Chapter 3 - The Woman Who Disappeared With My Father's Secret
There are betrayals that arrive like a slap.
And there are betrayals that quietly rearrange every memory you've ever trusted.
Learning that my best friend was the daughter of a man connected to my father's disappearance did both.
“That's impossible,” I whispered.
Vincent stood beside my destroyed jewelry box.
“Her father changed his surname when she was young.”
“Rachel told me her father died when she was twelve.”
“Samuel Voss never died.”
I shook my head.
“No. Rachel couldn't have known.”
“Maybe she didn't.”
“She was my best friend.”
Vincent didn't answer.
I hated that silence.
Rachel Donovan had been my college roommate.
She was the person who brought me coffee during finals, held my hair while I was sick, and slept on my living room floor after my first serious boyfriend broke my heart.
She knew how much I missed my father.
She knew I wore his necklace whenever life became overwhelming.
And when the clasp broke, she'd offered to repair it for free.
I remembered her exact words.
“Give it to me, Evie. I'll make it good as new.”
Four years later, I still didn't have it.
And now I wondered whether she'd ever intended to return it.
“Find her,” I said.
Vincent looked at Marco.
“Already searching.”
“No.” I stepped toward him. “I mean find her before whoever kidnapped my mother does.”
Marco nodded once.
“We'll try.”
Vincent escorted me into the living room while his men examined the bedroom.
I sat on the sofa, staring at my father's photograph.
The broken glass had been removed.
His smile remained unchanged.
“How did you find out about Rachel?” I asked.
Vincent leaned against the kitchen counter.
“After the storage unit was broken into, I reviewed everyone who had been close to your father. Samuel Voss was one of the names.”
“And Rachel?”
“Her name surfaced in a financial investigation.”
“What investigation?”
“After Voss disappeared, someone continued collecting money from an account he controlled.”
“Rachel?”
“Possibly. The account was associated with her business.”
I frowned.
“That doesn't prove she knew anything.”
“No.”
“Then stop looking at me like I've been stupid for trusting her.”
Vincent's expression changed.
“I don't think you're stupid.”
“People keep secrets from me, and somehow I'm the last person to know.”
He walked closer.
“That's different from being foolish.”
“Is it?”
“Yes.”
I looked up.
He sat across from me.
“Your father trusted people who betrayed him. That didn't make him a fool. It made them dangerous.”
I stared at him.
“You really admired him.”
“Yes.”
“Tell me something about him I don't know.”
Vincent considered.
“He hated black coffee.”
I blinked.
“What?”
“He drank it anyway because he thought adding sugar made him look unprofessional.”
A small laugh escaped me.
“That sounds exactly like him.”
“He used to tell my father that accountants should be allowed to charge extra for stupidity.”
I smiled through my tears.
“He said that at home too.”
Vincent's gaze softened.
“He also carried a photograph of you everywhere.”
My throat tightened.
“Really?”
“You were missing your two front teeth in the picture.”
I covered my mouth.
“Third grade.”
“He showed it to everyone.”
“That's humiliating.”
“He said you were the bravest person he knew.”
I looked down.
“He taught me to ride a bicycle that year.”
Vincent nodded.
“He told me.”
We sat quietly for a moment.
Something shifted between us.
I had spent years protecting my father's memory like a fragile possession.
Vincent hadn't come to replace those memories.
He had brought me new ones.
Then his phone rang.
He answered.
“Marco?”
The voice on the other end was urgent.
Vincent rose.
“Send me the address.”
He ended the call.
“What happened?” I asked.
“We found a possible location for Rachel.”
My heart jumped.
“Where?”
“An apartment in Evanston.”
“I'm coming.”
“No.”
I stood.
“Vincent.”
“Evelyn, someone may be watching that apartment.”
“She's my friend.”
“And someone may have used that friendship to get close to you.”
“I don't care.”
He studied me.
I crossed my arms.
“If Rachel betrayed me, I want to hear it from her. If she's in danger, I won't abandon her.”
Vincent sighed.
“You negotiate like your father.”
“Good.”
“He was a nightmare.”
“Excellent.”
For the first time since the phone call, Vincent smiled.
“Fine. But you stay with me.”
The apartment was on the second floor of a small building near a quiet residential street.
By the time we arrived, two of Vincent's men had secured the entrance.
Vincent insisted on entering first.
I followed close behind.
The door was unlocked.
Inside, the apartment was dark.
A lamp lay overturned.
Books littered the floor.
On the kitchen counter sat an untouched cup of coffee.
“Rachel?” I called.
No answer.
We moved farther inside.
The bedroom was empty.
So was the bathroom.
Then I heard something.
A faint tapping.
Three quick knocks.
A pause.
Two more.
