Chapter 2 - The House Where Her Mother “Died”
By morning, Christmas Eve had become the coldest day Chicago had seen in six years.
Adrian sat beside Claire’s hospital bed while she ate toast in tiny bites.
“You don’t have to finish it,” he said.
She immediately put the toast down.
His heart sank.
“I meant you can stop if you’re full.”
Claire watched him cautiously.
“Aunt Denise says wasting food makes you selfish.”
“Being full doesn’t make you selfish.”
“What if it costs money?”
“I can afford toast.”
Claire thought about that.
“How much toast?”
Noah, standing by the window, coughed to hide a laugh.
Adrian almost smiled.
“All the toast.”
The hospital social worker explained that Claire could not simply leave with Adrian until identity and custody were verified. He agreed to every test and interview without argument.
DNA results came back that afternoon.
99.99 percent probability.
Claire was his daughter.
Adrian cried in the hallway where she could not see him.
Then police found Denise’s rented house empty.
The basement contained cleaning supplies, a narrow cot, boxes of children’s clothing, and stacks of old newspaper coverage about Claire’s disappearance.
The red box was gone.
Detective Marla Quinn came to the hospital.
“Denise Harper isn’t Emily’s sister.”
“I know.”
“She used three identities in twelve years.”
Adrian leaned forward.
“Who is she?”
“We don’t know yet.”
Claire was coloring at the table.
Marla lowered her voice.
“We found evidence she moved the child repeatedly. Ohio. Indiana. Wisconsin.”
“Why keep Claire alive?”
Marla’s expression tightened.
“That’s the question.”
Adrian hated himself for being grateful Claire had survived while simultaneously imagining every cold room, every frightened night, every Christmas when his daughter believed he had chosen not to find her.
After Marla left, Claire held up her drawing.
It showed three people beside a Christmas tree.
Adrian pointed.
“Who’s that?”
“You.”
“Who’s that?”
“Me.”
“And the lady?”
Claire hesitated.
“My mom.”
Adrian stopped.
“You remember her?”
“Sometimes.”
Emily Dawson had supposedly died in a house fire three months after Claire disappeared. Her remains were identified through dental records.
Or so Adrian had been told.
“What do you remember?”
“She sang when it snowed.”
Adrian’s throat tightened.
“Yes.”
“She made cocoa bad.”
He laughed softly. “Terrible cocoa.”
Claire smiled.
It was the first real smile he had seen.
Then she said, “Aunt Denise said Mommy burned because she tried to find me.”
The smile disappeared from Adrian’s face.
“No.”
“She said it was my fault.”
Adrian moved his chair closer but did not touch her without permission.
“Claire, listen to me. Whatever happened to your mother was never your fault.”
Her chin trembled.
“You promise?”
“I promise.”
That evening, police entered the address Claire remembered.
The property had been condemned after the fire.
Noah went with investigators.
Beneath loose boards in an upstairs bedroom, they found a metal lockbox.
Inside were photographs.
Adrian holding baby Claire.
Emily carrying Christmas presents.
Noah standing beside Emily at a hospital.
And a photograph Adrian had never seen.
Emily alive.
The date stamped on the back was eight months after her supposed death.
Noah called Adrian.
“You need to sit down.”
“What?”
“Emily survived.”
Adrian’s hand tightened around the phone.
“That’s impossible.”
“I’m looking at the picture.”
“Where was it taken?”
“A medical facility.”
“What facility?”
Noah read the sign visible behind Emily.
“St. Catherine’s Behavioral Center.”
Adrian closed his eyes.
He remembered the name.
Emily had once investigated St. Catherine’s while working as an accountant for a nonprofit health network.
She had claimed someone was stealing federal money through fake patient accounts.
Two weeks later, Claire disappeared.
Three months after that, Emily supposedly died.
Adrian looked toward his daughter.
Claire had fallen asleep with a stuffed snowman the nurses gave her.
“Find everything about St. Catherine’s.”
Noah was quiet.
“There’s something else.”
“What?”
“The photograph wasn’t hidden alone.”
Noah turned over another image.
It showed Denise.
Beside her stood a man in a dark coat.
Adrian recognized him immediately.
His own chief financial officer.
Martin Vale.
The man Adrian had trusted for fifteen years.
May you like
The man who had personally supervised the five-million-dollar reward fund used to search for Claire.
Noah whispered, “Adrian, I think somebody was being paid to make sure you never found her.”
