Chapter 6 - The Ghost in the Photograph
The photograph changed everything.
Thomas was standing outside a motel in Milwaukee.
Alive.
Older by several months.
His beard was longer.
His face thinner.
But it was him.
There was no doubt.
I couldn't breathe.
“He survived.”
Dante picked up the photograph.
“Maybe.”
“Maybe?”
“This could be staged.”
“It is him.”
“I know.”
“Then find him.”
“We will.”
We traced the motel.
The owner remembered Thomas.
He had stayed under another name.
Daniel Cross.
He stayed for eleven nights.
Then left with a woman.
The woman was Margaret Bell.
I stared at the screen.
“Why would Margaret help him disappear?”
“Because she was protecting him.”
“From Victor?”
“Yes.”
The trail led to a small town outside Green Bay.
We drove through the night.
By morning we reached a farmhouse hidden among fields.
A man opened the door.
I stopped breathing.
Thomas.
He looked at me.
For several seconds neither of us moved.
Then his face collapsed.
“Sof.”
I ran to him.
He caught me.
He smelled like cedar and winter.
He was real.
Alive.
My brother was alive.
“You're alive.”
“I know.”
“You're alive.”
He held me tighter.
“I tried to come home.”
“Why didn't you?”
“Because they were watching you.”
I pulled away.
“You let me think you were dead.”
“I had no choice.”
“You had three years.”
“I know.”
Tears filled his eyes.
“I'm sorry.”
I hit his chest.
Then again.
Then I hugged him.
I cried harder than I had in years.
Dante stood in the doorway.
Thomas saw him.
His expression changed.
“You brought Moretti?”
“I didn't know who else to trust.”
Thomas laughed without humor.
“That's a dangerous sentence.”
Dante looked at him.
“You knew.”
“I knew enough.”
“What did Victor do?”
Thomas motioned us inside.
He showed us documents.
Victor had spent decades siphoning money from legitimate companies.
But the largest scheme had nothing to do with money.
It involved names.
Identities.
People who disappeared.
Witnesses who were given new lives.
Children who were placed into new families.
People like me.
Victor had built an organization around controlling identities.
He knew the secrets of judges, politicians, billionaires, criminals.
And he used those secrets to control the city.
Thomas had discovered the database.
The database contained everything.
Every name.
Every payment.
Every death.
And one file was missing.
The file named Isabella Moretti.
“She's alive,” Thomas said.
Dante froze.
“Where?”
Thomas looked at him.
“I don't know.”
“You're lying.”
“I'm not.”
“What did Victor do with her?”
“He used her as leverage.”
“Against whom?”
“Your father.”
Dante stared.
Thomas continued.
“Victor told your father that if he fought back, Isabella would disappear.”
Dante's jaw tightened.
“So my father obeyed.”
“Until he couldn't.”
“What happened?”
“Victor killed him.”
Silence.
I looked at Thomas.
“And you?”
“You found the database.”
“Yes.”
“Why did you fake your death?”
“Because Victor found me.”
“Then why are you still alive?”
Thomas looked toward the window.
“Because someone saved me.”
“Who?”
He hesitated.
Then answered.
“Isabella.”
Dante went completely still.
“You saw her?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“Chicago.”
“When?”
“Last month.”
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“Because she doesn't know who she can trust.”
Thomas looked at me.
“She asked about you.”
I swallowed.
“What did she say?”
“She said she dreamed about a girl with her eyes.”
The room became silent.
Dante stared at the floor.
Then Thomas added:
“She said her name isn't Isabella.”
“What is it?”
Thomas looked at me.
“Sofia.”
My heart stopped.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“Then who am I?”
Thomas shook his head.
“We need a DNA test.”
Dante didn't speak.
Thomas opened another folder.
Inside was a medical record.
A woman named Isabella Moretti had been admitted to a psychiatric hospital as a teenager.
Her age matched mine.
The photograph attached to the file was partly obscured.
But the eyes—
My eyes.
Dante saw it too.
He stepped back.
“No.”
Thomas looked at him.
“I'm sorry.”
I stared at the photograph.
My entire life had been built around a lie.
But if I was Isabella—
Then who was Sofia Reed?
Thomas slowly opened the last document.
A birth record.
The name was different.
The child had not been stolen.
The child had been switched.
May you like
And the last line read:
Sofia Reed — deceased.
