Chapter 4 - The Woman in My Mother’s Photograph Who Was Supposed to Be Dead
The final document was a birth certificate.
My name.
Mara Elena Kovacs.
Not Mara Ellis.
Kovacs.
I stared at it until the letters blurred.
“Why did I have my mother's surname?”
“Because your mother changed yours.”
“Without my father's name?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Protection.”
I laughed bitterly.
“So everybody knew I was in hiding except me?”
Viktor did not answer.
There was another page beneath the certificate.
A court record.
Sealed.
A handwritten note appeared across the top.
DO NOT TRUST THE ORIGINAL FILE.
I looked at Viktor.
“What does that mean?”
“Someone altered the legal record.”
“Who?”
“We don't know.”
A sound echoed outside the storage unit.
Footsteps.
Viktor immediately reached for his weapon.
“Behind me.”
I obeyed.
Two shadows passed the doorway.
Then disappeared.
Viktor signaled for me to stay.
A minute later, he returned.
“No one.”
I exhaled.
Then I noticed something.
A photograph hanging on the wall.
My mother.
Viktor.
And a woman I'd never seen.
She was elegant, dark-haired, and smiling.
On the back was a date.
June 1999.
“Who is she?”
Viktor's face changed.
“Helena.”
“Who?”
“My father's lawyer.”
“She worked for your family?”
“Yes.”
“She looks familiar.”
“From where?”
I couldn't place it.
Then I did.
The woman had appeared in one of my mother's funeral photographs.
Standing in the background.
I had assumed she was a neighbor.
“She was at my mother's funeral.”
Viktor stared at me.
“She died in 2001.”
“No.”
“I saw her fourteen months ago.”
“Then someone looked exactly like her.”
I shook my head.
“The same woman.”
Viktor's eyes narrowed.
“Take the picture.”
We left.
The next morning, my apartment building had been broken into.
My eviction notice was still taped to the door.
Inside, drawers were overturned.
My mother's old boxes had been emptied.
Only one thing was missing.
A small wooden jewelry box.
Inside it had been a silver medal my mother wore every day.
I called Viktor.
He arrived within fifteen minutes.
“You should have gone somewhere safe.”
“This was safe yesterday.”
“Yesterday you were an ordinary waitress.”
“And today?”
“Today people are searching your apartment.”
He picked up a torn photograph.
“This is the same woman.”
Helena.
The woman from the photograph.
“Why would she want the medal?”
“I don't know.”
“What was on it?”
“Your mother's initials.”
“No.”
He turned it over.
There was a tiny symbol.
A compass.
Viktor's expression changed.
“That symbol belongs to my father.”
“What does it mean?”
“An internal family protection mark.”
“Protection from what?”
“Everyone.”
I sat on the edge of the bed.
“My mother knew someone was coming.”
“Yes.”
“She expected Stefan.”
“Yes.”
“So why leave this medal?”
“Because she knew you would find it.”
“Maybe she wanted me to follow it.”
Viktor looked at me.
“That is exactly what she did.”
The following evening, Viktor took me to a townhouse in Brooklyn.
“This was my father's safe house.”
“You still own it?”
“Yes.”
The building was abandoned.
Dust covered the furniture.
A wall clock had stopped at 2:17.
I walked into the study.
A hidden compartment opened behind a bookshelf.
Inside was a tape recorder.
Old.
Viktor pressed play.
A woman's voice filled the room.
My mother's.
“Mara, if you are hearing this, something has gone wrong.”
My knees weakened.
Viktor caught my arm.
My mother's recorded voice continued.
“You may believe Viktor is dangerous. He is. But danger is not always the same as evil.”
I looked at him.
He stared straight ahead.
“My child, you were born into a family built on fear. Your father wanted to leave. Viktor wanted to protect him. Stefan wanted control.”
A pause.
“If Stefan finds you, do not believe what he says about your father.”
I covered my mouth.
My mother's voice softened.
“Your father did not abandon you.”
The recording stopped.
I whispered:
“Play it again.”
Viktor did.
The same words.
Your father did not abandon you.
I cried quietly.
Not because I had just learned my father loved me.
Because some part of me had spent twenty-six years waiting to hear it.
Viktor stood beside me.
“I wish I could tell you more.”
“You knew him.”
“Yes.”
“Was he good?”
Viktor thought carefully.
“He was kind.”
“Was he like you?”
“No.”
“Did he look like you?”
“A little.”
“Did he die?”
Viktor finally answered.
“I saw him the night he disappeared.”
“What happened?”
“He gave me your mother’s location.”
“And then?”
“He told me not to follow.”
“Why?”
“Because he knew there was a traitor beside him.”
I looked up.
“Who?”
Viktor pointed toward the old tape recorder.
“Helena.”
The room went cold.
“The dead woman?”
“She betrayed your father.”
“But she died.”
“She disappeared.”
“Why fake her death?”
“She was working with Stefan.”
I remembered the woman from my mother's funeral.
“Then the woman I saw…”
“Was Helena.”
A knock sounded.
Viktor went still.
The door opened.
An elderly man entered.
I knew him immediately.
His face was older than the photographs.
His eyes were tired.
His voice shook.
“Mara.”
I couldn't breathe.
He looked at Viktor.
Then back at me.
“My daughter.”
I stared.
“Who are you?”
He whispered one name.
“Adrian.”
My father.
The man I'd spent my entire life believing was dead.
He stepped closer.
I took one step back.
“No.”
“Mara—”
“No.”
Viktor moved between us.
Adrian stopped.
“My father?” I whispered.
He nodded.
“I came because Stefan found you.”
“Why didn't you ever come for me?”
His face collapsed with grief.
“Because your mother made me promise.”
“What promise?”
“That I would stay dead until you were old enough to survive the truth.”
I shook my head.
“That wasn't your choice.”
“No.”
His eyes filled with tears.
“It was hers.”
Then the lights in the townhouse went out.
A gunshot exploded from the hallway.
Adrian shoved me to the floor.
May you like
Viktor fired into the darkness.
And when the emergency lights came on, my father was bleeding.
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