CHAPTER 5 — The Photograph
CHAPTER 5 — The Photograph
The photograph remained on the table between us.
I couldn't stop staring at it.
Lauren.
Daniel Reeves.
My uncle Daniel Carter.
And somewhere behind all three of them, a secret my family had apparently carried for decades.
James stood beside the window, staring into the darkness.
"Don't call your uncle yet," he said.
I looked at him.
"Why?"
"Because whoever sent this wants us to react."
"You think it's fake?"
"No."
"Then why wait?"
"Because if your uncle is involved, we don't know how deep it goes."
I looked toward the nursery.
Emma was asleep.
"Someone said my baby is leverage."
James's jaw tightened.
"I know."
"How can you stand there so calmly?"
He turned toward me.
"I'm not calm."
That was when I realized his hands were clenched.
"I'm controlling myself."
He walked back to the table.
"We don't know who's watching us."
I whispered:
"Then what do we do?"
"We stop telling people what we're doing."
At 6:14 the next morning, my father called.
His voice sounded exhausted.
"Don't let your uncle come near Emma."
I sat upright in bed.
"What happened?"
"I spoke to him."
"And?"
"He denied everything."
"Of course he did."
My father was silent.
Then:
"He asked about Emma."
My blood ran cold.
"What did he ask?"
"When you were taking her to the pediatrician."
I looked at James.
He was already awake.
"Did you tell him?"
"No."
"Good."
My father lowered his voice.
"Evelyn, listen to me."
"I'm listening."
"If Daniel Carter calls you, don't answer."
"Why?"
"Because I don't know what he's capable of anymore."
That sentence frightened me.
My father had always defended his brother.
Always.
Even when Uncle Daniel was reckless.
Even when he disappeared for months.
Even when he borrowed money and never returned it.
My father had always said:
"He's family."
Now he sounded afraid.
"Where is he?"
"I don't know."
"Then find him."
"I've been trying."
"Do you know where he was last night?"
"No."
James took the phone from me.
"Mr. Carter."
My father paused.
"Yes?"
"Did your brother ever work with Daniel Reeves's father?"
Silence.
Too long.
"Yes."
James looked at me.
"How closely?"
My father sighed.
"Very closely."
Two hours later, my father arrived at our house.
He looked older than he had the night before.
He carried a brown leather briefcase.
He placed it on the dining table.
"I should have told you years ago."
I stared at him.
"Told me what?"
He opened the briefcase.
Inside were old documents.
Photographs.
Letters.
Bank statements.
And another photograph.
This one was much older.
My grandfather stood beside a younger version of my uncle Daniel.
Beside them stood another man.
I recognized him immediately.
Daniel Reeves's father.
"Why were they together?"
My father sat down.
"They were business partners."
My stomach tightened.
"You said they were competitors."
"They became competitors later."
James picked up one of the documents.
"What happened?"
My father rubbed his forehead.
"My father and Daniel Reeves Sr. started a company together."
"What company?"
He hesitated.
"Horizon Capital."
James studied the paperwork.
"Who owned it?"
"Initially, both families."
"And then?"
My father looked at me.
"Your grandfather bought him out."
"Why?"
"Because Reeves was stealing."
I frowned.
"Stealing what?"
"Money."
James looked up.
"How much?"
"Millions."
I stared at my father.
"Then why did he claim our family stole from him?"
"Because admitting he stole would have destroyed his reputation."
My father looked at the photograph.
"He told everyone my father cheated him."
"And Uncle Daniel?"
"He believed his father."
"Even after knowing the truth?"
My father looked away.
"People believe what they need to believe."
James spread the documents across the table.
There were hundreds of pages.
Contracts.
Financial statements.
Letters.
One letter caught my attention.
It was handwritten.
The signature belonged to Daniel Reeves Sr.
I read the first line.
Arthur, you know what belongs to my family.
I looked at my father.
"What is this?"
He didn't answer.
I continued reading.
The letter accused my grandfather of taking something that wasn't money.
Something far more personal.
At the bottom was a sentence:
One day, my son will recover what you stole.
I looked up.
"What did Grandfather steal?"
My father swallowed.
"I don't know."
"You don't know?"
"Not exactly."
James stared at him.
"Then why have you kept this letter?"
"Because I was afraid."
"Of what?"
My father looked toward the stairs.
"Of what would happen if Daniel ever found out the truth."
I felt a chill.
"What truth?"
My father closed his eyes.
"That your grandfather didn't take it."
"Then who did?"
He didn't answer.
The silence was unbearable.
James leaned forward.
"Who?"
My father whispered:
"Your uncle."
I couldn't breathe.
"Uncle Daniel?"
My father nodded.
"Twenty-two years ago, your uncle was working with Reeves."
"Why?"
"Money."
My father looked ashamed.
"He had gambling debts."
I stared at him.
"He stole from both families."
"What did he steal?"
"Documents."
"What documents?"
"Ownership records."
James's eyes narrowed.
"Ownership of what?"
My father shook his head.
"I never found out."
"Then how do you know?"
"Because Daniel admitted it to me."
"When?"
"Twenty years ago."
I felt sick.
"You knew?"
