Chapter 7 - THE WOMAN WHO HAD MY FACE
“She was asking for help.”
I stared at the photograph until the words blurred.
Luca stood beside me.
Hope looked so much like me that seeing her face felt like looking into a mirror that remembered a different childhood.
But there was fear in her eyes.
And the little white card in her hand wasn't meant for the camera.
It was meant for someone standing just beyond the frame.
“Who took this picture?” I asked.
Luca checked the printed credit.
“A photographer named Ellen Marsh.”
Carol leaned closer.
“Could she have seen the card?”
“Possibly,” Luca said.
He opened his laptop and located the gala's published program.
The event had taken place six months earlier.
Ellen Marsh was listed as the official photographer.
Luca examined other pictures from that evening.
In one, Hope stood alone near a window.
In another, Margaret Vale held her arm tightly.
And in a third, Hope was speaking to an older gentleman wearing a hospital identification badge.
I pointed toward him.
“Who's that?”
Luca read the caption.
“Dr. Arthur Whitcomb. Retired pediatric surgeon.”
Carol's expression changed.
“I know that name.”
We both looked at her.
“He worked at St. Agnes when you were children.”
My heart began racing.
“Then he may know what happened.”
Luca closed the laptop.
“We'll follow the evidence. No confronting Margaret without knowing what Hope wants or whether she's safe.”
I looked at him.
“You sound different.”
He met my eyes.
“My father tried handling this privately and lost twenty-two years. I'm not repeating his mistake.”
By morning, Daniel had arranged for the police to receive the film, photographs, and original documents.
Luca also contacted an investigator who specialized in historical child-placement fraud.
But I couldn't concentrate on legal procedures.
My sister was out there.
Alive.
Working for the very organization that had taken her.
And I couldn't tell whether she was a prisoner or a participant.
Carol sat beside me in the kitchen.
“You should eat something.”
I shook my head.
“Mom, how can I?”
She reached across the table.
“Because Hope needs you standing when you find her.”
I looked at her tired face.
Dark circles shadowed her eyes.
She'd spent years protecting me while carrying the guilt of being unable to protect my sister.
“I was angry with you,” I whispered.
“I know.”
“I still am, a little.”
Carol nodded.
“You have every right.”
I squeezed her hand.
“But I know you loved me.”
Her face crumpled.
“Oh, Hannah.”
I leaned against her shoulder.
For a moment, I let myself be her daughter again.
Later that morning, Daniel returned with new information.
Ellen Marsh had kept a private archive of the gala photographs.
She agreed to provide the original unedited images after learning that investigators were examining the event's charitable sponsors.
In one photograph, the writing on Hope's card was much clearer.
HELP ME LEAVE.
But there was more.
On the reverse side, visible in a reflection from the window, she'd written a number.
Room 214.
Luca stared at it.
“An address?”
Daniel checked the event records.
“The gala was held at the Lakeshore Grand Hotel in Milwaukee. Room 214 was booked under the name Eleanor Ward.”
I frowned.
“Who's Eleanor Ward?”
Daniel studied the reservation.
“The name appears in several old foundation records.”
Carol suddenly looked up.
“Ward was Maria's maiden name.”
My heart began pounding.
“Hope used our mother's family name?”
“Someone did,” Daniel said carefully. “We don't yet know who booked the room.”
Luca looked toward me.
“There's a chance Hope was arranging to meet Maria.”
The thought made my chest ache.
Had my sister found our mother?
Had they been working together?
And why hadn't either come to find me?
The answers arrived in an unexpected form that afternoon.
A courier delivered a plain envelope to the mansion.
It had been mailed from Wisconsin before the engagement dinner.
Addressed to:
Hannah Collins.
Inside was a printed copy of the photograph from the gala.
The same image.
But someone had drawn a circle around Hope's face.
On the back was a handwritten message.
If you are reading this, you have finally learned the truth.
I sank into a chair.
The handwriting matched the note inside Hope's little blue shoe.
My sister.
She had written to me.
Below the first sentence were more words.
I know what they did to us. I stayed because there are other children whose records were changed. I couldn't walk away until I found them.
Tears filled my eyes.
Hope hadn't been working for them willingly.
She'd been gathering evidence.
Luca read over my shoulder.
His expression grew serious.
Margaret believes I am loyal. Antonio believes I am afraid. Neither knows I have copies of the placement ledgers.
I kept reading.
Our mother is alive. I found her. But she refuses to leave until one final record is recovered.
My hands shook.
“What record?”
The next line answered.
The original register from St. Agnes. It identifies every child whose identity was altered.
There was a small drawing beneath the words.
A green-roofed house.
The same house from my childhood drawing.
Then came the final paragraph.
Hannah, if you reach this point, don't come looking for me alone. I need you to understand something first. The woman who raised me is not the person I thought she was.
I stared at the words.
Margaret Vale had raised Hope.
Had she treated my sister as her daughter?
Had Hope loved her?
Then I read the last sentence.
There is one person inside the Moretti mansion who knows where the original register is hidden.
Luca frowned.
“My mother?”
I shook my head.
The message continued.
She doesn't know she knows. The answer was placed in front of her every day.
Beneath that was a sketch.
A fireplace.
A small silver clock.
And a red ribbon tied around a woman's wrist.
I recognized the room immediately.
The mansion's library.
The place where Vanessa had once insisted I wasn't allowed to clean.
Luca looked toward Daniel.
“Search the library.”
But I was already standing.
“Wait.”
I remembered the evening Rose had been injured.
Vanessa wearing her red satin gown.
Her handbag.
The blue ribbon.
And the way she'd tried to stop me from examining Rose's hand.
Suddenly, I understood something.
“Vanessa wasn't looking for the suitcase,” I said.
Luca turned.
“What?”
“She already knew about it. She was looking for something Rose had taken out.”
I looked at the sketch again.
The small silver clock.
The red ribbon.
Then I remembered an object I'd seen almost every day.
A tiny silver travel clock on the library mantel.
Vanessa had given it to Luca as an engagement present.
I pointed toward the hallway.
“That clock was never part of this house before Vanessa arrived.”
Luca's expression changed.
We hurried into the library.
The clock stood exactly where I remembered.
Luca lifted it carefully.
A red ribbon had been tucked beneath the base.
On its underside was a handwritten name.
Evelyn.
Vanessa's mother.
Daniel examined the clock.
Its battery compartment had been modified.
Inside lay a small memory card sealed in plastic.
Luca inserted it into a secure computer.
A video file appeared.
The date was seven years old.
Evelyn Bellini sat in a hospital bed.
Her face was thin.
Her voice was weak.
But her words were unmistakable.
“My name is Evelyn Bellini. I helped my husband steal children.”
I gripped the back of a chair.
Evelyn began crying.
“And I must tell you who gave Antonio permission.”
Luca leaned forward.
May you like
The next sentence made him stagger.
“Matteo Moretti knew about the first placement.”
