Chapter 4 - The Woman Who Knew Her Mother's Name
Building Seventeen no longer existed.
At least, that was what Matthew told me.
The warehouse had been demolished after the fire.
A commercial storage complex now occupied the property.
But the brass key suggested that something had survived.
The next morning, Matthew brought me to an old Whitaker property office in Brooklyn.
Gabriel had obtained the original warehouse plans.
We spread them across a conference table.
Building Seventeen had contained three floors.
A production area.
A shipping department.
And a basement archive.
The basement included a locked records room.
B17.
I stared at the notation.
"Could the room still exist?"
Gabriel nodded.
"The demolition records are incomplete."
Matthew looked at him.
"Who approved them?"
"Richard Vale."
I remembered the executive from my interview.
"He was there when you showed me the photographs."
Matthew's expression remained unreadable.
"Richard has worked for my family for twenty-four years."
"Then he knew my mother."
"Possibly."
Gabriel placed another document on the table.
"There's something else."
It was a photograph taken outside the warehouse in 2006.
Several employees stood near the loading dock.
My mother was among them.
I recognized her immediately.
Her dark hair.
Her gentle smile.
The small silver necklace she always wore.
Beside her stood a younger Richard Vale.
And behind them was a woman I didn't recognize.
Tall.
Blond.
Wearing a white coat.
Someone had circled her face in red ink.
Beneath the photograph were two handwritten words.
ASK HELENA.
"Who's Helena?" I asked.
Gabriel exchanged a glance with Matthew.
"Helena Price," he said. "Former head of production."
"Where is she now?"
"She disappeared after the fire."
My stomach tightened.
"Disappeared?"
"Her employment records ended. No forwarding address. No tax history under that name."
Matthew leaned back.
"Someone erased her."
I looked at the photograph again.
The woman stood close to my mother.
Not like a coworker.
Like a friend.
We spent the next two hours reviewing old records.
At noon, Matthew insisted I eat something.
I told him I wasn't hungry.
He ordered sandwiches anyway.
When they arrived, he placed one beside me without comment.
I looked at him.
"Do you always tell people what to do?"
"Only when they're about to collapse."
"I'm not collapsing."
"You've had coffee and nothing else since yesterday."
I narrowed my eyes.
"How do you know?"
"You told my assistant you skipped breakfast."
"That's unsettling."
"So I've been told."
For the first time, I almost smiled.
Matthew noticed.
And something in his expression softened.
It lasted only a second.
Then Gabriel's telephone rang.
He stepped outside.
When he returned, his face was grim.
"We found Daniel Mercer."
I stood.
"Where?"
"Upstate. He lives alone near Albany."
"Can we talk to him?"
Gabriel hesitated.
"Someone already did."
He placed a photograph on the table.
It showed Mercer's front porch.
The door stood open.
A chair lay overturned.
And a dark stain marked the wooden floor.
My stomach dropped.
"Is he dead?"
"We don't know. Police found the house empty."
Matthew looked toward Gabriel.
"Get the security footage."
"There are no cameras on the property."
"Neighbors?"
"One reported seeing a black SUV yesterday."
I felt sick.
Yesterday.
The day after I'd shown Matthew the records.
"Someone knows we're investigating."
Matthew nodded.
"Yes."
"Are they watching us?"
"Possibly."
I looked toward the windows.
Suddenly, the city outside felt dangerous.
That afternoon, Matthew arranged temporary security outside our apartment.
My father protested.
I protested louder.
But when Matthew explained that a retired detective had vanished, neither of us could argue.
At six, I left Bellamy House through a side entrance.
Gabriel's driver waited at the curb.
Before I reached the car, someone spoke behind me.
"Nora Bennett?"
I turned.
An elderly woman stood beneath the awning of a closed bookstore.
She wore a gray coat and held a canvas shopping bag.
Her silver hair was pinned neatly behind her head.
"Do I know you?"
Her eyes filled with tears.
"No, sweetheart."
She stepped closer.
"But I knew your mother."
My heart stopped.
"Who are you?"
The woman glanced nervously toward the street.
"My name is Helena Price."
I couldn't breathe.
"You're Helena?"
She nodded.
"I've been trying to reach you."
"Why?"
"Because Evelyn made me promise something."
I stepped toward her.
"What promise?"
Helena's voice trembled.
"That if you ever found the blue dress, I would tell you the truth."
The city noise seemed to disappear.
I stared at her.
"Is my mother alive?"
Helena began crying.
Then whispered the words I'd waited twenty years to hear.
"She was alive after the fire."
Before I could ask another question, a black SUV turned onto the street.
Helena saw it.
May you like
Her expression changed instantly.
"Run."
Related Stories
