Chapter 2 - The Photograph My Mother Begged Me to DestroyBy morning, I had stopped thinking about my fever.
All I could think about was the photograph.
My mother had been holding a baby I didn't recognize.
Catherine Mercer had been standing beside her.
And my father had been smiling.
It was the kind of photograph wealthy families displayed in silver frames.
Except this one had been hidden for twenty-three years.
My best friend Olivia Grant arrived shortly after breakfast.
Olivia was a criminal defense attorney with a talent for recognizing lies and absolutely no patience for Richard Whitmore.
She studied the photograph.
Then she looked at Daniel.
"Tell me everything you know."
Daniel explained the failed hospital project, his mother's investigation, and the suspicious accident.
Olivia listened without interrupting.
When he finished, she said, "You have suspicions. We need evidence."
Daniel nodded.
"Agreed."
I watched them.
For the first time since waking up sick, I felt something resembling hope.
Then Olivia noticed the writing on the photograph.
"Emily, October fourteenth is your birthday."
I nodded.
"But I was born in 1997. That photograph was taken six years later."
She turned the picture over.
"Then whoever sent this wants you to connect your identity to something that happened that day."
Daniel studied the baby.
"My mother had a daughter."
I looked at him.
"You have a sister?"
His expression darkened.
"Her name was Lily."
"Where is she?"
He looked away.
"She disappeared six weeks after our mother died."
The room became silent.
I looked down at the photograph.
The baby in my mother's arms had dark hair and a tiny white sweater.
"Is that Lily?"
Daniel nodded slowly.
"I think so."
My heart tightened.
"How old was she?"
"Eight months."
"Was she kidnapped?"
"That's what the police believed."
"Did they ever find her?"
"No."
I looked at Daniel.
For the first time, I understood the grief behind his careful manners.
He hadn't simply lost his mother.
He had lost his baby sister too.
That afternoon, my mother arrived alone.
She looked older than she had two days earlier.
I showed her the photograph.
Her face crumpled.
"Where did you get that?"
"It was delivered."
She sat down.
"Emily, please don't ask questions about things you can't change."
"Who is the baby?"
She closed her eyes.
"Lily Mercer."
"Why were you holding her?"
Tears rolled down her cheeks.
"Because Catherine asked me to protect her."
"From whom?"
My mother looked toward the door.
Then whispered, "Your father."
I felt sick.
She explained that Catherine had discovered suspicious financial transfers connected to the proposed children's hospital.
The money had passed through several companies associated with Richard Whitmore.
Catherine intended to expose the scheme.
Then threats began.
Someone followed her.
Someone broke into her office.
Someone left photographs of her children on her windshield.
Three days before she was scheduled to testify, she died in a highway collision.
Six weeks later, Lily disappeared.
"Did Dad have anything to do with it?" I asked.
My mother began crying harder.
"I don't know what Richard ordered."
That wasn't an answer.
It was an admission.
"What do you know?"
She gripped my hand.
"I know Catherine was terrified of him."
My stomach turned.
Then she said something even more frightening.
"Emily, your father has been trying to make you sign documents for months."
I nodded.
"The foundation restructuring."
"Don't sign them."
"Why?"
She hesitated.
"Because the money isn't his."
Before I could ask another question, the door opened.
My father stood there.
His gaze moved from my mother to the photograph.
He understood immediately.
"Margaret."
She released my hand.
My father approached the bed.
"Emily, your mother is upset. She's remembering things inaccurately."
I looked at him.
"Did you threaten Catherine Mercer?"
His face hardened.
"No."
"Did you steal money from her hospital?"
"No."
"Did you have anything to do with Lily's disappearance?"
He stared at me.
Then he said, "You have no idea how dangerous that family is."
I felt my anger rise.
"Daniel saved my life."
"He has an agenda."
"Then explain yours."
My father leaned closer.
"Everything I've done has been to protect this family."
"From what?"
He didn't answer.
I pointed toward the door.
"Leave."
His expression changed.
"Emily."
"Get out."
For the first time, Richard Whitmore obeyed me.
But before leaving, he looked at my mother.
And the fear on her face told me our conversation had consequences.
That evening, Olivia discovered the first financial document.
It was an amendment to the Catherine Children's Medical Trust.
The trust controlled assets worth approximately eighty-six million dollars.
Three names appeared on the beneficiary schedule.
Emily Whitmore.
Lily Mercer.
Jonathan Vale.
Olivia searched the third name.
Jonathan Vale had been a financial investigator.
According to public records, he died in a house fire in 2003.
I stared at the document.
"Why am I listed?"
Olivia looked at me.
"Because your mother was appointed to protect the trust after Catherine died."
"And Dad?"
"He wants control of it."
"How?"
She pointed to a signature line.
My signature line.
"If you sign, your father gains authority to consolidate the beneficiary interests."
I felt cold.
For months, my father had insisted the paperwork was routine.
He had called me ungrateful when I asked questions.
He had threatened to remove me from the family business.
Now I understood why.
I wasn't merely his daughter.
May you like
I was standing between him and eighty-six million dollars.
And he had been trying to move me out of the way.
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