Chapter 10 — The Person Behind the Camera
Chapter 10 — The Person Behind the Camera
The woman on the phone had given me an address.
An abandoned photography studio on the other side of town.
She had said only one thing before hanging up.
“I know what they did to you.”
I wanted to believe her.
I also knew better than to trust anyone connected to the Harrington family.
Detective Collins read the address twice.
“You're not going.”
“I need answers.”
“You need backup.”
“She said to come alone.”
“That's exactly why you're not going alone.”
I looked at the rain streaming down the police station windows.
“What if she's the real Maria?”
Detective Collins was silent.
“What if she isn't?” she finally asked.
“Then we find out.”
She sighed.
“You've become very good at walking into traps.”
“I've had practice.”
She almost smiled.
“Fine. But you follow my instructions.”
The studio had been abandoned for years.
The sign above the door had lost most of its letters.
Inside, the air smelled of dust and chemicals.
Old photographs covered the walls.
Wedding portraits.
Family portraits.
Children.
People who had once stood in front of the camera believing they were preserving happy memories.
I walked deeper into the building.
“Hello?”
No answer.
Then I noticed the cameras.
Dozens of them.
Old film cameras.
Digital cameras.
Security cameras.
Hidden cameras.
One lens was pointed directly at me.
I stopped.
Someone had been watching.
A projector suddenly turned on.
A photograph appeared on the wall.
My mother.
Young.
Standing outside a hospital.
Beside her was Edward.
And in her arms was a newborn baby.
I stepped closer.
The next photograph appeared.
My mother handing the baby to a nurse.
Then another.
A nurse carrying two newborns through a hallway.
Then another.
A man standing near the nursery.
Michael Vale.
I felt sick.
The projector continued.
The final image showed two babies lying beside each other.
One had a silver bracelet.
The other had a blue bracelet.
A handwritten note appeared beneath the photograph:
BABY A — HARRINGTON
BABY B — VALE
Then the image changed.
Someone had switched the bracelets.
I whispered:
“No.”
A voice came from behind me.
“Yes.”
I turned.
A woman stood in the doorway.
She looked almost exactly like me.
Same eyes.
Same nose.
Same expression.
But older.
Maybe by only a few years.
Her face was pale.
Her hands trembled.
She whispered:
“I'm Maria.”
I couldn't move.
She stared at me.
“I've been waiting for you.”
I shook my head.
“Who are you?”
“I told you.”
“Prove it.”
She reached into her coat.
She pulled out an old photograph.
It showed my mother holding a baby.
On the back was handwriting.
My little Maria.
I stared at the photograph.
My mother's handwriting.
I knew it immediately.
“Where did you get this?”
“She gave it to me.”
“When?”
“When I was seventeen.”
My throat tightened.
“Where is she?”
“Dead.”
I closed my eyes.
“But you said she gave you this.”
“She died three years ago.”
“How?”
“Cancer.”
I looked at her.
“Did she know who you were?”
“Yes.”
“And who I was?”
“She knew there were two babies.”
“But she didn't know where I was.”
“She did.”
I froze.
“What?”
“She knew.”
“Then why didn't she find me?”
The woman looked away.
“Because she was afraid.”
“Of Michael?”
“No.”
“Then who?”
She whispered:
“Edward.”
The projector changed again.
A new photograph appeared.
Edward holding a newborn.
My mother's hand was visible beside him.
The date was twenty-three years ago.
The woman beside me whispered:
“Your mother believed Edward was going to kill one of us.”
“Why?”
“Because of the trust.”
“The Foundation?”
“No.”
“The two hundred million?”
“No.”
“Then what?”
She looked at the screen.
“The Harrington bloodline.”
I remembered Evelyn's explanation.
The genetic marker.
The private trust.
The patents.
The companies.
The billions.
But something didn't fit.
“Why would Edward kill his own daughter?”
“He didn't know which daughter was his.”
I stared at her.
“What?”
“That's why the babies were switched.”
“Who switched them?”
She hesitated.
Then whispered:
“Your mother.”
My heart stopped.
“She switched us?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“To save you.”
“Which one of us?”
The woman looked at me.
“Both.”
She told me what happened.
My mother had discovered that Michael Vale was planning to steal the Harrington bloodline trust.
He needed a legitimate Harrington descendant.
But he didn't know which baby carried the genetic marker.
So he arranged for the hospital records to be altered.
My mother realized what he was doing.
She switched the bracelets.
Then she disappeared with one child.
But she couldn't save both.
“Why not?”
“Because someone was watching.”
“Who?”
She looked at the camera above us.
“The person behind the camera.”
I followed her gaze.
“You?”
She shook her head.
“No.”
“Then who?”
She walked toward a wall covered with photographs.
She pointed to one.
A man stood in the background.
Holding a camera.
I recognized him.
I had seen him before.
At the Harrington estate.
At my father's funeral.
At the hospital.
At the charity dinner.
Always behind someone.
Always unnoticed.
I whispered his name.
“Robert.”
She nodded.
“Dr. Robert Vale.”
Michael's brother.
The doctor who signed Anna's death certificate.
The man who had access to the hospital.
