Chapter 3 - My Mother Had Known Adrian’s Mother
My mother had been dead for seven years.
For seven years, I'd believed her final years had been simple.
She worked.
She came home.
She cooked.
She complained about cheap groceries.
She watched old television dramas.
She never talked about wealthy people.
She never talked about criminals.
She never talked about Adrian Vale.
Yet there she was in a photograph standing beside Elena Vale.
I couldn't stop staring.
“My mother knew your mother.”
Adrian nodded.
“Apparently.”
“Apparently?”
“I didn't know.”
“You're telling me my mother was connected to the Vale family and you didn't know?”
“I didn't know who your mother was.”
“What did you know?”
He hesitated.
“I knew Elena had one friend outside the organization.”
“Who?”
“Someone named Rebecca.”
“My mother's name was Rebecca Bennett.”
The words seemed to strike him.
He took another step toward me.
“You're Rebecca Bennett's daughter?”
“Yes.”
“What was her middle name?”
“Grace.”
His eyes closed.
He whispered, “That's her.”
I felt sick.
“Who was she to your mother?”
“My mother's best friend.”
The answer didn't comfort me.
It made everything worse.
Adrian brought me to a secure apartment across the city.
It was nothing like Vale House.
Plain walls.
Plain furniture.
No paintings.
No antiques.
The first thing I noticed was that he had removed his jacket.
The second was that he looked exhausted.
The third was that he kept glancing at me as if I might disappear.
“You need to sleep.”
“So do you.”
“I don't sleep much.”
“I noticed.”
He almost smiled.
Then he placed the photograph on the table.
“Tell me about your mother.”
“She worked at a hotel.”
“Which one?”
“The Bellford.”
Adrian stared.
“That was one of my father's properties.”
My stomach dropped.
“My mother worked for him?”
“Possibly.”
“She never told me.”
“Because she was protecting you.”
“You keep saying that.”
“Because that's what she did.”
He opened a drawer.
Inside was a file.
He placed it in front of me.
It contained old employee records.
Rebecca Bennett.
Elena Vale.
Both assigned to Bellford Hotel.
Twenty-four years earlier.
There were handwritten notes in the margins.
I read one.
Elena is considering leaving.
Another:
Rebecca believes Gabriel will kill them both.
Another:
The child cannot remain in Philadelphia.
I looked at Adrian.
“What child?”
He didn't answer.
I read further.
There was an old photograph.
A pregnant Elena.
Rebecca standing beside her.
And a handwritten line.
Two mothers. Two children. One escape.
My heart hammered.
“What does this mean?”
Adrian looked pale.
“I'm not sure.”
“You must have an idea.”
He stood.
“I know my father had two children.”
I stared.
“You?”
“And a sister.”
“You have a sister?”
“Had.”
“What happened?”
“My father said she died.”
I looked back at the document.
“Did she?”
“I don't know.”
He sat down.
“When my mother disappeared, I thought she left because she didn't love me. Years later, I learned she had been trying to get me out.”
“Out of what?”
“My father's organization.”
“Why didn't she take you?”
“She tried.”
“What happened?”
Adrian's eyes hardened.
“My father found her.”
“And your sister?”
“Gone.”
I looked at the photograph again.
Two women.
Two unborn children.
A plan.
Then another clue appeared.
A hospital wristband.
The name on it was barely readable.
Baby Girl Vale.
I stared.
“Adrian.”
He looked.
“My God.”
The room became silent.
“What if your sister survived?”
He didn't answer.
“What if my mother helped her?”
“That would explain everything.”
“Where is she?”
“We find out.”
He called Grant.
Within an hour, Grant arrived.
He looked at the photograph.
His expression changed.
“I've seen this.”
“Where?”
“In Gabriel's old records.”
“What records?”
“The ones he burned before he died.”
Adrian stepped forward.
“You said everything was destroyed.”
“I thought it was.”
“And?”
Grant handed him a memory card.
“We found this hidden inside an old clock at the mansion.”
Adrian inserted it.
A video appeared.
Gabriel Vale sat at a desk.
Older.
Colder.
Drinking whiskey.
His voice filled the room.
“Elena thinks I don't know what she's planning.”
Adrian's jaw tightened.
“She has help.”
Rebecca's name came next.
Then another.
A name neither of us recognized.
Samuel Bennett.
My father's name.
I stopped breathing.
“My father?”
Adrian looked at me.
The video continued.
“Rebecca's husband knows too much. If they try to take the children, stop them.”
I covered my mouth.
My father hadn't been innocent.
He had been involved.
But why?
The video ended.
Adrian looked at me.
“I am sorry.”
“For what?”
“For the fact that our families destroyed yours.”
I shook my head.
“You didn't.”
“I was born into it.”
“So was I.”
He stared.
I looked at the frame.
The cheap wood.
The photograph.
The clue.
Then I remembered something from childhood.
My mother had kept an old wooden box.
She had called it “the thing that saved us.”
I had forgotten it.
Adrian saw the change in my face.
“What?”
“My mother had a box.”
“Where?”
“My apartment.”
“We're going.”
We returned to my small apartment.
Nothing had been disturbed.
I opened the closet.
Behind a suitcase was the box.
It was empty.
Except for a note.
I opened it.
Three words.
LOOK UNDER VALE HOUSE.
Adrian went still.
“Someone knew you'd come here.”
“Who?”
He looked at the empty box.
“Your mother.”
“What?”
“She left the note for you.”
“How would she know?”
Adrian stared at the floor.
Then he whispered:
“Maybe she knew you would meet me.”
My heart pounded.
“Why would she want that?”
He looked at me.
“Because I think our mothers planned something twenty-four years ago.”
“What?”
“To stop my father.”
Before I could answer, the apartment windows shattered.
Adrian tackled me to the floor.
Bullets tore through the wall.
Grant fired back from the hallway.
Adrian covered me with his body.
When the shooting stopped, we heard a car accelerate outside.
He lifted his head.
“Are you hurt?”
“No.”
He looked at my face.
Our eyes met.
Neither moved.
For one second, the fear around us disappeared.
Then Adrian whispered:
“Someone is getting desperate.”
May you like
I looked at him.
“And I think they're desperate because you and I are getting close to the truth.”
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