CHAPTER 13 — THE NIGHT ELEANOR DIED
CHAPTER 13 — THE NIGHT ELEANOR DIED
The gunshots followed us into the darkness.
I ran without feeling my feet touch the ground.
Daniel was beside me.
Grant was behind us.
And somewhere in the corridors of the medical facility, armed men were hunting all three of us.
“Left!” Daniel shouted.
We turned.
A bullet struck the wall beside my head.
I screamed.
Grant grabbed my shoulder and pulled me through a service door.
We stumbled into a narrow stairwell.
Daniel slammed the door behind us.
“Don't stop.”
“Where are we going?” I asked.
“Basement.”
“That's the wrong direction.”
“It's the only way out.”
We ran down.
One floor.
Two.
Three.
The lights flickered overhead.
Then the stairwell went completely dark.
I reached for the wall.
“Daniel?”
“I'm here.”
“Grant?”
“Here.”
A heavy impact shook the door above us.
They had found us.
Daniel whispered:
“They'll come through in seconds.”
“What do we do?”
He looked at me.
“There's another door.”
“Where?”
He pointed downward.
“Keep going.”
We reached the bottom.
A steel door blocked our path.
Daniel entered a code.
The lock clicked.
The door opened.
Cold air rushed over us.
We stepped into an underground parking garage.
Three black vehicles waited beneath fluorescent lights.
I stopped.
“Whose cars are those?”
Daniel stared at them.
“Not ours.”
Grant raised his weapon.
“Then we're surrounded.”
A man's voice came from behind one of the vehicles.
“No.”
He stepped into the light.
“You're expected.”
I recognized him.
Dr. Whitmore.
Grant's father.
The man who had supposedly died six years earlier.
Grant stared at him.
“You're alive.”
Richard Whitmore smiled.
“You sound disappointed.”
Grant raised his gun.
Richard didn't move.
“You've become very dramatic.”
“You kidnapped Daniel.”
“I saved him.”
“You erased his identity.”
“I protected him.”
“You ordered him to kill Claire.”
Richard looked at me.
“I gave him a choice.”
Daniel stepped forward.
“You lied.”
Richard's expression hardened.
“You were always weak.”
Daniel flinched.
I stepped between them.
“Why?”
Richard looked at me.
“Why what?”
“Why did you spend twenty-two years destroying our family?”
He smiled.
“Because your family destroyed mine first.”
“What did my father do?”
Richard's eyes shifted toward Grant.
“Ask your husband.”
I turned.
Grant looked confused.
“Don't.”
Richard laughed.
“You still haven't told her?”
“Told me what?”
Grant shook his head.
“Richard is manipulating you.”
“Tell her.”
“Tell me what?”
Richard stepped closer.
“Grant wasn't born a Whitmore.”
Silence.
I looked at Grant.
He went pale.
“What?”
Richard smiled.
“He was born an Aranda.”
My blood froze.
“That isn't possible.”
“It is.”
Grant stared at him.
“My father was Robert Whitmore.”
Richard laughed.
“Robert was your legal father.”
He pointed at himself.
“I am your biological father.”
Grant's face changed.
I could see the shock break through him.
“No.”
“Yes.”
Richard looked at me.
“And that makes this much more interesting.”
I whispered:
“Then who is Eleanor?”
Richard's smile disappeared.
For the first time, genuine fear crossed his face.
“Where did you hear that name?”
I stared at him.
“Who is Eleanor?”
He said nothing.
Daniel looked at me.
“Claire…”
“What?”
He shook his head.
“That's the name from the notebook.”
I remembered.
The black notebook.
DAUGHTERS.
Hundreds of names.
One had been circled.
Eleanor.
I looked at Richard.
“You know her.”
He didn't answer.
“Who is she?”
Richard's jaw tightened.
“She should have remained dead.”
The words sent a chill through me.
“Should have?”
Daniel stepped forward.
“Who is Eleanor?”
Richard looked at him.
“The first person who discovered what we were doing.”
“Doing what?”
“Changing identities.”
Grant stared.
“Children.”
Richard nodded.
“Children were moved between families.”
I felt sick.
“Why?”
“Money.”
“Power?”
“Both.”
He looked at me.
“Some families wanted heirs.”
Others wanted daughters.
