Chapter 3 - THE WOMAN IN THE PHOTOGRAPH
“Don't say that.”
My voice sounded strange.
Thin.
Almost childish.
Adrian stood in front of me, holding the photograph that had just turned sixteen years of my life into a question.
“Claire—”
“Don't.”
My hand moved to my stomach.
The baby shifted beneath my palm, a small flutter that reminded me I needed to stay calm.
“My mother died when I was eleven. My father buried her. I watched him cry for weeks.”
“I know.”
“You don't know anything.”
Adrian accepted that without arguing.
Which somehow made me angrier.
Nathan stepped forward.
“See? This is exactly what I'm talking about. He's trying to manipulate you.”
Adrian didn't look at him.
“Claire, we should sit down.”
“I don't want to sit down.”
Then the world tilted.
I caught the edge of the refrigerated case.
Adrian reached for me but stopped when I raised my hand.
“Please.”
He stepped back.
A middle-aged woman wearing a grocery store apron approached.
“Honey, I'm the manager. Would you like some water?”
I nodded gratefully.
She brought a chair from behind the customer-service counter.
For several minutes, I concentrated on breathing.
Adrian waited quietly.
Nathan and Vanessa were escorted toward the registers.
Before leaving, Nathan looked back.
There was an expression on his face I'd never seen before.
Not anger.
Fear.
When I felt steady enough, I agreed to cross the street.
But only after paying for my groceries.
At the register, my card was declined.
I stared at the screen.
Seventeen dollars.
That morning, my balance had been seventeen dollars.
The total was fourteen dollars and eighty-six cents.
I tried again.
Declined.
The cashier looked uncomfortable.
Adrian stood behind me, saying nothing.
I opened my banking app.
My balance was negative three hundred and eighty-three dollars.
A withdrawal had been made forty minutes earlier.
Four hundred dollars.
The transaction description read:
HAYES FAMILY SETTLEMENT
I stared at it.
“I don't understand.”
Adrian leaned closer.
“May I?”
I showed him the screen.
His expression changed.
“Who has access to your account?”
“No one.”
“Are you certain?”
I thought of the paperwork Nathan had insisted we complete before our wedding.
The shared household account.
The automatic transfers.
The emergency authorization he'd said every married couple needed.
I had closed our joint account after discovering his affair.
Or I'd believed I had.
“Nathan,” I whispered.
Adrian looked toward the parking lot.
Nathan's expensive silver car was disappearing around the corner.
“Marco,” he said to one of his men, “remember the transaction information. Don't touch anything without Claire's permission.”
Marco nodded.
I looked up.
“You think Nathan took my money?”
“I think someone wants you frightened enough to accept help on their terms.”
The cashier quietly moved my groceries aside.
Adrian took out his wallet.
“I'll pay if you allow me.”
I looked at the basket.
At the milk.
At the vitamins.
My pride had kept me standing through Nathan's insults.
But pride wasn't going to feed my baby.
“It's a loan,” I said.
“If that's what you want.”
“And I pay you back.”
“Agreed.”
He paid the fourteen dollars and eighty-six cents.
Not for a mountain of groceries.
Not for an extravagant display.
Just what I'd chosen.
For some reason, that nearly made me cry.
Across the street, we sat in a booth near the coffee shop's front window.
Marco remained outside.
Adrian placed the photograph between us.
“Your mother worked for my family.”
I stared at him.
“She was a nurse.”
“She was. But before that, she helped care for my younger sister, Sofia.”
I looked at the woman in the picture.
My mother was wearing a pale blue dress.
Her hair fell over one shoulder.
She looked happy.
“Sofia was fourteen when our mother died,” Adrian continued. “She had a heart condition. Elena helped keep her alive through two difficult years.”
“Where is Sofia now?”
Adrian looked away.
“She died when she was nineteen.”
“I'm sorry.”
He nodded once.
Then pointed to the bracelet in the photograph.
“Sofia gave your mother that bracelet. Three stars for the three people she said had saved her life.”
“Who were they?”
“Our mother, Elena, and me.”
I glanced at my wrist.
The tiny blue stone caught the light.
“And the stone?”
“Sofia called it the fourth star. The one you couldn't see yet.”
I felt tears gathering.
“My mother told me it meant tomorrow.”
Adrian looked at me sharply.
“She said that?”
“All the time.”
He closed his eyes briefly.
For several seconds, neither of us spoke.
Then I asked the question that mattered.
“If my mother wasn't in the car, where was she?”
Adrian folded his hands.
“That's what I've been trying to discover.”
“Sixteen years?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn't you come looking for me?”
The question came out harsher than I intended.
But I couldn't stop.
“If you knew my mother, if you cared about her, why did I spend sixteen years believing she died alone?”
His jaw tightened.
“Because your father told me you were safe.”
I stared at him.
“My father knew you?”
“Very well.”
That was impossible.
My father, Thomas Hayes, had worked as a warehouse supervisor.
He hated wealthy people.
He certainly hated organized crime.
He'd spent years warning me about men who believed money made them untouchable.
“That's not true.”
Adrian reached into his coat again.
This time, he withdrew a second photograph.
My father stood beside him outside a brick building.
Both men looked much younger.
My father was smiling.
I had almost forgotten what that looked like.
“Your father worked for me,” Adrian said.
“No.”
“He handled transportation records for one of our legitimate shipping companies.”
I stared at the photograph.
Something in the background caught my attention.
A white delivery truck.
The same kind my father had driven.
And on its side was a familiar blue logo.
Crescent Freight.
Nathan's father's company.
I looked up.
“Nathan works for Crescent Freight.”
Adrian nodded slowly.
“That's why I was in the grocery store.”
My stomach tightened.
“What?”
“I was supposed to meet Nathan's father this afternoon. Then Marco saw Nathan enter that store and recognized you from an old photograph.”
“So you didn't just happen to find me?”
“No.”
For the first time, I felt genuinely afraid of Adrian.
“You knew who I was before you kissed me.”
“Yes.”
“And you didn't tell me?”
“I had only just confirmed it. Then I saw what Nathan was doing.”
I stood.
“That's not good enough.”
He didn't stop me.
I picked up my grocery bag.
“Claire, there's one more thing.”
I turned reluctantly.
He placed a yellowed envelope on the table.
My name was written across the front.
In my mother's handwriting.
I recognized the looping C immediately.
My knees nearly gave way.
“Where did you get that?”
“Your father gave it to me eleven years ago.”
“Eleven?”
“He told me to keep it until you were old enough to understand.”
My throat tightened.
“Then why are you giving it to me now?”
“Because he made me promise something else.”
I stared at him.
“What?”
Adrian's face was filled with regret.
“He said if Nathan Whitmore ever tried to marry you, I was to give you the letter immediately.”
I looked down at the envelope.
Nathan and I had become engaged eighteen months earlier.
My father had died three years ago.
But somehow, he'd known.
With trembling fingers, I opened the letter.
Inside was one page.
Only three sentences were written.
My darling Claire, if you are reading this, the people I feared have found their way back into your life.
May you like
Do not trust the Whitmore family.
And whatever Adrian Moretti tells you, ask him why he let me take the blame for what happened to your mother.
