Chapter 3 - A Deleted Voicemail Revealed Claire Had Tried to Warn Me the Night She Died, but Her Final Words Mentioned a Third Child No One Had Ever Told Me AboutI replayed the message.
Nothing.
Just static.
My security team recovered fragments from the server.
A distorted voice.
Claire.
“Daniel…”
I froze.
Her voice.
My wife's voice.
Alive.
Speaking to me.
The recording crackled.
“If you're hearing this, then they stopped me.”
Static.
“Don't trust…”
The audio vanished.
Then returned.
“…the children are not the only ones.”
I stared at the speaker.
A third child.
What did that mean?
Marco reconstructed another six seconds.
Claire's voice came through again.
“Her name is…”
Static.
Then:
“...Lydia.”
I felt cold.
There was no Lydia.
Not in my family.
Not in Claire's records.
Not anywhere.
I called Marco.
“Find Lydia.”
“Already searching.”
Within two hours, he returned.
There was a Lydia Parker.
Same surname as Helen.
Age twenty-six.
Missing.
The date of her disappearance was the same week the twins were born.
I stared at the file.
“What is she to Helen?”
“Sister.”
“What does she have to do with Claire?”
“We don't know.”
“Find out.”
The girls were coloring in the kitchen.
I watched them.
They looked so innocent.
Ivy had drawn a house.
Skye had drawn a lake.
Then Skye stopped.
She looked at me.
“Daddy?”
“Yes?”
“Mommy said not to forget Aunt Lydia.”
My hand froze.
“Who is Aunt Lydia?”
She whispered:
“She helped Mommy.”
My heart hammered.
“What did she do?”
“She found us.”
“Where?”
“In the big room.”
“What big room?”
Skye pointed upstairs.
“The room where Mommy cried.”
Claire's old bedroom.
I searched it again.
Under the floorboards.
Behind the wardrobe.
Inside the mattress.
Nothing.
Then Ivy pointed toward the fireplace.
“Behind there.”
I moved the stone.
A hidden compartment opened.
Inside was a photograph.
Helen.
Lydia.
Claire.
And another woman.
My mother.
The photograph was dated three years earlier.
The twins' birth date.
I stared at my mother.
She had known all four women.
Maybe she had been involved.
Maybe she had been watching.
Then I saw the third woman.
She was holding a baby.
One infant.
I looked closely.
The baby's face was hidden.
A note beneath the picture said:
Child Three must never reach Daniel.
My heart stopped.
Three children.
Two daughters.
Who was the third?
I called Matteo.
He came immediately.
When he saw the photograph, he stopped breathing.
“You knew.”
He didn't answer.
“Who is the third child?”
“I don't know.”
“Liar.”
He closed his eyes.
“It's complicated.”
“Tell me.”
He finally did.
Three years ago, Claire had discovered that the family trust was being manipulated.
My mother had secretly transferred assets.
Matteo had been pressured to cooperate.
Then Claire became pregnant.
With twins.
But there was another pregnancy involved.
Helen's sister Lydia was also pregnant.
The families became connected through a private medical clinic.
Something happened.
A baby disappeared.
Then another.
The records were altered.
The twins were hidden.
Lydia vanished.
And my mother erased the connections.
I stared.
“Why?”
“Because your father had a rule.”
“What rule?”
“Only one direct heir.”
I laughed bitterly.
“So he would kill children to protect money?”
Matteo looked down.
“Not exactly.”
“Then explain.”
“He wanted the family to appear stable.”
“That's not an explanation.”
“It was a criminal dynasty, Daniel.”
He looked at me.
“Everything was about succession.”
I hated the truth.
But I needed it.
“Where is Lydia?”
“We don't know.”
“Then find her.”
“She may be dead.”
I refused to accept it.
We searched.
Hotels.
Clinics.
Shelters.
Records.
Nothing.
Then the girls found another clue.
Skye drew a lighthouse.
I recognized it.
Lake Geneva.
A private property my father had once owned.
I took them there.
An abandoned house stood near the water.
Inside, there were children's toys.
Three cribs.
One empty.
One broken.
One folded away.
My blood ran cold.
Someone had expected three babies.
I found a notebook.
Claire's handwriting.
I can't protect all three.
I can only hide what I know.
Then:
Daniel doesn't know the truth.
If he learns too late, they'll use him.
I turned the page.
The final line was underlined.
The third child is not theirs.
Not theirs.
Whose?
I heard a door close behind us.
I turned.
A woman stood there.
Older.
Tired.
Holding a photograph.
She looked at the twins.
Then me.
“You're Daniel.”
“Yes.”
May you like
She began crying.
“My name is Lydia.”
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