Vincent raised his hand.
Everyone stopped.
The tapping came again.
From the closet.
Vincent approached carefully.
He opened the door.
And I screamed.
Rachel Donovan sat on the floor with her wrists bound by plastic restraints.
A strip of tape covered her mouth.
Her face was bruised.
There was dried blood near her temple.
I rushed forward.
“Rachel!”
Vincent caught my arm.
“Wait.”
He checked the closet before allowing me closer.
Then Marco cut the restraints.
Rachel collapsed into my arms.
I peeled away the tape.
“Evie,” she whispered.
Her voice broke.
“I'm so sorry.”
I held her tighter.
“Who did this?”
Her eyes darted toward Vincent.
She recoiled.
“No.”
Vincent crouched.
“Rachel, I'm not here to hurt you.”
She stared at him in terror.
“You're his son.”
Vincent went still.
“Whose?”
“Alessandro Marino.”
Vincent's father.
Rachel began shaking.
“He said your family would kill me if I talked.”
“Who said that?” Vincent asked.
She swallowed.
“My father.”
I felt cold.
“Rachel, your father is alive?”
She nodded.
“Samuel Voss.”
I sat back.
“You knew?”
Tears spilled down her cheeks.
“Not at first.”
“How long?”
She couldn't look at me.
“Six years.”
Six years.
Our entire friendship had lasted eleven.
For more than half of it, she'd known.
I pulled away.
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“Because he threatened my mother.”
“You told me your mother died!”
Rachel began sobbing.
“I know.”
I stood.
The betrayal was almost physical.
I remembered sitting beside her at a memorial service she'd arranged for a woman who was apparently still alive.
I remembered buying flowers.
Holding her hand.
Telling her she wasn't alone.
And all the while—
“Was any of it real?” I whispered.
Rachel looked up.
“Our friendship was real.”
“Don't.”
“Evelyn—”
“Don't tell me that.”
Vincent stepped between us gently.
“Rachel, we need to know what Samuel wants.”
She wiped her face.
“The necklace.”
“Why?”
“Because Daniel hid something inside it.”
My pulse quickened.
“What?”
“A piece of evidence.”
Vincent crouched again.
“What kind?”
Rachel shook her head.
“I never saw it.”
“You had the necklace for four years,” I said.
“I know.”
“Where is it?”
She looked at me.
Then toward Vincent.
“I hid it.”
“Where?”
Before she could answer, a sharp crack shattered the window.
Vincent moved instantly.
He grabbed me around the waist and dragged me behind the sofa.
Another crack followed.
Glass exploded across the floor.
Someone was shooting into the apartment.
“Down!” Vincent roared.
Marco pulled Rachel behind the kitchen island.
The room filled with shouting.
I pressed my hands over my ears.
Vincent shielded me with his body.
For the first time, I understood the difference between reading about violence and being trapped inside it.
The sounds were deafening.
The fear was primitive.
There was no glamour.
No excitement.
Only the terrifying possibility that someone might die.
Vincent's men returned fire toward the street.
Then everything stopped.
Silence.
I heard my own breathing.
Vincent looked down at me.
“Are you hurt?”
I shook my head.
He checked my face anyway.
“Evelyn.”
“I'm okay.”
His hand lingered against my cheek.
For one second, his expression looked almost frightened.
Then Marco called out.
“Boss! Vehicle heading north. We're tracking it.”
Vincent looked toward Rachel.
She was crying.
“Your father?” he asked.
Rachel nodded.
“He found me.”
Vincent's jaw tightened.
“Why would he shoot at you?”
Rachel looked toward me.
“Because I told him I'd never give him the necklace.”
I stared at her.
“Then where is it?”
Rachel took a trembling breath.
“Somewhere he can't reach.”
“Where?”
She closed her eyes.
“Your father's grave.”
The words hit me like a punch.
“What?”
Rachel looked directly at me.
“I went there the night I disappeared.”
“Why?”
“Because your father left instructions.”
Vincent moved closer.
“What instructions?”
Rachel began crying again.
“He gave my mother a letter before he vanished. She kept it hidden until I found it. It said that if Daniel's enemies ever came for the necklace, I should return it to the only place Evelyn would eventually think to look.”
I shook my head.
“My father's grave?”
Rachel nodded.
“Inside the flower vase.”
I stared at her.
For seventeen years, I'd visited that cemetery.
Every birthday.
Every Father's Day.
Every Christmas Eve.
I'd brought roses and talked to my father.
And all that time, the secret someone was willing to kill for had been waiting beside his name.
Then Rachel reached for my hand.
“Evelyn, there's something else.”
I looked at her.
“What?”
May you like
Her voice dropped to a whisper.
“The man buried in that grave isn't your father.”
