has been taking money from the company for years."
Static.
"I allowed it because I believed the money was buying time."
Another pause.
"But time ran out."
My father's breathing became heavier.
"The person behind this is not Nathan."
I froze.
"Not Evelyn."
My heart stopped.
"Not even Maria."
I looked at Margaret.
Then my father's final words came through.
"The person you need to find is the man who signed my death certificate."
The recording ended.
Silence.
I stared at Margaret.
"Dr. Reed."
She nodded.
"Where is he?"
"I don't know."
"Then why did you bring me here?"
"Because I knew he would come."
"Who?"
Before she could answer—
The lights went out.
Every light in the house.
Darkness.
Margaret grabbed my arm.
"Don't move."
I heard something outside.
A car door.
Then another.
Footsteps.
Three people.
Maybe four.
Coming toward the house.
Margaret whispered:
"They found me."
I reached for my phone.
No signal.
The front door handle moved.
Slowly.
Someone was trying to enter.
I stepped toward it.
Margaret grabbed me.
"No."
"Who are they?"
"I don't know."
"You said they would come."
"I knew eventually."
The lock clicked.
The door opened.
A shadow appeared.
Then a man's voice.
"Margaret."
She went pale.
I recognized the voice.
Dr. Samuel Reed.
"Open the door."
Margaret whispered:
"He's here."
I looked at her.
"Why?"
She shook her head.
"Because he knows what I have."
I glanced at the metal box.
The recordings.
The medical records.
Evidence that could prove my father was murdered.
The door opened wider.
Dr. Reed stepped inside.
He looked older than the photograph.
But his face was unmistakable.
He looked directly at me.
And instead of surprise, he smiled.
"Daniel."
I stepped forward.
"You killed my father."
His smile disappeared.
"No."
"Then tell me who did."
He stared at me for several seconds.
Then said:
"Your father wasn't the only one who was supposed to die."
My heart stopped.
"What does that mean?"
Dr. Reed looked at Margaret.
Then back at me.
"Your wife."
Everything inside me went cold.
"What?"
"Claire was never the target."
I couldn't breathe.
"Then who?"
He whispered:
"The baby."
Before I could move, headlights flooded through the windows.
A car stopped outside.
Another.
Then another.
Margaret whispered:
"They're here."
"Who?"
Dr. Reed looked at me.
"The people your father spent twenty years trying to escape."
I stepped toward him.
"Who are they?"
He looked toward the door.
"The Hawthornes."
Then the glass shattered.
Margaret screamed.
I pulled her to the floor.
A gunshot tore through the room.
The metal box flew off the table.
The recorder hit the floor.
And in the darkness, Dr. Reed shouted:
"Take the evidence and run!"
I grabbed the box.
Margaret crawled toward the back door.
Then I heard another gunshot.
She stopped.
For one horrifying second, I thought she had been hit.
But she turned.
Blood was running from her arm.
"I'm fine," she whispered.
"Move!"
We ran.
Through the kitchen.
Out the back door.
Across the garden.
Behind us, men shouted.
I didn't look back.
We reached the car.
I shoved Margaret inside.
Then jumped behind the wheel.
The engine roared.
I drove.
Only when the house disappeared behind us did Margaret speak.
"Your father knew this day would come."
I looked at her.
"What day?"
"The day you discovered the truth."
"What truth?"
She stared at me.
"The child in that photograph."
I tightened my grip on the steering wheel.
"What about the child?"
Margaret's voice trembled.
"That child is alive."
My heart stopped.
"Where?"
She looked at me.
"I don't know."
"Then how do you know?"
"Because I saw her."
I stared.
"Her?"
Margaret nodded.
"Your father told me the child was a girl."
My blood ran cold.
Nathan wasn't the baby.
The child my father had hidden wasn't Nathan.
It was a girl.
And somehow, she was still alive.
Margaret looked toward the road ahead.
"Daniel, there's something else."
"What?"
"The woman in the photograph."
"Maria?"
"Yes."
"She's not the mother."
"Then who is?"
Margaret swallowed.
"Your mother."
I slammed on the brakes.
The car stopped.
For several seconds, neither of us spoke.
My mother.
Evelyn.
The woman who had told me Maria Hawthorne died.
The woman who had been involved in Nathan's identity.
The woman who had tried to stop Claire from telling me the truth.
My mother had carried a secret child.
A child my father had hidden.
A child connected to forty-eight million dollars.
And perhaps—
a child who had been erased from my family's history.
I looked at Margaret.
"Where is she?"
Margaret shook her head.
"I don't know."
"Then we find her."
"Daniel..."
"No."
I started the car again.
"My wife is in a hospital bed."
"My child is in danger."
"My brother is missing."
"My mother has lied to me my entire life."
I looked at the road.
"And now I know my father was murdered."
Margaret stared at me.
I tightened my grip on the wheel.
"So we're going to find that woman."
"Who?"
"The girl my family erased."
I glanced at the metal box sitting beside me.
Because somewhere inside those documents was the answer.
And I knew one thing now.
The woman everyone believed was dead had survived.
My father's death had never been an accident.
And the secret he died protecting wasn't buried with him.
It was still alive.
Somewhere.
May you like
Waiting for me to find it.
To be continued.