"I confronted him."
"And?"
"He begged me not to tell your grandfather."
"So you protected him."
My father lowered his head.
"Yes."
I couldn't believe it.
All those years.
All those family dinners.
All those holidays.
And my father had been hiding a secret that might now be threatening my daughter.
"Why?"
He looked at me.
"Because he was my brother."
I laughed bitterly.
"That excuse again."
My father flinched.
"Family."
I shook my head.
"Family doesn't mean protecting someone from the consequences of hurting others."
James looked at me.
He didn't say anything.
But I knew he agreed.
At noon, another photograph arrived.
This time, it was delivered by courier.
No return address.
The courier claimed he had been paid in cash.
James opened the envelope.
Inside was a photograph of Emma.
My heart stopped.
She was in her nursery.
Sleeping.
The photograph had been taken from inside our house.
I grabbed the table.
"No."
James immediately stepped between me and the photograph.
"When was this taken?"
I looked closer.
Emma was wearing the white sleeper I'd put her in the previous night.
The clock on the nursery wall showed 2:13 a.m.
My stomach turned.
Someone had been inside our house.
While we slept.
James immediately checked the nursery.
Window.
Door.
Closet.
Nothing.
He returned.
"Nobody's here."
I was shaking.
"But someone was."
He nodded.
"Yes."
My phone rang.
Unknown number.
James looked at me.
"Don't answer."
But I did.
A man's voice spoke.
"Mrs. Carter."
I froze.
"Who is this?"
"You've been asking questions."
"Who are you?"
"You should stop."
"Why?"
"Because you're going to discover things you don't want to know."
I gripped the phone.
"Did you take that photograph?"
A pause.
"Your daughter is beautiful."
My blood ran cold.
James reached for the phone.
The caller continued.
"She looks like you."
"Don't touch my family."
A quiet laugh.
"You're not in a position to make demands."
James took the phone.
"Listen carefully."
The man's voice changed.
"Captain Walker."
James froze.
The caller knew him.
"You don't know who you're dealing with."
James answered:
"I know enough."
"No."
The man laughed.
"You don't."
The line disconnected.
James immediately called the police.
They examined the house.
No forced entry.
No obvious fingerprints.
No broken locks.
Which meant one thing.
Whoever had taken the photograph had either been let inside...
or had access to the house.
I stared at James.
"Lauren?"
He didn't answer immediately.
Then:
"Maybe."
My heart sank.
"You think she gave someone a key?"
"We don't know."
I sat down.
"I don't know who to trust anymore."
James crouched beside me.
"Trust me."
I looked at him.
"I do."
"Then trust this too."
He pointed toward the photograph.
"Whoever did this wants us afraid."
"Why?"
"Because fear makes people make mistakes."
He stood.
"So we won't."
That evening, Lauren appeared at our door.
James almost refused to let her in.
But she was crying.
"I know who took the photograph."
My heart stopped.
"What?"
Lauren looked at me.
"I know."
James stepped aside.
"Come in."
She entered.
Her hands were trembling.
"I didn't do it."
I stared at her.
"Did you give anyone our address?"
"No."
"Keys?"
"No."
"Information?"
She hesitated.
I felt my anger return.
"Lauren."
"I told Daniel where you lived."
My chest tightened.
"But I didn't give him a key."
James asked:
"Who did?"
Lauren looked at him.
"I don't know."
"Think."
She closed her eyes.
"Daniel once asked me if I knew your security company."
James's expression hardened.
"What did you tell him?"
"I told him the name."
"Anything else?"
"No."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes."
James turned away.
Lauren looked at me.
"I'm sorry."
I wanted to believe her.
But then she said something that changed everything.
"There's something else."
"What?"
"Daniel showed me a photograph once."
"Of me?"
She shook her head.
"Of your grandfather."
"What was strange about it?"
"There was someone standing beside him."
"Who?"
Lauren looked terrified.
"Your mother."
I frowned.
"My mother?"
She nodded.
"And Daniel Reeves's father."
I stared at her.
"That's impossible."
"I know."
"Why would they be together?"
"I don't know."
Lauren looked at James.
"But Daniel told me something."
"What?"
"He said the story our family told us was false."
James asked:
"Which story?"
Lauren swallowed.
"The story about who stole the company."
I looked at my father.
Then back at Lauren.
"What did he say?"
Her voice dropped.
"He said your grandfather wasn't the thief."
My heart stopped.
"Then who was?"
Lauren looked directly at me.
"Your mother."
Silence.
I couldn't move.
My mother.
The woman who had cried over Emma.
The woman who had apologized.
The woman who had spent decades telling us that our family had been betrayed by the Reeves.
Could she have been lying?
Before I could speak, my phone rang.
Dad.
I answered.
His voice was shaking.
"Evelyn."
"What?"
"You need to come home."
"Why?"
"Your mother just told me something."
"What?"
A pause.
Then:
"She says she knows who entered your house."
I looked at James.
"Who?"
My father's voice broke.
"She says it was someone she invited."
The line went dead.
And for the first time, I understood the terrifying truth.
The person who had entered our home...
May you like
hadn't broken in.
They had been welcomed.
