Chapter 3 - The Woman Isabel Told Me Was DeadI found Matthew in his study.
“Tell me about my mother.”
He looked up.
He knew immediately.
“Who contacted you?”
“That doesn't matter.”
“It matters to me.”
“Tell me.”
He closed the file in front of him.
“Your mother was named Sofia Bennett before she married your father.”
I stared.
“My mother was Sofia Bennett.”
“Yes.”
“Was?”
“She disappeared.”
“When?”
“Two years before your father died.”
“You said she died when I was four.”
“That was the official story.”
“What is the truth?”
Matthew was silent.
“She left.”
“Why?”
“Because she was afraid.”
“Of Isabel?”
“Yes.”
I sat down.
“Then why did Isabel tell me she died?”
“Because Isabel wanted you to believe you had nobody except her.”
My stomach turned.
“She isolated me.”
“Yes.”
“She made me dependent.”
“Yes.”
“And my father?”
“Dead.”
I looked at Matthew.
“My whole life is a lie.”
“No.”
He shook his head.
“Your life was built around a lie.”
“What's the difference?”
“You're still here.”
I swallowed.
“Where is my mother?”
“I don't know.”
“You don't?”
“No.”
“Then why mention her?”
“Because Isabel has started using her name.”
“How?”
“She sent me a file last month.”
He handed me a photograph.
My heart stopped.
A woman stood outside a European train station.
Older.
Blonde hair.
Same eyes.
My mother.
Alive.
I covered my mouth.
“She’s alive.”
Matthew nodded.
“Where?”
“The photograph was taken six months ago.”
“Who took it?”
“Someone who works for Isabel.”
“Why would Isabel photograph her?”
“Because she wanted me to know.”
“Why?”
Matthew's jaw tightened.
“To frighten me.”
I stared.
“Why would my mother frighten you?”
“She doesn't.”
“Then what does?”
“She was standing beside a man.”
I looked closer.
My mother's hand rested on the arm of a silver-haired man.
Richard Ambrose.
I felt sick.
“My mother knows him.”
“Yes.”
“Maybe she doesn't.”
“She does.”
“How do you know?”
“Because Ambrose paid for her disappearance.”
I stood.
“You're telling me my mother was hiding with the man Isabel tried to trade me to?”
Matthew nodded.
“This is insane.”
“I agree.”
“Then why would my mother help him?”
“We don't know that she did.”
“Maybe she was a prisoner.”
“Possibly.”
“Then we find her.”
Matthew looked at me.
“We will.”
“Now.”
“No.”
I stared.
“Why not?”
“Because that's what Ambrose wants.”
“You think it's a trap.”
“I know it is.”
I walked toward the desk.
“You can't keep me hidden forever.”
“I don't intend to.”
“Then let me help.”
He looked at me for several seconds.
Finally, he said:
“Your father left another document.”
“What?”
“A letter addressed to you.”
He handed it over.
I opened it.
My dearest Elena,
If you ever discover that your mother is alive, do not trust what you are told about her.
I read the next sentence.
Sofia left because I asked her to.
My eyes filled with tears.
She knew Isabel was planning something that would put you in danger.
Then:
She was not hiding from you. She was protecting you.
I stopped.
Another paragraph.
One day, you may learn that the Carranza and Vargas families were connected long before you were born.
I looked at Matthew.
“You knew.”
“Yes.”
“Connected how?”
“Our fathers were partners.”
“In business?”
“In something bigger.”
“What?”
“Private security.”
I frowned.
“My father never told me.”
“He was trying to keep you out of it.”
Another sentence.
Trust Matthew only if he remembers one thing.
I read aloud.
“‘Remember one thing.’”
“What?”
“Your mother taught him how to survive.”
Matthew's expression changed.
I stared.
“What does that mean?”
“My mother knew your family.”
“Yes.”
“She trained your father?”
“No.”
“She trained you?”
Matthew hesitated.
“Partly.”
I stepped closer.
“In what?”
“How to protect people.”
“From what?”
“Men like Ambrose.”
I looked down at the letter.
My father had trusted Matthew.
My mother had trusted Matthew.
And somehow their past was tied to his.
Then the phone rang.
Matthew answered.
His expression changed.
“What?”
He listened.
“Where?”
He looked at me.
“Ambrose's estate.”
“What?”
“Your mother was there.”
My heart stopped.
“Alive?”
“Yes.”
“Who called?”
“Isabel.”
My stomach turned.
“What did she say?”
Matthew ended the call.
“She wants to meet.”
“Why?”
“She has your mother.”
I stared.
“And what does she want?”
May you like
Matthew looked at me.
“You.”
Related Stories
