Chapter 5 - THE FILE WITH MY NAME
Daniel threw his shoulder against the basement door.
Once.
Twice.
The wood didn't move.
His mother screamed from upstairs.
“Daniel!”
“What?”
“Get out through the back!”
“There is no back!”
“There is a service tunnel!”
I stared at her.
“A what?”
She pointed toward the basement wall.
“Behind the shelves.”
Daniel and I moved the shelves.
Behind them was a narrow wooden door.
I opened it.
A dark tunnel stretched beneath the house.
I didn't want to know why it existed.
I didn't have time to ask.
We crawled through.
Noah cried the entire way.
Daniel carried him.
I followed.
At the end of the tunnel was a metal hatch.
We emerged behind an abandoned shed.
A car was waiting.
Not Daniel's.
Rebecca stood beside it.
“Get in.”
Daniel stared.
“You knew about this?”
“Not until this morning.”
“Who are you?”
“Your aunt.”
Daniel froze.
Rebecca looked at him.
“I'm Claire's sister.”
He stared at her.
Then at me.
Then back at Rebecca.
“Why didn't you ever contact me?”
“Because your father watched everyone.”
“What about my mother?”
“She was afraid.”
“Afraid of what?”
Rebecca looked toward the house.
“Of becoming the next missing person.”
We got into the car.
Rebecca drove.
For thirty minutes, nobody spoke.
Then she handed me a folder.
“Read this.”
I opened it.
The first page was a hospital document dated the year I was born.
My name appeared on the page.
EMMA WHITMORE.
Underneath:
TRANSFER STATUS: UNAUTHORIZED.
My hands shook.
“What does this mean?”
Rebecca said,
“You were supposed to be transferred to another family.”
“Why?”
“Money.”
I stared at her.
“Your biological mother discovered that newborns were being reassigned to wealthy families using falsified medical records.”
Daniel whispered,
“Dad.”
Rebecca nodded.
“Your father was one of the people approving those records.”
I turned another page.
There were photographs.
Children.
Names.
Dates.
Amounts of money.
I covered my mouth.
“How many?”
“Twenty-three that we know of.”
My eyes filled with tears.
“And Claire?”
“She tried to expose them.”
“What happened?”
“She disappeared.”
Daniel looked down.
“Did my mother know?”
“Yes.”
“Why did she raise me?”
“Because she was terrified.”
I looked at Rebecca.
“Then why did she test my baby?”
Rebecca didn't answer immediately.
Finally she said,
“Because your son may be proof.”
“Proof of what?”
“The original records contain a genetic signature.”
I remembered the message.
THE MOTHER IS THE TARGET.
Rebecca continued.
“Claire preserved biological samples before she disappeared.”
“Where?”
“We don't know.”
“Then why does everyone keep testing me?”
“Because whoever has those samples can compare them to you.”
Daniel frowned.
“Why?”
“To establish that you are Claire's biological daughter.”
I stared at the folder.
“So they aren't trying to prove Noah isn't Daniel's son.”
“No.”
“They're trying to prove who I am.”
“Yes.”
The realization made my skin crawl.
Then Rebecca handed me another envelope.
“This arrived yesterday.”
My name was written on the front.
I opened it.
Inside was a single photograph.
Claire.
Standing outside a hospital.
Holding a baby.
Me.
On the back, in handwriting I recognized from old birthday cards my mother had written throughout my childhood, were five words:
I DIDN'T KNOW HOW TO SAVE YOU.
I stared at the sentence.
“My mother wrote this?”
Rebecca nodded.
“She wants you to find her.”
“Where is she?”
Rebecca's expression changed.
“We think she is alive.”
My heart stopped.
“Where?”
“That's what we're trying to find out.”
Daniel suddenly pointed at the road.
“Someone's following us.”
Rebecca looked in the mirror.
A black SUV was behind us.
Same distance.
Same speed.
Rebecca accelerated.
The SUV followed.
Noah screamed.
I held him against my chest.
“Who are they?”
Rebecca's face tightened.
“The people who don't want that file to reach a courtroom.”
The SUV moved into the passing lane.
Rebecca whispered,
May you like
“Hold on.”
And the chase began.