Some wanted sons.
Some wanted to erase illegitimate children.
Others wanted to create legitimate ones.
“And Eleanor?”
Richard's expression hardened.
“She was the accountant.”
My mother had been an accountant.
But this was different.
“Was she working with my mother?”
“No.”
“Against her?”
“Yes.”
“What happened to her?”
Richard looked away.
“She died.”
“When?”
“Twenty-two years ago.”
Daniel whispered:
“Then why is her name in the notebook?”
Richard didn't answer.
I stepped closer.
“You lied.”
He stared at me.
“Eleanor didn't die.”
Richard's silence was enough.
We were taken to another room.
Not by Richard's men.
By federal agents.
Someone had been tracking the facility.
Within minutes, the underground garage was full of sirens.
Richard was arrested.
But he refused to speak.
Daniel was taken for medical evaluation.
Grant stayed beside me.
I couldn't stop thinking about one thing.
Eleanor.
The name wouldn't leave my head.
I searched the federal database.
Nothing.
No Eleanor Whitmore.
No Eleanor Vance.
No Eleanor Reyes.
Then an agent found something.
“Claire.”
I turned.
He held a file.
“Eleanor Mercer.”
I took it.
Born forty-seven years ago.
Died twenty-two years ago.
Official cause of death:
Vehicle accident.
Location:
A private road near the Vance estate.
I looked at the date.
Three days before my mother disappeared.
My stomach tightened.
“Three days.”
The agent nodded.
“Three days before your mother vanished.”
I turned toward my mother.
She had been sitting quietly in the corner.
When she saw the file, her face collapsed.
“Mom?”
She whispered:
“I thought she was dead.”
“Who was she?”
“Eleanor was my closest friend.”
My heart pounded.
“You knew her.”
“Yes.”
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“Because I was afraid.”
“Again?”
She looked at me.
“I know.”
“What did she know?”
My mother closed her eyes.
“Everything.”
Eleanor had worked for the Vance company.
She had discovered that financial records were being altered.
Not by my grandfather.
By someone above him.
Someone who controlled the private trust system.
She had found payments.
Birth certificates.
Medical records.
Adoption documents.
Death certificates.
Thousands of records.
All connected.
She tried to expose them.
Three days before my mother's disappearance, Eleanor called her.
She said she had proof.
My mother met her that night.
But Eleanor never arrived home.
Her car was found the next morning.
Burned.
Her body was supposedly inside.
DNA confirmed the remains belonged to her.
At least officially.
I stared at the file.
“Then how could she have survived?”
My mother looked at me.
“Because the body wasn't Eleanor's.”
I stopped breathing.
“What?”
“They switched the remains.”
“Who?”
“My father.”
I looked at the agents.
“Then whose body was it?”
My mother shook her head.
“I don't know.”
A voice behind us answered.
“I do.”
We turned.
Daniel stood in the doorway.
He looked exhausted.
But his eyes were clear.
“The body belonged to a woman named Elena Mercer.”
My mother went pale.
“Eleanor's sister.”
Daniel nodded.
“She disappeared the same night.”
I stared.
“So Eleanor escaped.”
“Yes.”
“Where did she go?”
Daniel looked at Grant.
“Your father knows.”
Grant froze.
“My father?”
Daniel nodded.
“Richard told me.”
“What did he say?”
“He said Eleanor wasn't killed.”
My mother whispered:
“Then where is she?”
Daniel looked at me.
“She was placed into witness protection.”
My heart raced.
“By whom?”
Daniel's answer came quietly.
“Your mother.”
I turned toward her.
“Mom?”
She was crying.
“I couldn't save her publicly.”
“So you hid her.”
“Yes.”
“For twenty-two years?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
My mother hesitated.
Then she said:
“Mexico.”
My heart stopped.
The photograph.
The house.
The messages.
Everything suddenly made sense.
“She was there.”
“Yes.”
“Is she still alive?”
My mother nodded.
“I believe so.”
“Then why didn't she come forward?”
“Because she was afraid.”
“Of Richard?”
“No.”
“Of my grandfather?”
“No.”
“Then who?”
My mother looked at me.
“Your father.”
The room went silent.
I felt as if the floor had disappeared beneath me.
“Arthur?”
“Yes.”
“Why would she fear Dad?”
