Chapter 6 - The Woman Buried Under Another Name
I confronted Nolan that night.
Not because I believed he knew everything.
Because I was tired of secrets.
“My mother saw my father before she died.”
He stared at me.
“Who told you that?”
“Mrs. Bell.”
Nolan's expression shifted.
“I didn't know.”
I searched his face.
For once, I believed him.
“My mother died believing I hated my father for abandoning us,” I whispered. “She let me carry that anger.”
Nolan sat across from me.
“Maybe she believed anger would keep you from looking for him.”
“That doesn't make it right.”
“No.”
I looked toward the window.
“I don't know who my parents were anymore.”
He waited.
Then said quietly, “You know they loved you.”
I laughed bitterly.
“Love isn't supposed to look like this.”
“No,” he agreed. “It isn't.”
The following morning, Daniel arrived with new information.
Evelyn Shaw had been living under the name Margaret Ellis in Vermont.
Her original federal credentials had been revoked after she disappeared during the investigation.
Officially, she was presumed dead.
Unofficially, she had spent eight years moving between safe houses with a man believed to be Thomas Carver.
My father.
But Daniel had discovered something else.
A death certificate existed for Margaret Ellis.
It had been filed six years earlier.
The woman supposedly buried under that name wasn't Evelyn.
It was another witness.
A woman named Rebecca Hale.
Rebecca had worked as an auditor for Victor's charitable foundation.
She had discovered payments to shell companies connected to trafficking operations.
Then she disappeared.
“Victor was killing witnesses,” I said.
Daniel nodded.
“Or forcing them into hiding.”
Nolan spread the documents across the table.
“We need Evelyn. She may be the only person who can authenticate the original financial records.”
“And my father?”
“We'll find him.”
I looked at Nolan.
“You keep saying that.”
“I know.”
“Then stop making promises and start giving me facts.”
He accepted the criticism.
“We have a lead. A private medical clinic in Connecticut received payments from an account connected to Evelyn.”
“Then that's where we go.”
Nolan hesitated.
“It could be a trap.”
“Everything could be a trap.”
“Olivia—”
“My father has been alive for eight years. I'm done waiting for men to decide how much truth I can handle.”
He studied me.
Then nodded.
“Fine. But we involve federal investigators before approaching the clinic.”
By afternoon, Nolan's attorney had contacted a federal prosecutor named Sarah Whitmore.
She agreed to meet us in a secure conference room.
Sarah was in her early forties, with short brown hair and the calm expression of someone who had spent years listening to powerful men explain why laws didn't apply to them.
She didn't seem impressed by Nolan.
Good.
Neither was I.
She listened to my account of the auction.
Then she asked detailed questions.
Names.
Descriptions.
Times.
Locations.
I told her everything.
When I finished, she looked at Nolan.
“Mr. Voss, you understand that your presence at an illegal auction raises serious questions.”
“Yes.”
“And your payment?”
“It was recorded through an intermediary account. My attorney has the transaction information.”
“Why did you attend?”
Nolan hesitated.
“An informant told me Victor's people were arranging a private sale involving women.”
Sarah's expression hardened.
“And you didn't contact law enforcement?”
“I believed local officers were compromised.”
“You could have contacted this office.”
“I should have.”
She watched him for a long moment.
Then said, “We will investigate your conduct as well.”
Nolan nodded.
“I understand.”
I looked at him.
He didn't argue.
He didn't threaten.
He didn't call anyone to make the problem disappear.
For the first time, I wondered whether the man I had spent eight years studying was trying to become someone different.
Sarah arranged for investigators to examine the clinic lead.
She also ordered an urgent search for the surviving women from the auction.
I insisted on providing a formal statement.
Nolan waited outside while I did.
When I emerged, he was standing beside the window.
“You didn't have to wait,” I said.
“I know.”
“Why did you?”
He looked at me.
“Because I wanted to know you were all right.”
I didn't know what to say.
That evening, we received news.
The clinic in Connecticut had been raided.
A physician was arrested for falsifying patient records.
But my father wasn't there.
Instead, investigators found a room that had been occupied until the previous morning.
Inside was a newspaper clipping.
The headline concerned the fire at the Westchester mansion.
Someone had circled my name.
Beneath it were four handwritten words.
Olivia is in danger.
The handwriting belonged to my father.
Sarah called me personally.
“Miss Carver, we believe your father is actively trying to protect you.”
“Then why won't he contact me?”
“We don't know yet.”
I looked at Nolan.
He stood across the room, listening.
Sarah continued.
“We also found evidence suggesting someone has been intercepting communications between the witnesses.”
“Victor?”
“Possibly.”
I swallowed.
“Can I see the room?”
“Not until it's processed.”
I thanked her and ended the call.
Nolan approached.
“What did she say?”
I told him.
He looked thoughtful.
Then his phone rang.
Unknown number.
He answered.
A man's voice spoke.
“Hello, nephew.”
Nolan's expression turned cold.
“Victor.”
I froze.
The voice on the phone was smooth and confident.
“I hear you've been asking questions about an old family matter.”
Nolan put the call on speaker.
“What do you want?”
Victor chuckled.
“The same thing I've always wanted. Stability.”
“You arranged the auction.”
“Careful with accusations.”
“You tried to kill Olivia.”
“Did I?”
I stepped forward.
“Where is my father?”
Silence.
Then Victor laughed softly.
“Well, well. Thomas's little girl.”
My skin crawled.
“Where is he?”
“Your father has always been a difficult man, Olivia.”
“If you've hurt him—”
“Your father is alive because I allow him to be.”
Nolan's jaw tightened.
“Victor, listen carefully.”
“No, Nolan. You listen.”
The older man's voice hardened.
“You have something that belongs to me.”
“The ledger?” Nolan asked.
Victor paused.
Then said, “The girl has the key.”
I looked at the small brass key lying on Nolan's desk.
Victor continued.
“Bring it to the Hudson docks tomorrow night.”
“And Thomas?” Nolan asked.
“He'll be there.”
“Proof of life.”
A brief silence.
Then another voice came through the phone.
Weak.
Raspy.
But unmistakable.
“Olivia?”
My knees nearly gave way.
“Dad?”
A sob escaped my throat.
“Dad, is that you?”
“Sweetheart.”
I pressed a hand over my mouth.
Eight years.
Eight years of birthdays.
Eight Christmases.
Eight years of believing I would never hear that voice again.
“Dad, where are you?”
He coughed.
“Don't trust—”
A sharp sound interrupted him.
Then Victor returned.
“Tomorrow night, Nolan. No police.”
The call ended.
I stared at the phone.
May you like
My father was alive.
And Victor Voss had him.
