Chapter 4 - The Night We Learned Our Daughter Was Alive
Glass exploded across the room.
Maren shoved the twins beneath the table.
I grabbed her and pulled her down.
“Stay low.”
Three more shots.
The attackers were not firing randomly.
They were trying to frighten us out.
I looked toward the back window.
“There's another exit.”
Maren nodded.
We crawled toward the hallway.
Leo began crying.
Lucas followed.
Maren lifted both.
I moved ahead.
The back door opened into an alley.
A vehicle waited.
I recognized the driver.
My father's old security chief.
“Get in.”
Maren hesitated.
“Can we trust him?”
“No.”
He looked at me.
“Then don't.”
We got inside anyway.
The car sped away.
After ten minutes, the driver spoke.
“Your father wants to see you.”
My blood froze.
“My father?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“An old estate outside Memphis.”
Maren grabbed my wrist.
“No.”
The driver looked at her in the mirror.
“He asked specifically for her.”
I leaned forward.
“You're taking us there.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because he says the truth belongs to all of you.”
The estate looked abandoned.
Inside, the furniture was covered with sheets.
At the end of the hallway was a man in a wheelchair.
My father.
Older.
Thinner.
Alive.
For several seconds I couldn't move.
“Hello, son.”
I stared at him.
“You let me think you were dead.”
“Yes.”
“You watched me destroy my marriage.”
“Yes.”
“You knew about the children.”
“Yes.”
“You let my daughter disappear.”
His expression collapsed.
“I failed her.”
I wanted to hit him.
Instead, I walked closer.
“Where is she?”
“I don't know.”
Maren stepped forward.
“You do.”
He looked at her.
“Maren.”
“You promised.”
He lowered his head.
“I tried to get her back.”
“From whom?”
“Your mother.”
I turned.
“My mother took her?”
“She arranged the transfer.”
“Why?”
“Because she discovered the trust.”
The trust belonged to my daughter.
A hidden Bellamy estate worth millions.
But there was another condition.
The beneficiary could only access it at twenty-five.
Unless a guardian petitioned on her behalf.
My mother planned to control that guardianship.
“She intended to raise the child under another name.”
“Where?”
“I don't know.”
“Then who does?”
My father looked at me.
“Tessa.”
I felt sick.
“She knows where my daughter is?”
“Yes.”
“And she didn't tell me.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because Tessa's mother was part of your father's financial network.”
I frowned.
“My father worked with her family?”
“Once.”
Then my father told us the truth.
The Whitmores had helped launder money through a foundation.
Maren had discovered the scheme.
Tessa found out.
She framed Maren before Maren could expose them.
Then the birth gave Tessa leverage.
She could control me through guilt.
She could control Maren through fear.
And she could control the missing child through the family trust.
It was monstrous.
But there was one thing that didn't make sense.
“Why keep the twins alive?”
My father looked at me.
“Because they were not part of the trust.”
My heart broke.
“My sons were leverage.”
“Yes.”
I turned away.
Maren came beside me.
She didn't touch me.
She didn't have to.
Her presence was enough.
Then my father pushed a folder toward us.
Inside was a hospital bracelet.
A tiny one.
Baby girl.
Mother: Maren Bellamy.
But the name on the other line had been scratched out.
I stared.
“Why?”
My father whispered:
“Because somebody changed it.”
The replacement name was visible beneath the ink.
Amelia Whitmore.
Tessa's surname.
Maren's face went white.
“Tessa stole my baby.”
“No,” my father said.
“Someone stole her for Tessa.”
A phone rang.
My father answered.
His expression changed.
“What?”
He listened.
Then handed me the phone.
A woman's voice came through.
“Rowan.”
“Tessa.”
“You found him.”
“You stole my daughter.”
“No.”
“Don't lie.”
“I didn't steal her.”
“Where is she?”
“I can't tell you.”
“Why?”
“Because if I do, she dies.”
I froze.
Maren gripped my arm.
“What did she say?” she whispered.
Tessa continued.
“Your daughter is alive.”
“Where?”
“She isn't the person you think she is.”
“What does that mean?”
Tessa started crying.
“She's closer than you realize.”
The line went dead.
I stared at the phone.
Maren whispered:
“Closer how?”
Then we heard footsteps upstairs.
Someone else was inside the house.
My father looked terrified.
“He followed me.”
“Who?”
He whispered one name.
“Caleb.”
My younger half-brother.
A man I had never met.
The footsteps stopped outside the room.
A voice called:
“Rowan.”
I looked toward the door.
“Come out.”
Maren pulled the twins closer.
My father whispered:
“He isn't here for you.”
“Then who?”
May you like
He looked at the children.
“He's here for his niece.”
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