Chapter 6 - THE RECORDING
We escaped the SUV by turning onto a narrow road through an industrial district.
Rebecca knew exactly where she was going.
A small warehouse.
No sign.
No windows.
We rushed inside.
The metal door slammed behind us.
Rebecca locked three bolts.
Then she looked at Daniel.
“We need to talk.”
Daniel leaned against the wall.
“About what?”
“Your father.”
“What about him?”
“He didn't start the operation.”
Daniel stared at her.
“Then who did?”
Rebecca opened a box.
Inside were old photographs.
One showed the hospital director.
Another showed several doctors.
Then another.
A woman.
I recognized her.
I had seen her once before.
At my wedding.
She had stood beside Daniel's mother.
“Who is she?”
Rebecca said,
“Margaret Vale.”
Daniel frowned.
“Mom's friend?”
“More than that.”
“What?”
“She ran the adoption network.”
My stomach twisted.
Rebecca placed another photograph on the table.
Margaret.
Daniel's mother.
Daniel's father.
And another man.
The same man from the photograph sent to my phone.
The delivery driver.
Except he wasn't a delivery driver.
He was a private investigator.
“Why was he watching my baby?”
“Because Margaret hired him.”
Daniel looked at me.
“Why?”
Rebecca answered.
“Because your mother found out Margaret was looking for Claire's surviving records.”
“And she used my DNA?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“To locate Claire.”
I stared at Rebecca.
“That doesn't make sense.”
“It does if Claire left something behind.”
“What?”
“A genetic archive.”
“What is that?”
“Samples. Blood. Hair. Tissue. Anything containing DNA.”
“Why?”
“Because Claire knew the people involved would destroy paper evidence.”
I felt cold.
“So she created another kind of evidence.”
“Yes.”
Daniel walked toward the table.
“Where is it?”
Rebecca looked at him.
“We don't know.”
“Then how can we find it?”
“Claire left clues.”
I looked at the photograph.
“What clues?”
Rebecca opened another folder.
“Your childhood.”
I frowned.
“My childhood?”
“She knew someone would raise you under a different identity. She embedded information into your childhood records.”
“What information?”
“Numbers.”
I thought about it.
Birthdays.
Addresses.
Old phone numbers.
School records.
Then I remembered something.
“My mother always made me write a number on the inside cover of my school notebooks.”
Rebecca stared at me.
“What number?”
“7314.”
Her face changed.
“What?”
“Why?”
“That's not a random number.”
“What is it?”
Rebecca grabbed a calculator.
“July 31, 2014?”
“No.”
“Room 7314?”
“No.”
She looked at me.
“It's a storage code.”
My heart started racing.
“For what?”
Rebecca searched the database on her laptop.
Then stopped.
She looked at me.
“There's a storage facility registered to that number.”
“Where?”
“Three miles from the hospital where you were born.”
Daniel whispered,
“That's where Claire worked.”
Rebecca nodded.
We drove there that night.
The storage facility was almost empty.
Unit 7314 was locked.
But the key was inside the folder Rebecca had brought.
I inserted it.
The door rolled upward.
Inside was a small wooden box.
My name was carved into the lid.
Emma.
I opened it.
Inside was a cassette tape.
A photograph.
And a letter.
I unfolded the letter.
The handwriting was unmistakable.
Claire.
My biological mother.
The first line read:
IF YOU ARE READING THIS, THEN THEY FAILED TO ERASE YOU.
My hands shook.
I continued.
I stopped halfway through.
Because the final sentence said:
THE MAN YOU MARRIED IS NOT WHO YOU THINK HE IS.
I slowly turned toward Daniel.
He was staring at the letter.
His face was white.
“What does it say?” he asked.
I folded it.
“You tell me.”
“Emma.”
“Did Claire know you?”
“No.”
“Then why would she write that?”
“I don't know.”
Rebecca took the letter.
Her eyes widened.
Then she whispered,
“Oh God.”
“What?”
She turned the page over.
There was another message.
Written in red ink.
DANIEL WAS NEVER THE TARGET.
HIS FATHER WAS.
And underneath:
BUT DANIEL KNOWS WHERE THE MONEY WENT.
Daniel stepped backward.
“No.”
I stared at him.
“What money?”
He didn't answer.
“Daniel.”
May you like
He looked at me.
And for the first time since this nightmare began, he looked guilty.