“Because Eleanor discovered something about him.”
“What?”
My mother took a breath.
“The night Eleanor died…”
She stopped.
“What?”
“She wasn't investigating Richard.”
I stared.
“She was investigating Arthur.”
My blood turned cold.
“What did she discover?”
My mother looked at Grant.
“That he had another child.”
Grant frowned.
“Another child?”
She nodded.
“A child born before Claire.”
I felt sick.
“Daniel.”
“No.”
She shook her head.
“Not Daniel.”
My mother looked directly at me.
“A daughter.”
Silence.
“Who?”
“Eleanor.”
I stared.
“That doesn't make sense.”
“Eleanor wasn't just an accountant.”
My mother wiped her tears.
“She was your father's first daughter.”
The room stopped.
I couldn't breathe.
“My father had a daughter?”
“Yes.”
“Then why did everyone say I was his first child?”
“Because Eleanor was erased.”
“Why?”
My mother whispered:
“Because she knew the truth about her own birth.”
I looked at Daniel.
He was staring at the floor.
“What truth?”
My mother answered.
“She wasn't Arthur's daughter.”
My stomach twisted.
“Then whose?”
My mother looked toward the hallway.
“I never found out.”
A sound came from behind us.
The door opened.
An agent entered.
“Claire.”
He held a phone.
“We have a call.”
“From who?”
He hesitated.
“Eleanor.”
My heart stopped.
“What?”
“She says she has proof.”
“Where is she?”
“She won't say.”
“Put her through.”
The agent handed me the phone.
I pressed it to my ear.
For several seconds, there was only breathing.
Then an old woman's voice whispered:
“Claire?”
“Yes.”
“Your mother told you about me.”
“Yes.”
A pause.
“Then you know I was supposed to die twenty-two years ago.”
“Yes.”
“I didn't.”
“Where are you?”
“I can't tell you.”
“Why?”
“Because they found me once.”
“Who?”
“Arthur.”
My blood froze.
“What did he want?”
“The same thing Richard wants.”
“What?”
“Your blood.”
I couldn't speak.
Eleanor continued.
“Claire, your father has lied to you.”
“I know.”
“No.”
Her voice trembled.
“You don't.”
“What don't I know?”
“The man you call your father…”
She paused.
“…isn't your father.”
My entire body went cold.
“What?”
“I found the original birth records.”
“Where?”
“With me.”
“Can you prove it?”
“Yes.”
“Then come forward.”
“I can't.”
“Why?”
“Because Arthur isn't the only person who wants me dead.”
“Who else?”
Silence.
Then Eleanor whispered:
“Your mother.”
I froze.
“What?”
“She was there that night.”
My mother stood across the room.
I stared at her.
Eleanor continued.
“She knows exactly what happened to me.”
“Mom?”
My mother looked at me.
I covered the phone.
“What did you do?”
She didn't answer.
“Mom.”
Her eyes filled with tears.
“I tried to save her.”
“That's not what she says.”
My mother closed her eyes.
Eleanor's voice came through the phone.
“Claire, listen to me.”
I raised the phone again.
“I'm listening.”
“The night I died…”
She took a trembling breath.
“…your mother was the one who pulled the trigger.”
The phone slipped from my hand.
I stared at my mother.
She didn't deny it.
And that was worse than any confession.
I whispered:
“Mom?”
She looked at me.
“I didn't kill Eleanor.”
“Then why didn't you deny it?”
“Because…”
She began crying.
“…because Eleanor was already dead when I arrived.”
I couldn't breathe.
“Then who shot her?”
My mother looked toward the door.
“Your father.”
The room went silent.
Then every light in the building went out.
A gunshot exploded.
My mother fell.
“Mom!”
I ran toward her.
Blood spread across her shirt.
I dropped beside her.
“Mom! Stay with me!”
Her eyes opened.
She grabbed my wrist.
“Claire…”
“Yes?”
“Don't trust…”
She coughed.
“Don't trust who?”
Her lips moved.
“Daniel.”
I froze.
I looked behind me.
Daniel stood in the doorway.
Holding a gun.
His face was expressionless.
And in his other hand was the black notebook.
He looked at me.
“I warned you.”
Then he raised the gun.
May you like
And smiled.
“I never said I was your brother.”
