Chapter 3 - The Photograph
I didn't sleep that night.
There was something deeply unsettling about the photograph.
Dominic had shown it to me without saying a word.
It was a picture of me standing outside a grocery store.
My hair was tied up.
I was holding a paper bag.
Nothing unusual.
Except the photograph had been taken from across the street.
Someone had been watching me.
“How long have you had this?” I asked.
“An hour.”
“Who took it?”
“I don't know.”
“Then why are you showing me?”
“Because someone wanted me to see it.”
I stared at him.
“What do you think it means?”
“I think whoever took my daughter knew who you were before you did.”
I stepped backward.
“That makes no sense.”
“It will.”
He picked up another photograph.
This one showed me entering a small café.
Another showed me leaving the train station.
Another showed the street where I had lived.
I felt sick.
“You've been watching me.”
“No.”
“But someone has.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I intend to find out.”
I sat down.
“There has to be a mistake.”
Dominic remained silent.
I remembered the silver button.
The blue ribbon.
Clara's drawing.
Victor.
Everything seemed connected.
Then the office door opened.
A man entered.
He was around forty, broad-shouldered, with dark blond hair.
“Mr. Vale.”
Dominic turned.
“Victor.”
This was the infamous brother.
Victor smiled.
“I'm glad Clara is alive.”
Dominic's expression remained cold.
“Where were you last night?”
“At the east compound.”
“Doing what?”
“Sleeping.”
“Who can confirm that?”
Victor shrugged.
“My staff.”
Dominic stepped closer.
“The security logs show you accessed the eastern server at 2:13 a.m.”
Victor's smile disappeared.
“I was checking inventory.”
“At 2:13 in the morning?”
“You know how this business works.”
“No.”
Dominic's voice became dangerously quiet.
“I know exactly how this business works.”
Victor glanced at me.
“Who's she?”
“Maya.”
“The woman from the warehouse?”
“Yes.”
Victor studied me.
“Interesting.”
I didn't like that word.
Dominic noticed.
“What is interesting?”
“Nothing.”
Victor turned toward the door.
Dominic's men blocked his path.
Victor stopped.
Dominic said, “You won't leave.”
Victor looked at his brother.
“You really think I kidnapped your daughter?”
“I think someone betrayed me.”
“And you think it's me?”
“I think you have something to tell me.”
Victor laughed softly.
“Maybe I do.”
Then he looked directly at me.
“But perhaps she should leave.”
“Why?”
“Because this isn't her world.”
Dominic stepped between us.
“She stays.”
Victor's eyes narrowed.
“That's a mistake.”
Then he left.
After the door closed, I whispered,
“He knows me.”
Dominic nodded.
“He does.”
“How?”
“We'll find out.”
That afternoon, the investigation took an unexpected turn.
A forensic analyst found fingerprints on the silver button.
They belonged to Victor.
But there was more.
The button had been sewn onto a customized coat worn by senior members of the Vale organization.
Dominic stared at the report.
“Where was Victor's coat?”
“Missing.”
“When?”
“Yesterday morning.”
Dominic looked at me.
“Clara disappeared yesterday morning.”
The connection was obvious.
Victor had access.
Victor's button was at the warehouse.
Victor had warned Dominic against trusting me.
But the evidence felt almost too perfect.
I told Dominic exactly that.
“It looks planted.”
His eyes met mine.
“That's what I thought.”
“Then Victor might be framed.”
“Yes.”
“By whom?”
He didn't answer.
That evening, Clara's fever dropped.
She asked me to sit beside her.
“Maya?”
“Yes?”
“You saved me.”
“I was lucky.”
“No.”
She shook her head.
“You heard me.”
I smiled.
“I did.”
She hesitated.
“Mom used to hear me too.”
I froze.
“Your mom?”
Clara nodded.
“Her name was Eliana.”
Dominic had never mentioned her.
I looked toward the doorway.
“Where is your mother?”
Clara's eyes filled with tears.
“She died.”
I lowered my voice.
“I'm sorry.”
“Daddy says she is still with us.”
“That's nice.”
“She used to hide things for me.”
“Like what?”
Clara reached beneath her pillow.
She pulled out a tiny brass key.
“My mom gave me this before she died.”
I stared at it.
“Do you know what it opens?”
She shook her head.
“No.”
“Does your dad know about it?”
Clara's eyes widened.
“No.”
I looked toward the door again.
“We should probably keep it somewhere safe.”
She nodded.
Then she whispered,
“Mom said if bad people ever found me, I should give the key to the woman with the red scar.”
My blood ran cold.
“What scar?”
Clara pointed to my wrist.
I looked down.
A faint red birthmark curved across my skin.
I had had it since childhood.
“What did your mother mean?”
“I don't know.”
I stared at the little key.
For the first time, I wondered whether finding Clara had really been an accident.
That night, Dominic and I entered his private study.
I placed the key on his desk.
“Clara gave me this.”
His face changed.
“Where did she get it?”
“From her mother.”
“Why didn't she give it to me?”
“She said her mother told her to give it to a woman with a red scar.”
Dominic stared at my wrist.
Then at me.
“How long have you had that mark?”
“Since I was born.”
He looked troubled.
“Where were you born?”
“St. Mary's Hospital.”
“When?”
I told him.
The color drained from his face.
“What?”
He didn't respond.
“Dominic?”
He opened a drawer.
Inside was an old photograph.
A woman stood beside him.
Eliana.
Young.
Smiling.
Holding a newborn baby.
Dominic's hands trembled.
“That photograph was taken twenty-six years ago.”
I looked at the baby.
Then at him.
“Why are you showing me this?”
He slowly turned the photograph around.
On the back was a handwritten note.
Our daughter survived.
I stared.
My breath stopped.
“No.”
Dominic looked at me.
“Eliana told me our first child had died.”
My hands began to shake.
“You think…”
“I don't know what to think.”
The room seemed to disappear around me.
There were too many pieces.
The key.
The mark.
The photograph.
My birth records.
Clara's mother.
And suddenly, the little girl in the next room wasn't merely the child I had saved.
She might be my sister.
Before we could process it, the alarm sounded.
Dominic's men shouted downstairs.
He grabbed his weapon.
“What now?”
His radio crackled.
“Boss, someone breached the west entrance.”
Then another voice screamed.
“Get the child!”
Dominic ran.
I followed.
We reached Clara's bedroom.
The window was open.
The curtains moved in the cold wind.
The bed was empty.
I screamed her name.
“Clara!”
Dominic's face became terrifyingly blank.
Then a phone rang.
Not his.
Mine.
My dead phone.
Impossible.
I reached into the pocket of my borrowed coat.
The screen was glowing.
A single message appeared.
YOU FOUND THE GIRL.
NOW FIND YOURSELF.
Then another message arrived.
May you like
COME TO THE OLD CHURCH ALONE.
OR YOUR SISTER DIES.
