Chapter 6 - The Betrayal Behind the Glass Doors
The photograph changed everything.
For the first time, my mother's survival wasn't just a possibility.
It was documented.
But the image also raised questions I wasn't prepared to answer.
Why was she in a hospital?
Why had someone changed her identity?
And why was there a newborn baby beside her?
Matthew arranged a meeting with a private investigator named Sarah Collins.
She had previously worked in financial crimes and specialized in finding people who had disappeared through falsified records.
Sarah examined the photographs carefully.
"The baby may not belong to your mother," she said.
I nodded.
"I know."
"But the hospital transfer is significant."
"Can you find her?"
"I can try."
Matthew placed a folder on the table.
"Money isn't an obstacle."
Sarah looked at him.
"Money isn't always the problem."
She pointed toward the transfer notation.
"This hospital closed fifteen years ago. Its records were moved twice. Some were destroyed."
My hope faltered.
"But there may be archived insurance claims," she continued. "And if Evelyn received ongoing medical treatment, she may have left a trail."
I clung to that possibility.
Over the next week, I divided my time between Bellamy House and the investigation.
The job turned out to be harder than I'd expected.
The company was struggling.
Customers complained about damaged garments.
Employees feared layoffs.
Several suppliers had stopped delivering materials.
I spent hours inspecting returned merchandise.
I discovered inconsistent seam allowances, mislabeled fabric compositions, and repeated production errors.
When I presented my findings to Victoria Sloan, she listened carefully.
Unlike Richard, Victoria seemed genuinely interested.
"Can you fix it?" she asked.
"Not alone."
"What do you need?"
"Access to the production team. And permission to reject shipments that don't meet standards."
She nodded.
"Done."
For the first time in months, I felt useful.
Not because Matthew had rescued me.
Because I knew how to solve a problem.
One afternoon, he visited the production floor.
I was standing beside a sewing machine, demonstrating a reinforced seam to three employees.
Matthew waited until I finished.
Then said, "You look different."
I frowned.
"Different how?"
"Confident."
I glanced at the workers.
"They listen to me."
"Because you know what you're doing."
I looked away, embarrassed.
He smiled.
It was a small smile.
But it changed his entire face.
For a moment, I forgot the rumors.
The danger.
The secrets.
I saw only a tired man who seemed relieved to witness something going right.
Then his phone rang.
His expression hardened.
"Excuse me."
He stepped into the hallway.
When he returned, the warmth was gone.
"Richard has filed a complaint against you."
I stared.
"For what?"
"Corporate theft."
I laughed because the accusation was absurd.
Then I realized he wasn't joking.
"He claims you removed confidential production records."
"Those records were already in your possession!"
"I know."
"Then why would anyone believe him?"
"Because he's submitted surveillance footage."
My stomach tightened.
"What footage?"
Matthew showed me a recording.
It depicted someone entering the archive room after midnight.
A woman wearing a dark coat.
Her face was partially hidden.
She carried a handbag identical to mine.
The timestamp showed the previous Thursday.
I stared.
"That's not me."
"I know."
"How?"
"Because you were at your father's medical appointment that evening."
I looked at him.
"You checked?"
"Yes."
The honesty stung.
"You investigated me?"
"I verified your whereabouts after Richard made the accusation."
"Without asking?"
Matthew looked uncomfortable.
"I should have told you."
"Yes. You should have."
For several seconds, we stood in silence.
Then I took a breath.
"What happens now?"
"Nothing until we determine who manipulated the footage."
But Richard had already moved.
That evening, an anonymous account posted photographs of me entering Matthew's private office.
The caption suggested I had received a high-paying position in exchange for a personal relationship.
By morning, the story had spread through several gossip websites.
Employees whispered when I passed.
Strangers left cruel comments beneath my photographs.
Someone posted my father's address.
I felt sick.
At work, Victoria pulled me aside.
"Take a few days off."
"I haven't done anything wrong."
"I know."
"Then why should I hide?"
"Because someone wants you frightened enough to make a mistake."
I went home early.
My father was sitting beside the television.
He'd seen the story.
"I'm sorry," he whispered.
I sat beside him.
"Why are you apologizing?"
"Because all of this began with your mother."
I took his hand.
"No. It began with people who thought they could hurt her and never face consequences."
That night, someone knocked on our apartment door.
Three slow knocks.
Then silence.
I looked through the peephole.
Nobody stood outside.
But an envelope lay on the floor.
I waited until Gabriel's security team checked the hallway.
Then opened it.
Inside was a photograph of my mother.
Older.
Her hair streaked with gray.
She sat beside a window in what appeared to be a care facility.
On the back, someone had written:
STOP LOOKING, OR SHE DISAPPEARS AGAIN.
My hands went numb.
I called Matthew.
He arrived twenty minutes later.
When he saw the photograph, his face changed.
"Where did this come from?"
"Someone left it outside."
He examined the background.
Then went completely still.
"Matthew?"
He pointed toward a small emblem on the window.
A silver tree surrounded by a circle.
"I know that place."
My heart hammered.
"Where is it?"
He looked at me.
May you like
Then said something I never expected.
"My family owns it."