The man who had handled the DNA records.
“He filmed everything,” she said.
“Why?”
“To keep evidence.”
“For whom?”
She stared at me.
“For himself.”
Suddenly the studio lights went out.
I heard a door slam.
The woman grabbed my arm.
“Don't move.”
A camera clicked.
Flash.
Another click.
Flash.
Someone was photographing us.
“Who's there?”
No answer.
Then a man's voice came through the speakers.
“You should have stayed apart.”
The woman beside me froze.
“Robert.”
A recording began playing.
My mother's voice.
“If you're hearing this, I failed.”
I felt tears in my eyes.
“Maria, I need you to understand something.”
The woman beside me started crying.
“You were never supposed to know each other.”
The recording continued.
“One of you carries Edward's blood.”
A pause.
“The other carries Michael's.”
My heart stopped.
The woman beside me looked at me.
“Which one am I?”
The recording answered.
“I never found out.”
Silence.
Then my mother's voice returned.
“But Michael knows.”
The speakers clicked off.
A gunshot shattered the projector.
The room went dark.
The woman screamed.
I grabbed her hand.
“Run!”
We ran toward the back exit.
Another shot.
Glass exploded behind us.
We burst through the door into the rain.
A black car sped away.
Detective Collins arrived seconds later.
She jumped out.
“Are you hurt?”
“No.”
She looked at the other woman.
“Who is she?”
The woman stared at me.
“I'm Maria.”
Detective Collins looked confused.
I whispered:
“She may be.”
Back at the station, DNA testing began.
I sat across from the woman.
Neither of us spoke.
Finally she said:
“My name is actually Elena.”
I looked at her.
“Then why did you say you were Maria?”
“Because that's what I've been called all my life.”
“By whom?”
“My mother.”
“Why?”
“Because she wanted me to believe I was you.”
“Why?”
Elena looked down.
“To keep me safe.”
I frowned.
“How?”
“If Michael ever found me, he'd think I was the Harrington heir.”
“But if you weren't…”
“He would kill me anyway.”
I looked at her.
“And me?”
“You were supposed to live as Elena.”
My stomach turned.
“Then my entire life was stolen.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
She whispered:
“Because someone needed a sacrifice.”
The DNA results arrived after midnight.
Detective Collins entered the room holding two envelopes.
She looked serious.
“The results are conclusive.”
I stood.
“Well?”
She opened the first envelope.
“Maria Santos is biologically related to Edward Harrington.”
My heart stopped.
I looked at Elena.
She looked stunned.
Detective Collins opened the second envelope.
“Elena Vale is biologically related to Michael Vale.”
Silence.
I wasn't the impostor.
I was the Harrington daughter.
The true heir.
Elena wasn't my sister.
She was Michael's daughter.
But then why had we been switched?
Detective Collins placed another document on the table.
“There is something else.”
“What?”
“The DNA sample from Jonathan.”
I stared.
“What about him?”
“He isn't Edward's son.”
I felt cold.
“Then whose son is he?”
Detective Collins looked at me.
“Michael Vale.”
I already knew that.
But the next sentence changed everything.
“His DNA matches Elena.”
I stared.
“They're siblings.”
“Yes.”
“So Michael had two children.”
“Yes.”
“And one was raised as a Harrington.”
“Yes.”
I looked at Elena.
She was crying.
“Then Daniel…”
Detective Collins shook her head.
“Daniel is Edward's biological son.”
My mind spun.
Three children.
Three bloodlines.
One family.
One trust.
And decades of lies.
Then Detective Collins placed a final photograph on the table.
“There's one person we haven't talked about.”
I looked at it.
The man holding the camera.
Robert Vale.
He stood beside my mother.
But behind them was another person.
A woman.
I recognized her immediately.
Margaret.
Young.
Pregnant.
And beside her stood Michael.
My stomach dropped.
Detective Collins pointed to the photograph.
“Taken the same night the babies were switched.”
I stared.
“That means Margaret was there.”
“Yes.”
“But she said she didn't know.”
“She lied.”
“Why?”
Detective Collins enlarged the image.
On Margaret's wrist was a hospital identification bracelet.
I leaned closer.
The name was barely visible.
But it was enough.
Patient: Margaret Harrington.
Condition: Pregnancy — 38 weeks.
My heart stopped.
Margaret had been pregnant that night.
But nobody had ever told me she had another child.
I looked at Elena.
Then at Detective Collins.
“Where is that child?”
Detective Collins didn't answer.
She turned the photograph over.
Written on the back were four words:
The fourth child survived.
I stared.
“Fourth?”
A phone rang.
Detective Collins answered.
Her expression changed immediately.
“What?”
She listened.
Then slowly looked at me.
“They found a body.”
“Whose?”
“Vivian's.”
My heart dropped.
“What?”
“Her car was found near the river.”
“Is she dead?”
“No.”
Detective Collins hesitated.
“She's alive.”
“Then what's wrong?”
“She was found with someone.”
“Who?”
Detective Collins looked at the photograph.
“The fourth child.”
I couldn't breathe.
“Who is it?”
She whispered:
May you like
“Your mother.”
To be continued.
